[Again, posted retrospectively, as I was in absolutely no fit condition to post on the day]
OMFG! That has to be one of the worst 24-hours in my life.
This update has the potential to be very long, so grab a cuppa and make yourself comfortable...
...are we sitting comfortably, then we'll begin.
Yesterday was the day of my Total Thyroidectomy. We arrived at the hospital at a sprightly 8am, and reported to the Admissions Office. I'd been fasting from 10pm the night before, and hubby and mum had been great in the morning, skipping breakfast out of sympathy and trying to drink their tea/coffee as discreetly as they could (bless!). As we drove past the petrol station with the *best* coffee machine in the whole wide world, hubby very cleverly distracted me with some inane conversation, and continued on the journey to hospital.
The ladies in Admissions gave me my file and sent me up to my ward, where I was greeted by the sister...and instructed to loiter near the nurses station and await further instructions.
First was a quick interview with my surgeon's registrar, he drew blood for testing, and filled out some forms.
Then sister came and asked me the same questions, and quite possibly filled out identical forms.
There was no bed presently available...and so we were given the ward sister's office as our temporary HQ...that's when it all started feeling a little surreal. However I was assured my op would be done shortly, and there would be a bed available when I came back up from the Recovery Room.
The next interview was with my anaesthetist...and I have to say she was absolutely lovely! She answered all my stupid questions with confidence and more than a little humour and humility. For me the biggest fear has NEVER been the operation itself, I have been looking forward to getting that gland removed...my biggest fear has ALWAYS been the general anaesthetic....I guess I've watched too many hospital dramas and hospital horror films....and when I asked her if I would wake up, she beamed and said " yes of course, I guarantee it 100%". She must have been a little confused by my look of complete horror, and then understanding dawned on her, when in my small (now shaky) voice I continued "...during the operation"....she laughed, held my hand, and again said "I absolutely 100% guarantee that you will not wake until I allow it"
I was brutally honest about my smoking, and the fact that I had tried and totally failed to give up prior to the operation...but she said that whilst it did make things a little more difficult for her, it certainly didn't make it impossible and wasn't really that much of an issue. She constantly reassured me that she didn't foresee any complications at all. She filled a few more forms out, and then told me she'd see me in the theatre.
Sister bustled back in to the office and informed me that I'd go down to the theatre within the next hour and a half, but first I had to go and get an ECG....this would help the anaesthetics team get a good picture of my heart, immediately prior to the op. So off we trotted, and got hopelessly lost...I'd always gone up to the ECG rooms from the Outpatient's Dept in the past, and approaching it from a different direction threw me completely and I lost my bearings.
ECG done, and all looking good (or so I was told anyway) we trotted back up to the ward.
I was dying for a pee at this point, and hunted around the ward for a loo....aaaaaah!
Then literally, 2 mins after I'd visited the loo, Sister came in and asked me for a sample....but I've only just been!?
Sister said I'd be going down to theatre in an hour, but I had one more little mission to attend to...I had to go to the X-Ray Dept this time, and get a Chest X-Ray (an extra job because I was a smoker I guess). Sister suggested we go for a walk, and see if I could work up a pee sample that way. The chest x-ray was totally clear, which is always nice to hear when you're a smoker. And so we went for a bimble around the hospital. Mum and hubby by this time were flaking from not eating breakfast, so I conceded to let them go to the coffee shop, where they could scoff muffins and cappuccinos...whilst I nipped out to the smoking area (bad girl!). We were sitting around whilst they finished their coffee & cake, and thinking just *how* surreal this all was. Here I was, sitting in the coffee shop, fully dressed...and meant to be being wheeled in for a major operation in less than an hour...?
One more smoke, and then we headed back up to the ward. Sister asked if I'd managed to pee yet...but no such luck. She said I had half an hour to produce, or they'd bump me down the theatre list...talk about putting someone under pressure, and considering I'd been fasting completely (no food or drink) for the last 12+ hours, where was this pee meant to manifest from?
She told me that the pee sample was compulsory to test for pregnancy, and that without it they wouldn't go ahead.
