Onwards into O.R.
The sun is shining and after a long soak in the bath (it'll be a while before I can do that again), it's a short early morning train ride to Goring-by-Sea with my rucksack containing... a dressing gown, slippers, iPod & headphones, and a book. Admissions at Goring Hall hospital is rather like checking-in at a holiday hotel. You wait in a group in reception for some hostess type lady to come and show you to your room and tell you about the facilities and fire exits. Pleasantries out the way, you're left on your own to explore until the nurse ("Hi I'm Cathy, I'll be looking after you today") arrives to remind you why you're here.
How your day will pan out is explained to you in great detail, and you feel a bit like it's the first day of term at a new school with the teacher explaining everything very, very carefully so as to not have to repeat anything, but half expecting dumb questions all the same. Then the consultant arrives to do his bit of the induction. As he's describing the operation, he draws on you with a felt pen with arrows and dotted lines going this way and that, at which point you feel more like a procedure than a person. I'm sure that's just the nerves as he's doing his best to be informative and friendly, and while he points out the many risks involved he does add that he'll be very disappointed if it's not a success (...not half as disappointed as me!).
Next up it's "Simon, I'll be your anaesthetist" who despite looking like the sort of guy who got an honours degree in every subject he took, actually turns out to have something in common with me. I had to explain that I have a severe allergy to GTN, severe as in it would have killed me had I not been in hospital, and that particular episode in my life started with a case of H.A.C.E. in Breckenridge, Colorado around Christmas 1999. Simon knows Breckenridge well and so we reminisce for a while before a shake of the hand sees me left alone for a few more minutes until the nurse returns to take a Bg reading. She's thrilled I'm showing a healthy 6.7 mmO/L, which earns me 2nd place on the surgeons list that day. All that's left for me to do is wait until the nurse arrives to take me to theatre, and I'm given the dignity of not having to change into the 'gown-with-the-gaping-hole-at-the-back' until the last minute.
Around 10am my escort arrives, reconfirms my name and date of birth before we take the walk to pre-op. A brillant white room full of stainless steel things and machines that go PING! Here there's Simon plus a new face who'll be looking after me while I'm in the O.R. Talk returns to the attractions of Breckenridge - genuine interest or professional distraction technique? I don't know as it seems mere moments before the "sharp scratch coming up" and I'm canulated. The Whale's Tail Shrimp Shack is the rather appropriate topic as I'm injected with something to stop the anaesthetic from making me sick, injected with such force I thought my veins would pop! A few seconds later they roll out the good stuff and I'm warned I may experience a funny taste in the mouth while I start to feel drowsy. Drowsy? Nope I'm fine and I carry on the conversation through the oxygen mask. How long before this stuff starts to wo....
The sun is shining and after a long soak in the bath (it'll be a while before I can do that again), it's a short early morning train ride to Goring-by-Sea with my rucksack containing... a dressing gown, slippers, iPod & headphones, and a book. Admissions at Goring Hall hospital is rather like checking-in at a holiday hotel. You wait in a group in reception for some hostess type lady to come and show you to your room and tell you about the facilities and fire exits. Pleasantries out the way, you're left on your own to explore until the nurse ("Hi I'm Cathy, I'll be looking after you today") arrives to remind you why you're here.
How your day will pan out is explained to you in great detail, and you feel a bit like it's the first day of term at a new school with the teacher explaining everything very, very carefully so as to not have to repeat anything, but half expecting dumb questions all the same. Then the consultant arrives to do his bit of the induction. As he's describing the operation, he draws on you with a felt pen with arrows and dotted lines going this way and that, at which point you feel more like a procedure than a person. I'm sure that's just the nerves as he's doing his best to be informative and friendly, and while he points out the many risks involved he does add that he'll be very disappointed if it's not a success (...not half as disappointed as me!).
Next up it's "Simon, I'll be your anaesthetist" who despite looking like the sort of guy who got an honours degree in every subject he took, actually turns out to have something in common with me. I had to explain that I have a severe allergy to GTN, severe as in it would have killed me had I not been in hospital, and that particular episode in my life started with a case of H.A.C.E. in Breckenridge, Colorado around Christmas 1999. Simon knows Breckenridge well and so we reminisce for a while before a shake of the hand sees me left alone for a few more minutes until the nurse returns to take a Bg reading. She's thrilled I'm showing a healthy 6.7 mmO/L, which earns me 2nd place on the surgeons list that day. All that's left for me to do is wait until the nurse arrives to take me to theatre, and I'm given the dignity of not having to change into the 'gown-with-the-gaping-hole-at-the-back' until the last minute.
Around 10am my escort arrives, reconfirms my name and date of birth before we take the walk to pre-op. A brillant white room full of stainless steel things and machines that go PING! Here there's Simon plus a new face who'll be looking after me while I'm in the O.R. Talk returns to the attractions of Breckenridge - genuine interest or professional distraction technique? I don't know as it seems mere moments before the "sharp scratch coming up" and I'm canulated. The Whale's Tail Shrimp Shack is the rather appropriate topic as I'm injected with something to stop the anaesthetic from making me sick, injected with such force I thought my veins would pop! A few seconds later they roll out the good stuff and I'm warned I may experience a funny taste in the mouth while I start to feel drowsy. Drowsy? Nope I'm fine and I carry on the conversation through the oxygen mask. How long before this stuff starts to wo....
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