Going Under
It's really hard to sit and describe a morning that felt like forever but went by in a blink. This is just the beginning of my 5 days in hospital and personal things I experienced like having my independence and privacy ripped away from me. This post takes on a semi-descriptive writing style which outlines the morning of my surgery exploring how I felt and what happened.
The night before
With little sleep from the night before we'd gone to see The Lion King as a way to take my mind off of the fact, I was undergoing major surgery the next day. It helped for the 2 hours we were there but then I was faced with the harsh reality that was a massive life-changing event.
Operation - The hospital
A 6 am start on Wednesday 12th June 2019. A short 10 minute walk to the hospital with a cool breeze running through my hair. It was the last time for the next 5 days that I would be facing the outside weather; a surreal moment that it was the final time I would walk as the person I had been for the last 21 years. We approached the grand entrance that was the London Clinic, greeted by the marble floors and elegant waiting room that stood proud with flowers like hospitals should be, full of life, not misery. We were welcomed by the receptionists, people who would become my parents' friends for the next few days asking after me and whether I was ok and always serving us with the biggest smiles and kindest gestures.
- My room
A short elevator ride led us up to the sixth floor to room 606. A typical hospital bed was centred in the middle of the room in which my surgery clothing was sharply folded and neatly placed. A long gown that tied at the back; a blue and white striped robe that covered the parts which the gown didn't; the weirdest see-through mesh underwear that I had ever seen in my life and two pairs of socks: thermals for my blood circulation and red non-slip grip socks. One wardrobe was placed just behind the door and a vanity with a mirror next to my bed alongside the heavy dated bedside stand. The ensuite was nice, large with warm lighting a bath, toilet and sink with assistant tags boldly hanging in red. I had two windows that overlooked the rest of the hospital and a TV that distracted me for the hours prior. However, the room was still a bit clinical with the monitors and buttons that stood out behind my bed, one which read "reset' and the other "cardiac".
I quickly unpacked to make the room feel a bit more like home but that didn't take long enough. We sat and waited, and waited. People drifted in and out of my room like the tide on a beach there but not for too long. I had numerous checks which were only the beginning. When the anaesthetist came he explained what he was going to do and the anaesthetic he would be using on me. I felt like I was in one of those movies where the character just completely zones out, not because they're bored but because of the brutal truth of what someone was telling them. My surgeon also arrived early that morning. A calm smile filled his face. He talked with such positivity and I knew I'd made the right choice in choosing him.
At 9 am they came in and told me to stop drinking. Two minutes passed and my mouth felt like the Sahara desert. I'd never wanted a drink so much in my life or wanted food for that matter which I hadn't eaten in over 15 hours at that point. Around 30 minutes later a nurse came in to tell me I would be going in at 11 am, 1 hour earlier than expected/ scheduled. My stomach dropped and at that point, I was no longer hungry just sick to the core. The feeling only worsened when I put the surgery clothes on and waited for someone to come. However, we did have a bit of a laugh at the ludicrous knickers they had given me to wear.
Saying goodbye and going down to the basement
Scared and running on little energy it was no wonder I had a complete breakdown when the nurse came through my door for the final time that morning. Being an hour late had sent me slightly crazy and tears flooded from my eyes as I said my emotional goodbyes to my family and walked down the corridor and into the lift. It stopped in the basement saying "level 0". The doors opened to mint green walls where many of those typical surgery doors with the circled windows at the top on either side were situated along the corridor. Hyperventilating and still crying I was given a big pink hot blanket which felt like warm paper that had just come out of the printer. I was guided around into a little room where I quickly sat down to avoid fainting. The room was filled with all kinds of medical things, needles, gas machines too much to try and describe.
Going under
I was shortly greeted by another anaesthetist who was what made the whole process so much easier to take in. He had a kind and warming ora about him and asked a numerous amount of questions to try and distract me for the next 15 minutes. I asked stupid questions back like could I count up instead of down when I went to sleep. It was my way of thinking positively that this wasn't the end but the beginning. The main anaesthetist then came in through the doors I would shortly go through. He put a cannula in my hand, but due to the lack of water, my body had the veins were small and hard to find so they had to squeeze my wrist incredibly hard to stop the blood flow. After a very painful scratch, they told me that the fluid they were going to inject would make me feel like I was drunk. Instantly I became limp like I'd drank a whole bottle of vodka and they held me up whilst they put the epidural in my back which I didn't feel. I don't remember closing my eyes only them lying me down on the bed and then my head softly hitting the pillow, and by that point, I didn't need to count down as I was completely under.
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