I have an abiding memory of sitting in one of the loos, tears of frustration pouring down my face, pleading with my kidneys to do something, anything, anything at all...because otherwise all this would be for nothing, and if my bladder held out much longer I'd be sent home and bumped to the next day. I should add that Sister did apologise unreservedly for not giving me the sample pot as soon as I appeared on the ward that morning, as is her normal pre-op routine, but we caught her on the hop and she totally forgot...but that didn't change facts...if I didn't pee, I didn't get my trip to theatre.
Then joy of joys....the tiniest of dribbles....but Sister had assured me that even the smallest sample would be sufficient, I just had to hope this tiny dribble wasn't too small, as the thought of going through all the trauma of trying to pee again was too much!
Phew - she rewarded my efforts by giving me a sexy, back-less theatre gown to wear, along with some sex-kitten disposable knickers and a pair surgical stockings to die for (I've brought the stockings home with me - my hubby is a very lucky man!)
And then, dressed for a killer night on the town, we sat in a holding room...where Sister, tongue-in-cheek, asked my Mum if she had provided the sample for me, out of desperation. We all laughed and that helped break the tension that was now building inside me.
Sister explained that I had been moved down the list, but only by one place, and only because of the delay in providing my pee...but that the lady who had moved up in front of me was only having a small procedure done, and would be very quick. And so we waited.
But all too quickly it was time to go. I had hoped for a trolley or something, but no, Sister insisted I could walk just fine...and so, in my best theatre outfit, with my arse hanging out the back, we all trooped down to the theatres...hubby walking shotgun, and mum walking as close behind me as she could, without looking like a complete weirdo ha ha!
The would only let one relative into the Pre-Op Staging Area, and so mum came in with me...and finally I was given a bed/trolley to sit on, with a big fluffy duvet. A troop of various medical staff came along, with various (curiously identical) forms to be completed. A nice young man came u and introduced himself as my anaesthetist, and I think I confused the hell out of him when I told him that he wasn't the lady I met earlier...then he laughed and said she was his partner, and they worked in pairs.
My surgeon also paid us a quick visit. I almost didn't recognise him in his scrubs, I had only ever seen him previously in his suit etc. He talked through the procedure again, and reminded me of the potential problems, and also of the low statistical probabilities etc, etc, and then said if I was good-to-go he'd see me in there shortly.
We were given magazines to read, a stack of OK, and Hello, and I was dismayed to see the young lad in the bed next to me was given a copy of the latest Irish Vintage Scene...which he clearly didn't want to read. So when the nurse had disappeared I suggested a swap. Strangely he didn't want to read OK or Hello, but he did pass IVS over to me, so I could lose myself in lovely Vintage Cars whilst I waited for my call to theatre.
And soon enough, I was collected up and wheeled off down the corridor into the theatre itself. I had to shuffle myself over from the trolley and onto the operating table myself, which was more than a little surreal and most undignified, trying to hide my butt from all and sundry as I wriggled across...and when everyone trooped into introduce themselves I did ask them if they had forgotten something. They looked at me blankly, and so I asked them whether I was...erm...meant to be asleep right now...just in case they needed the fact that I was still wide awake and fully conscious made aware to them. Then my lovely lady anaesthetist walked in and said, "no, that's what I'm here for".
She gently laid my left arm on a sticky-outy panel (I just *know* that's the technical term for it!) and carefully put the cannula in. Various members of staff talked some inane chatter to me, and the last thing I remember is one of the theatre nurses holding my right hand and asking me how I coped walking 6 dogs....I remember feeling a bit frustrated because the words I wanted to use to answer her wouldn't come out...and then nothing...
...until those evil, nasty people in the Recovery Room started up with their Prisoner Of War Torture Techniques....you know the bright lights, the sleep deprivation, and shouting, lots of shouting...everything was so bright, and they all seemed so loud....but they got extra excited and extra loud every time I tried to close my eyes against the bright lights. I'm fairly sure I was rude to them, and more than once, as 'sod off' didn't seem to be working, so I had to reach into my head for much stronger ways of expressing myself. And all the inane questions they kept asking, over and over again....do you know who you are, do know what day it is, do you know where you are, do you know why you're here, will you open your eyes, keep them open, no you can't sleep, we won't let you, yada yada yada.....just leave me alone, I'm very tired and I want to sleep!
