17 May 2011

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.


Ali x

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


  1. That brought back a few memories, I remember trying to do a runner before I got into theatre, too.
    You are so funny, you never fait to make me laugh out loud. Wishing you a speedy recovery and a lifetime of brilliantly good health. xxx

  2. OMG..that sounded similar to when I had darling dtr...an unplanned-until-a-few-days-before c-section (cant spell Caesarean ;) ) It's the fight or flight...you cant fight so you're sure as hell going to try and run!

    (Mind you...I did call the lovely anaesthesiologist from Paisley a complete bastard when he had to do the epidural twice.)

    You will be fine soon me dear...although you may not be able to look at a Jackie Collins book in the same way.

    Sending you some amazingly powerful get-well-soon-vibes from me to thee. Be gentle with yourself

    Mwah! S xx

  3. Oh dear, I've just startled the cat by laughing so hard at the "farting Rigoletto" comment that I woke him up.

    Glad it's all over and done with now. Have you got some more interesting books to keep you going whilst you recover?

  4. Ali you have cracked me up again! I am so glad it all went well and you are back. Get well soon honey.

    (I think you are very brave, I would have definitely made a break for freedom, I wonder how many people do runners from surgery?)

  5. geez, perhaps someone comes to my house in the night and pumps me full of air too... it would be the only thing to explain my gigantic tum AND the gas.

    glad to hear you're back and stone-free!

  6. Farting Rigoletto! That sounds almost worth it. Wonder if they'd take orders for Nessum Dorma. x

  7. Ali -

    Happy to hear that all went well. Bad luck on not getting to keep the single room! I do not like shared rooms, much less an open ward! I know - picky! ;-)

    Wishing you well!


  8. So nice to have you back, and almost in one piece. I think everyone is a bit scared (even if they admit it or not) about going under the knife. I used to work for the NHS many years ago, and I could tell you lots of interesting things that happened to patients under anaesthetic. But maybe I'd better not elucidate, you might get a little paranoid. Or more paranoid. Who knows?

    Loved the "farting Rigoletto". Just be grateful it wasn't the "Pirates of Penzance".

    Hope you feel well enough soon to post some more, because I miss them, they're the highlight of my day.

    Keep well.

  9. Oh Ali, that was hilarious!

    I'm so glad you're alright. Please send someone to the pharmacy for a large box of Nurofen Plus (with Codeine). I swear by them. After a few of those you could chop your own leg off and not feel a thing. Please get some I promise they work.

    Love you xx

  10. Hi Ali,

    Glad all's well that ends well, and sending you good vibrations :-)


  11. So glad you're back and haven't lost the ability to tell a good story, even if you are feeling a little fragile. The Easter blog was posted and was hilarious. It may have disappeared later in the day, as many other posts did but I promise you it was there and I, at least, did read it.
    Take of yourself.
    Lesley x

  12. Good to have you back making us laugh :D
    Mind you, I have to wonder at your sanity taking Jackie Collins when you had so many unteresting book suggestions :/

  13. I am so, so glad you are ok! How is it that even in horrendous amounts of discomfort, you are still funny my Ali?

  14. Well it's good to have you back, my advice on the pain killers is get off them asap - constipation and stitches - not good (probably just psychological though). Take it easy x

  15. Your way of putting things made me feel the fear! Tonsils out at aged 22. Horrendous. Still I'm a (very professional) health care professional now and wouldn't be scared. No, not at all. Not in the slightest. Oh no, not me.

  16. So glad to have you back safe and sound, you are very brave, I can identify with your last minute plan to jump off the gurney and make a run for it. Thank you for being your usual very funny, generous self, sharing this ordeal with us in such an amusing way. best wishes for a speedy recovery, take it easy, don't Overdo It or go Galloping About (copyright Grandma Whacker 1970s onwards) xxx

  17. Wonderful to have you back - hope you are not having to lift a finger, well apart from using the mouse! Glad they didn't take your sense of humour - Get Totally Better Soon xx

  18. Glad to hear it eventually went well, the waiting around is awful, isn't it? Surely they know your own thoughts are torturing you like mad every minute you have to wait!

    I think yr v. brave :) xxx


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