Stabbed By A Shark
I'm out of hospital. The surgery took place last Tuesday and there weren't any real complications. One minute, I was talking to the anaesthetist, the next I was waking up in the High Dependency Unit (a step down from Intensive Care but a step up from an ordinary ward), plugged into a multitude of tubes and cables - oxygen tubes in my nose; a chest drain (a large-looking tube coming out of my chest); a stomach drain (a smaller tube going up my nose and down my throat into my stomach); an arterial drip for measuring blood pressure; an ordinary drip for hydration; another drip for morphine* (which was patient controlled, giving me another shot of morphine every time I pressed a button); EKG pads aplenty for measuring heartrate; and even a peg on my left ear measuring blood oxygen.
The surgery was 'laparoscopic' (keyhole surgery) and as a result I have four scars varying in size from medium to small down the left-hand side of my chest and back. It looks a little bit like I've been stabbed, or bitten by a shark or something. I decided to compromise, and tell anyone who asks that I'd been stabbed by a shark - that kills two birds with one stone. People keep saying 'girls like scars', although I don't know how true that is. I suppose if people could like tattoos and body piercings, they could like anything! In any case, I'm hoping that within a few months they'll be barely noticeable.
The first night was quite painful. I could hardly move with all the cables and tubes, and if I fell asleep I'd go a few hours without any painkillers, then wake up in mild agony. There wasn't much I could do except press the morphine button as often as I was allowed! The next morning I had some of the tubes removed and a physiotherapist took me for a stagger around the wards.
After that, I recovered pretty quickly. I was moved back to the ordinary ward later on Wednesday, and had my first drink later that day. After finding that easy, I had a cup of tea, and the next morning I had my first semi-solid food in six months - a bowl of Weetabix (the same stuff I tried on my first hospital visit but was unable to swallow). Since then, I've gradually moved onto more and more solid stuff. Tonight I had a sausage casserole, and the other night I even had a slice of pizza! That might not sound amazing to you, but after not eating pizza for six months, I'd almost forgotten what it tasted like.
I left hospital on Friday afternoon and since then I've been relaxing at home. I'm still on a lot of painkillers, including codeine, which is powerful enough to send me a bit loopy and make me need time off work for at least a few more days. I should be back at the start of November. In the meantime, family and friends have been visiting and helping out with food, cleaning, and company, which has been great. I'm going to use the rest of the time off to do some writing (I have two half-written articles lying around, and a bunch of ideas), catch up on a few things I've been meaning to do for ages, and play some poker.
For the past couple of months, it seems all I've written about is my health problems. Despite what you might think, there is far more to me than that. I'm a gambler - sometimes a good one (poker, gin, backgammon), and sometimes a bad one (betting on fighting). I'm an agnostic amateur theologist with Satanic leanings. In my time, I've done some fantastically raunchy things with women (although not recently). I've been on TV, and as a child I modelled for the box of Bassett's Sweet Train. I have an IQ of somewhere between 131 and 178 (depending on which of the many incompatible scales you use) and am a former Mensa member.
Maybe over the coming weeks and months, I'll write about that stuff instead. I look forward to doing that, now that this unpleasant chapter of my life is mostly over.
*Morphine was a big let-down. After reading Johnny Cash's description of Morphine in his autobiography, and hearing that people get addicted to it, I was expecting a heroin-like euphoria. What a crushing disappointment. It just sent me to sleep.