OMFG! That has to be one of the worst 24-hours in my life.
This update has the potential to be very long, so grab a cuppa and make yourself comfortable...
...are we sitting comfortably, then we'll begin.
Yesterday was the day of my Total Thyroidectomy. We arrived at the hospital at a sprightly 8am, and reported to the Admissions Office. I'd been fasting from 10pm the night before, and hubby and mum had been great in the morning, skipping breakfast out of sympathy and trying to drink their tea/coffee as discreetly as they could (bless!). As we drove past the petrol station with the *best* coffee machine in the whole wide world, hubby very cleverly distracted me with some inane conversation, and continued on the journey to hospital.
The ladies in Admissions gave me my file and sent me up to my ward, where I was greeted by the sister...and instructed to loiter near the nurses station and await further instructions.
First was a quick interview with my surgeon's registrar, he drew blood for testing, and filled out some forms.
Then sister came and asked me the same questions, and quite possibly filled out identical forms.
There was no bed presently available...and so we were given the ward sister's office as our temporary HQ...that's when it all started feeling a little surreal. However I was assured my op would be done shortly, and there would be a bed available when I came back up from the Recovery Room.
The next interview was with my anaesthetist...and I have to say she was absolutely lovely! She answered all my stupid questions with confidence and more than a little humour and humility. For me the biggest fear has NEVER been the operation itself, I have been looking forward to getting that gland removed...my biggest fear has ALWAYS been the general anaesthetic....I guess I've watched too many hospital dramas and hospital horror films....and when I asked her if I would wake up, she beamed and said " yes of course, I guarantee it 100%". She must have been a little confused by my look of complete horror, and then understanding dawned on her, when in my small (now shaky) voice I continued "...during the operation"....she laughed, held my hand, and again said "I absolutely 100% guarantee that you will not wake until I allow it"
I was brutally honest about my smoking, and the fact that I had tried and totally failed to give up prior to the operation...but she said that whilst it did make things a little more difficult for her, it certainly didn't make it impossible and wasn't really that much of an issue. She constantly reassured me that she didn't foresee any complications at all. She filled a few more forms out, and then told me she'd see me in the theatre.
Sister bustled back in to the office and informed me that I'd go down to the theatre within the next hour and a half, but first I had to go and get an ECG....this would help the anaesthetics team get a good picture of my heart, immediately prior to the op. So off we trotted, and got hopelessly lost...I'd always gone up to the ECG rooms from the Outpatient's Dept in the past, and approaching it from a different direction threw me completely and I lost my bearings.
ECG done, and all looking good (or so I was told anyway) we trotted back up to the ward.
I was dying for a pee at this point, and hunted around the ward for a loo....aaaaaah!
Then literally, 2 mins after I'd visited the loo, Sister came in and asked me for a sample....but I've only just been!?
Sister said I'd be going down to theatre in an hour, but I had one more little mission to attend to...I had to go to the X-Ray Dept this time, and get a Chest X-Ray (an extra job because I was a smoker I guess). Sister suggested we go for a walk, and see if I could work up a pee sample that way. The chest x-ray was totally clear, which is always nice to hear when you're a smoker. And so we went for a bimble around the hospital. Mum and hubby by this time were flaking from not eating breakfast, so I conceded to let them go to the coffee shop, where they could scoff muffins and cappuccinos...whilst I nipped out to the smoking area (bad girl!). We were sitting around whilst they finished their coffee & cake, and thinking just *how* surreal this all was. Here I was, sitting in the coffee shop, fully dressed...and meant to be being wheeled in for a major operation in less than an hour...?
One more smoke, and then we headed back up to the ward. Sister asked if I'd managed to pee yet...but no such luck. She said I had half an hour to produce, or they'd bump me down the theatre list...talk about putting someone under pressure, and considering I'd been fasting completely (no food or drink) for the last 12+ hours, where was this pee meant to manifest from?
She told me that the pee sample was compulsory to test for pregnancy, and that without it they wouldn't go ahead.
