So I'd been carrying on with everyday life looking after the kids on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays, doing a mosaic in Knutsford on Wednesdays and a mural in Manchester on Thursdays and planning my new comedy night in my spare time (more details to follow when things are more confirmed, but I'm super excited about it).
There's nothing you can really do to prepare for an operation other than not eat from 2am that morning. The night before I filled up on a big carvery and ice cream, before reading that I should avoid fatty food or over-eating. I was allowed my last drink at 6:30am and had to be in the women's hospital for 7:30am. Dan took me in but wasn't allowed to stay because there would be women "in various states of undress". So Dan had taken the day off work - the kids were in nursery and he was back home with his feet up by 8:15am. Jammy.
They told me I was last on the list and wouldn't be operated on until 2:30pm! But I had to stay within the hospital grounds just in case. I'm a creative, inventive person, but let me tell you there is not a lot of fun to be had within a women's hospital on your own when you're not even allowed to eat or drink. I spent a bit of time wandering around and guessing if women were fat or pregnant but was never brave enough to then ask them. So I mainly stuck to reading which I haven't done for a very long time.
I bought a new book because I knew I would have time for silent, still activities for once. "Undivided - by Vicky Beaching". Vicky is a Christian musician celebrity who once *claim to fame* rode my unicycle. I know right! In 2014 she came out as gay aged 35...probably not as a direct result of riding my unicycle. Anyway, she faced a lifetime of not feeling able to come out, and when she finally did she lost all her recording contracts and everything but despite that has remained positive about the church and now she's an ambassador for LGBT Christians. Very inspiring, very sad, and has probably tipped me over the edge from being borderline to more liberal in my Christian theology.
So as I was pondering these deep issues of religion and sexuality, I was called in to answer some pre-op questions. I thought the deep questioning of my inner self would end there. But no, along with questions like "do you have any crowns on your teeth?" I was asked "do you have difficulties being able to express your sexuality?" ....err....yeah probably, like how do you express being straight? I'm not exactly going to organise a straight pride, am I?
I was given some beautiful green stockings to put on along with a hospital gown and told to go commando but then wear a dressing gown. Given my operation was still a few hours away I chose not to go commando for all of that time.
Then the time came for me to go into another waiting room for 15 minutes before going to the anaesthetic room. Several medical staff said "the waiting is the worst part". I disagree - I'd say puking up green water was probably the worst part. It's pretty creepy knowing that you're about to be unconscious and have several people messing with your bits even if it is for good reasons. I had a loop excision which is where they chop away at your cervix, and keyhole surgery to remove the pelvic lymph nodes which is apparently quite tricky, and takes about 3 hours.
Just before I woke up I was dreaming of Paw Patrol, then I realised I was in the hospital, was thankful to be alive and asked for water which I then immediately puked up. They took me through to the ward as it was nearly the end of visiting hours and Dan had come in and waited to see me. It was nice to have him there but I was too out of it to have a real conversation. I had a catheter in which was totally weird because you don't feel yourself weeing at all it just sucks the wee out of your bladder so the bladder is never full. It was kind of nice to not have to get up and go to the loo but I was happy when they got rid of it and I could pee on my own terms again.
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| I survived! |
I was in Bay 1 with 82-year-old Joyce and 75-year-old Val, later joined by Gill and Lorraine in their 50s. The first night I was awoken several times but slept ok in between because I still had sleepy drugs in me. In the morning I managed some toast and my good friend Katie who works at the Women's came to visit me before her shift which was lovely. After she left I got this really intense horrible pain - way worse than it had been earlier - I was told this was "wind pain", basically when they do the op they inflate you like a balloon so they can see all your bits better and then they can't do a completely thorough job of deflating you, you have to fart and burp it out over the next few days. Joyce loved a good old burp.
The consultant who did the operation came to tell me about how it went (she was the slightly unfriendly one from my previous blog). She told me she accidentally poked a hole in my womb but she said that my womb was very small, in a kind of accusing way like it was my fault, and she just wasn't expecting it to be that small when she was poking around. Anyway she stitched it up and also removed the pelvic lymph nodes which apparently didn't look cancery to the naked eye. I'll find out in a few weeks.
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| good job I don't wear bikinis anymore |
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| my new belly button |
The nurses were not especially friendly - one of them (when I was in a massive amount of pain) told me I was not the only one to have this operation and that there were women in their 80s having it, implying I should woman up. Women are pretty hard core, there were loads of older women having much bigger surgeries than me, like hysterectomies which take 18 weeks to recover from. But they just get on with it. Us Bay 1 babes looked after each other; we shared a few stories of our families. I was the only one who still had living parents, and I think half of them had lost a partner. Joyce's husband had died over 30 years ago aged 51. She was a lovely lady apart from being a bit racist in that weird way old people are. "That nurse was as black as the ace of spades" - what does that even mean?! But I feel I learnt a lot from them, although the only bit I can really remember is that "it costs £400 to cremate a dog". #funfact
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| This is not enough food for an adult right? bloody tories!! this is how much food I'd give to my 1 year old. |
I stayed in a second night because I didn't feel ready to go home and have to walk up stairs and stuff. But on the Saturday morning they made it clear I'd over-stayed my welcome and even though I'd puked up a green coloured water that morning it was time for me to get out. Dan came to get me and that evening I was feeling a lot better. It was lovely to see the boys even if Percy was not that bothered because Dan had just put new batteries in the moving Brio train. I've been enjoying all the food people have generously made for us, we are very blessed to have amazing friends. I've now reached that lovely point where I'm sick enough to not feel guilty about not helping out but not too sick to watch Netflix. It the perfect amount of ill.
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