It feels like
forever ago that I was wheeled away by my hospital “Uber” driver (his joke) to
have my “nose job”. I was wearing those fabulously fashionable hospital gowns
which really put paid to the question of what to wear to the hospital. (I have
a couple of hints about making hospital a better experience – one is to
remember to bring a bag for all the clothes you wore to the hospital. This
fairly obvious point didn’t occur to me, and my poor mom had to find a way to
carry all my MANY winter layers home – and of course we had walked to the
hospital).
Thankfully, I
got to sleep through the bit where they picked my nose with many (the neurosurgeon mentioned that there are about 30 that they use - he drew helpful little pictures of a couple of them) very specialised
little tools. I woke up without even a bruise. I did wake up with a weird
nose-blood-catching-contraption, strapped around my face, but the hospital gown
ruined any style competitions I was going to win anyway. I also woke up feeling
pretty much normal, groggy, cold, very cold but normal (and then I think I may
have fallen asleep again – I am foggy on the details).
It truly is
amazing what the doctors did and I am ridiculously grateful. Not least of all,
am I grateful for the fact that the neurosurgeon called my mom to tell her I
was awake and well as soon as I woke up from surgery so she didn’t have to
worry a moment longer than necessary. Every doctor I have dealt through this
whole thing has been amazing, given what they do I definitely feel more
sheepish about putting the Dr in front of my name (seeing I just ruined the
lives of way too many innocent fish) but, of course I still will because I
(irrationally) blame the PhD for the whole octopus thing in the first place so
figure I should at least get the title and I don't really like the Ms/Miss thing!
I was in the
high care unit for the first night which meant I had people there all the time just
making sure I was OK, which is pretty crazy if you think about it. I also had
my first bed bath and catheter which is a good way to put the hospital gown
awkwardness into perspective. The staff
at Kingsbury were awesome; friendly and helpful and concerned and you can’t
imagine how much that makes it all a little easier.
There are a
couple of other things I would recommend that also made it a bit more pleasant
- I had stuff from people I love with me once I was back in the ward e.g. a
facecloth from my aunt (I have never really understood face clothes, but it is a very handy thing in hospital), Harry Potter
PJs from my sister, Body Shop soap from a wonderful friend and a brand-new
toothbrush.
All alone in the ward, and this is the sugar packet they give me |
They should really check the sugar packets before handing them out. |
The best thing about the hospital was visiting times (which were at
terrible times, very silly policy) when I had my fabulous mom and many, many
friends come in to say hi, bring snacks, magazines and flowers and, most
importantly, make the days more interesting. I really didn't expect that a side-effect of being in hospital is presents, I felt very spoilt!
I also had a lovely lady sharing
the ward with me for one night, so I managed to make a friend for the
non-visiting hours’ time (there was also a guy singing in one of the other
wards, which kept things festive). My neurosurgeon also came by every day,
twice a day to check on me, so I felt very spoilt and well cared for.
Charley's Bakery cupcakes! So pretty! |
Two things I
would recommend you avoid (I mean, in addition to tumours and having to go to
hospital in the first place) are a drip in the bendy bit of the elbow (it made
bending my elbow ridiculously sore and it’s been two months and you can still
see the point of entry) and weekends in the hospital - the ward was empty towards the weekend though, and the sounds from emergency were a bit disturbing.
It wasn’t all
peachy of course (the food lived up to expectations), but it really is amazing what science, paracetamol (was totally hoping for better drugs) and, most
importantly, a wonderful support network of awesome, lovely, fabulous (I don’t
have the words) friends and family can do. I have struggled to write this
blog, I didn't know what to say and I think people are bored of hearing about the octopus but I
couldn't not say thank you for all the amazing support and love so many people
have showered me with. It made me feel so special and so unworthy - if you can
feel both of those things at once. It would have been a very different
experience without all the support and thank you is too small to express what I
want to say, I hope that if anyone I love needs me I will be even a tiny bit as
awesome as you all have been, and continue to be, to me. I need to invent a
whole new word for how grateful I am to my wonderful mom.
I recently met
someone who said that he also has an octopus in his pituitary gland and,
instead of having surgery, has opted to trust to an alkaline diet to try combat
it. I obviously think everyone needs to make their own choices and I don’t know
his case history, but having the surgery was the best (and only, if I wanted to
keep my eyesight) decision for me. I feel so lucky to have been diagnosed (my
GP is still very humble about that, but all the other doctors I have spoken to
have been impressed) and treated by such caring, considerate and thorough
doctors that I would recommend any of them without hesitation. The pre-hospital worry about it time was horrible and even though it isn't all over, I am glad that bit of it is! Having said that, I would rather no one
I know ever has to deal with an octopus - not least of all because you would
really be undermining my playing that card and I am hoping it still has some
traction even though my life is just about back to normal now!
Pre-op thumbs up |
Ward thumbs up |
Cheese!
High care thumbs up |
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