I have an abiding memory of sitting in one of the loos, tears of frustration pouring down my face, pleading with my kidneys to do something, anything, anything at all...because otherwise all this would be for nothing, and if my bladder held out much longer I'd be sent home and bumped to the next day. I should add that Sister did apologise unreservedly for not giving me the sample pot as soon as I appeared on the ward that morning, as is her normal pre-op routine, but we caught her on the hop and she totally forgot...but that didn't change facts...if I didn't pee, I didn't get my trip to theatre.
Then joy of joys....the tiniest of dribbles....but Sister had assured me that even the smallest sample would be sufficient, I just had to hope this tiny dribble wasn't too small, as the thought of going through all the trauma of trying to pee again was too much!
Phew - she rewarded my efforts by giving me a sexy, back-less theatre gown to wear, along with some sex-kitten disposable knickers and a pair surgical stockings to die for (I've brought the stockings home with me - my hubby is a very lucky man!)
And then, dressed for a killer night on the town, we sat in a holding room...where Sister, tongue-in-cheek, asked my Mum if she had provided the sample for me, out of desperation. We all laughed and that helped break the tension that was now building inside me.
Sister explained that I had been moved down the list, but only by one place, and only because of the delay in providing my pee...but that the lady who had moved up in front of me was only having a small procedure done, and would be very quick. And so we waited.
But all too quickly it was time to go. I had hoped for a trolley or something, but no, Sister insisted I could walk just fine...and so, in my best theatre outfit, with my arse hanging out the back, we all trooped down to the theatres...hubby walking shotgun, and mum walking as close behind me as she could, without looking like a complete weirdo ha ha!
The would only let one relative into the Pre-Op Staging Area, and so mum came in with me...and finally I was given a bed/trolley to sit on, with a big fluffy duvet. A troop of various medical staff came along, with various (curiously identical) forms to be completed. A nice young man came u and introduced himself as my anaesthetist, and I think I confused the hell out of him when I told him that he wasn't the lady I met earlier...then he laughed and said she was his partner, and they worked in pairs.
My surgeon also paid us a quick visit. I almost didn't recognise him in his scrubs, I had only ever seen him previously in his suit etc. He talked through the procedure again, and reminded me of the potential problems, and also of the low statistical probabilities etc, etc, and then said if I was good-to-go he'd see me in there shortly.
We were given magazines to read, a stack of OK, and Hello, and I was dismayed to see the young lad in the bed next to me was given a copy of the latest Irish Vintage Scene...which he clearly didn't want to read. So when the nurse had disappeared I suggested a swap. Strangely he didn't want to read OK or Hello, but he did pass IVS over to me, so I could lose myself in lovely Vintage Cars whilst I waited for my call to theatre.
And soon enough, I was collected up and wheeled off down the corridor into the theatre itself. I had to shuffle myself over from the trolley and onto the operating table myself, which was more than a little surreal and most undignified, trying to hide my butt from all and sundry as I wriggled across...and when everyone trooped into introduce themselves I did ask them if they had forgotten something. They looked at me blankly, and so I asked them whether I was...erm...meant to be asleep right now...just in case they needed the fact that I was still wide awake and fully conscious made aware to them. Then my lovely lady anaesthetist walked in and said, "no, that's what I'm here for".
She gently laid my left arm on a sticky-outy panel (I just *know* that's the technical term for it!) and carefully put the cannula in. Various members of staff talked some inane chatter to me, and the last thing I remember is one of the theatre nurses holding my right hand and asking me how I coped walking 6 dogs....I remember feeling a bit frustrated because the words I wanted to use to answer her wouldn't come out...and then nothing...
...until those evil, nasty people in the Recovery Room started up with their Prisoner Of War Torture Techniques....you know the bright lights, the sleep deprivation, and shouting, lots of shouting...everything was so bright, and they all seemed so loud....but they got extra excited and extra loud every time I tried to close my eyes against the bright lights. I'm fairly sure I was rude to them, and more than once, as 'sod off' didn't seem to be working, so I had to reach into my head for much stronger ways of expressing myself. And all the inane questions they kept asking, over and over again....do you know who you are, do know what day it is, do you know where you are, do you know why you're here, will you open your eyes, keep them open, no you can't sleep, we won't let you, yada yada yada.....just leave me alone, I'm very tired and I want to sleep!
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