Hestia is not dead....but feels a bit sorry for herself

So, I schedule a blog post to entertain you on the day I get sliced and diced and Blogger throws a tantrum and the damn thing doesn't post.  The best laid plans of mice and men and all that....

Anyway, as you can see, I am not dead although I am walking like Mrs Overall from Acorn Antiques.



Got in to hospital for 8am (nil by mouth from midnight the night before) and ushered into a lovely little single room with en suite.  This was good.  I didn't relish being stuck on a big general ward.  I cracked open Goddess of Vengence (Jackie Collins), put my feet up and started reading.

At 11am the staff started coming in.  Their opening gambit was exactly the same: 'Has anything changed since your pre-op assessment a few weeks ago?' After answering this question four times, I wondered whether any of these people were talking to each other.  Never mind, Jackie Collins soon held me in thrall once again.

At midday, my stomach was grumbling and Goddess of Vengence was getting a bit ........boring.

'Any idea when I'll be going up to theatre?' I asked as the little nurse fitted me for the most sublime surgical stockings that gave me a pair of pins that resembled uncooked veal shanks.  Delightful.

'You're last on the list, so about 4pm,' he replied.  'oh by the way, has anything changed since your pre-op a few weeks ago?'

The next thing was some nurses came in and broke the good news.  I was giving up my little single room and going into a general ward, won't that be fun?

Reluctantly everything was wheeled into the main ward and I took up the bed position next to the loo.  Lovely.

Time marched on and one lady after another was wheeled upstairs.

Goddess of Vengence ended and I closed the book with a sigh.  Not very satisfactory.  Or maybe I've changed.  I didn't think it was that good - and I loved her books when I was growing up.  Dear lord, maybe I've matured. Like wine.  Or cheese.

Just as I pondered this terrible thought, a gurney was wheeled into the ward and the sister beckoned me to climb on.  My hitherto sanguine attitude vanished and I climbed onto the gurney, bare arse wobbling in the breeze.  A thoughtful nurse tied me up properly.

Going up in the Theatre lift, everyone chatted to me and I found myself chatting back - about the weather, about theatre gowns....but inside my head only one thought was running round my Hamster Wheel of Fear....how the HELL could I talk my way out of this one?

They parked me up outside theatre and the anaesthetist bore down on me with her clip board:  Has anything changed since your pre op a few weeks ago?

All too soon I was wheeled towards the anaesthetic room and I decided that the only thing to do was climb off the gurney.

'What are you doing'? asked the sister.

'I've, erm, changed my mind.....with a change of diet, I can handle this.  I don't want surgery,' I said, pulling the gown around me.

She sighed and helped me back onto the trolley.  'You'll be fine.  Honestly.'

My legs started shaking as the team started getting me prepped.  How could I think that voluntarily putting myself under the knife was a good thing?

'You'll feel a little prick,' said a masked man to my right.  Oh how I wanted to crack a joke, but all I could do was smile weakly.  'Now you'll feel a bit dizzy.' oooh yeah, I felt a bit dizzy..... 'And now you'll get a lungful of the good stuff.'  Oh this must be the......

And that is all I remember until I woke up at half six, back on the ward.  I gingerly touched my MASSIVE stomach.  It felt like keyhole surgery, but I seemed to have been transformed into a blue whale.  I relaxed and nodded off.

So here I am, back in the land of the living.  The staff could not have been nicer.  The other ladies being 'done' were lovely company.  My cuts are quite small (not that I've managed to look at them yet, being a bit squeamish ).  I am bruised and get very sore after eating.  But I'm alive.

God bless the National Health Service.

oh and the blue whale tummy? They pump you full of air and you spend 3 solid days farting Rigoletto and rolling around with agonisingly sore shoulders (referred pain).  Still, tummy is back to the reassuring size of a small European state and the colour of an old banana.

So.  I'm back, but blogging will be a bit hit or miss for a while.  Rest assured I'm reading all your blogs, but might not get back to commenting properly until I feel quite well again.

Lotsaluv

Ali x

PS - no gall stones home with me, nor the bladder that they came in - Elf and Safety rules, man, Elf and Safety.....