In 5 days I have MOHs surgery to remove BCC from crease of my nose, and 2 days later the first of two stage reconstruction surgery. The plastic surgeon said that the lesion was substantial and I would probably need a forehead flap, and he recommended it be done under general anaesthetic.
I didn’t expect this for what seemed to me like a small spot, and I was too shocked to ask questions of the consultant, who was very offhand and casual and just wanted me to leave his office quickly.
Can I make any useful preparations?
Can I go outside afterwards? I have a hat I wear in the sun, but it sits on my forehead. Should I buy some sort of face covering? Online I have seen caps with veils attached for fishing, is it worth getting one?
Can I wear my reading glasses?
What about my 6 month old puppy? We are so attached to each other, but she is very boisterous and I am scared that she will jump up at my face. Can I wear a face guard of some kind or do I just have to shut her out of my room?
I am lucky to be 68, married to a wonderful man, and not really bothered about my looks, but am I going to make people feel sick to look at me?
Am I making a big fuss about nothing?
It did go well, eventually, thanks! The afternoon and evening after the separation were definitely in the euphoria zone.
But I need a little vent here first. I’ll start a new post once I get up to the recovery bit.
The private hospital managed one more glitch. At 10 am the young guy who had escorted me to the theatre last time appeared bright and breezy, along with a tense-faced senior nurse I hadn’t seen before, thumbing through a folder. “Where is the consent form?” she snapped to the youngster. They proceeded to talk across me. I intervened and said that the consultant had referred to his folder, said oh yes, I see here your previous form which was for both procedures, that’s fine. Nurse said crossly, no I need a form for today, all I have got is this blank. Waves sheet of paper. I said ok, give it here, I will sign it. No no no, it has to be properly completed and signed by the consultant. I suggested that she look for the completed form in the consultant’s folder. I pointed out that there was at least one other patient also having the separation operation, what did her paperwork look like? More stress on face of senior nurse. By this time the youngster had wisely scarpered, nurses were gathering in the corridor, and a tall miserable looking bloke I had never met was in the room trying to debate with senior nurse. Miseryguts then asked me all the questions the anaesthetist and everyone else had been through about dob and metalwork etc. I know it’s routine that has to be gone through, but, already angry about the last minute holdup, I took offence at his tone and expression, which came across as sneery and bored. I told him to introduce himself and take that look off his face. He said he didn’t have any look on his face and I told him there was a mirror in the ensuite and he should go and see for himself. This reminded me that I had been about to pop to the loo when the youngster had arrived, so I suggested I do that while they sorted the paperwork out. Retreated to loo and tried to recover the upbeat mood I had been clinging on to all morning.
Came out of loo, people still standing there shuffling papers, I asked how it was progressing. Nurse, loudly, as to naughty rather stupid child. “You can’t go to theatre without a consent form signed today and I don’t have one.” Me, louder, “I told you that I signed for both procedures before the first operation, do you think I would have let anyone cut my face open and sew this monstrosity on it for a month if I wasn’t going to go ahead with the separation operation?”. She, defensive, me into full meltdown mode. I said something like: I can’t believe this is happening again, I was promised last time that I would be early on the list because of my anxiety, but I had to wait for hours because you didn’t have the test results because you didn’t arrange the tests until I chased you, now this, do I have something in my file saying treat this woman like dirt? Fighting back tears. Senior nurse finally softened and moved into sympathy mode, meanwhile someone else rummaged through the folder again and cried in triumph, here it is! Senior nurse looks, says that’s no good, it’s dated 23 February, today is 23 March. Me, firmly, that. is. the. form. Read it. It was signed before the first op and covers today’s op as well. She reads. Oh ….. Back in defensive mode. The girls are meant to put it at the front of the folder. Finally we go off to theatre. Senior nurse unbends, apologises, accompanies us as far as the theatre.
Miseryguts, who it turns out is an assistant to the anaesthetist, comes along, bringing his sneery face with him. He remembers the bit in the training manual which says: make pleasant chit chat to keep the patient relaxed. So, he says with an obvious effort, what would you be doing today if you weren’t here? Me, curtly, well if I hadn’t had to have part of my nose cut off and this hideous thing made up out of bits of my forehead and ear sewn onto my face to deal with a little spot that the NHS told me could wait, and then come here today to get it cut off and have my face sewn up again, I would probably be out spending some of the £15000 I have paid to keep you lot in a job. End of small talk.
All is then brisk and business-like getting me arranged etc. The anaesthetist arrives, says to Miseryguts, oh dear, I feel the need to sneeze from hay fever, why does it always happen just after I get my gloves on. Me silently thinking dark thoughts about not wishing to hear this just before he tries to force a needle into my reluctant vein. At least he has taken on board my advice about not using my hands as a practice dart board and goes straight to the inside elbow vein. Silence while I hold very still and hope it is going in, and he isn’t going to sneeze. “Wow that’s huge! “ he exclaims. I try to make sense of this statement. Presumably he is not referring to the needle, which certainly feels huge to me but he must have seen before. Does he mean my vein is huge? Well, that’s better than if he had exclaimed about how tiny it was.
Anyway, the cannula is in, and anaesthetist turns to Miseryguts to show him a huge hole in the palm of his glove. Says “I could feel a hole there, I had no idea it was so big”. They seem to find it mildly entertaining. I lie there and think dark thoughts about infection control.
Soon the drugs are finally flowing and then someone is waking me up.
I feel a bit worse than I remember from last time, groggy, throat very sore and somehow I have gone quite deaf. It improves.
The consultant does come by, tells it went well. I ask about laser treatment of my hairy nose because others have mentioned it on here. He says, no because I am grey. Grr, I am not grey, I have the light reddish blonde hair I have always had and I tell him this. Whatever, he shrugs. The laser only works on black hair. I guess it works by heating up the dark hair and fair or white hair doesn’t absorb the light. He could have put it this way, if he wasn’t so rude.
I remember to ask about the antibiotic ointment, telling him that during the last month it has caused skin irritation. He looks astonished. I tell him that, after I got a rash, I referred to the list of side effects in the packet and it included irritation to the surrounding skin. He scoffs at this, intimating that the drug manufacturers always list all these things that never happen. It wasn’t in the rare list, it was listed as a common side effect I say. He shrugs and says if it bothers me, don’t use it. I ask if I should use Vaseline instead. He says no, the ointment is antibiotic, it’s quite different. Duh, I don’t say. I just thought it would be better than nothing as a barrier against dirt. I have been advised by dermatologists in the past to use it during the healing of various lumps and bumps I have had cut off in years gone by. Later I spoke with the pharmacist, who was a much better communicator, and I am to call her to discuss if having problems with the ointment.
