I was going to say something really impressive – like – “ I have a confession….it has been 3 days since I last straightened my hair & put on a face of make-up”….but you see, I WAS that girl who woke up at 4.45 am so that I could straighten my unruly locks & ensure my eyeliner was in place. Yes, I was told I should expect to be asked to remove said makeup. I also was informed (a fact that was supported by hospital documentation) that I wouldn’t be allowed nail varnish of any kind…so I went for the clear variety.
So the first key thing to say is that as yet neither I nor The Mr have come across a medical professional that can actually write with a legible form of hand writing – the scrawl on forms is almost always barely readable…& you try and make out this notification The Surgeon scribbled all over my back!
I mean seriously – you look at a 6 inch scar & most people would guess that the bad bit was the bit in the middle…not at one end or another….but then The Surgeon said that the Radiologists live in a world of their own “down there”!
The Nuclear medicine arrived in a box with warning signs all over it – reassuringly ???? NOT!
Even the syringes were double wrapped.
The radioactive liquid injected in the designated area & a small wait commences, before I am trapped under a medieval and slightly outdated looking machine whilst The Mr sits contentedly at the other side of the room taking photos and whispering oh sooo quietly that he can see all the way up inside my nose.
For the first 30 minutes or so we watch on screen as the radioactive liquid seems to go everywhere apart from my lymph node regions – but much to my enormous relief a sentinel node was clearly identified.
So The Mr & I head back to the day unit to await my being called for surgery, the anaesthetist has been round & checked that I haven’t eaten anything since last night…but yet we wait….at 11.50 ish we ask the nurse if it would be possible for me to have a sip of water. He rings the theatre – yes that is possible – it will be 2 hours before they are ready for me.
At 1.45 The Surgeon turns up all flustered…apparently some numpty in Oxford stuck his hand inside a macerator & when he shouted “don’t turn it on”, his colleagues misheard….yes I know – you winced….that fool should count himself very lucky – 10 hours of surgery later & his hand is in fine working order!…..not that that has helped me – you see I have been bumped from 1st of the day to last, and worse still The Surgeon has to dash off to another hospital so I am to be operated on by his mentor & his trainee. At least I get a good alternative!
At 4.30 I go down to theatre and promptly consume the pre-general concoction they lovingly refer to as gin and tonic in a syringe…zzzzzzzzzz.
Whilst I am out for the count, the team inject the blue dye, watch it head as anticipated to my right armpit – they find said blue node & remove it before re-excising my back.
I wake, I beg to be let home asap, and The Mr & I get home at 2am and fall straight to sleep…the desire to see the little people’s faces in the morning greater than a night of rest.
Amusingly at first glance I look as though I have been punched in the face – they taped my eyes closed during surgery & clearly whipped off the tape over my left eye a tad too quickly – leaving a bunch of purple blood vessels right at the surface – good look!
The pain is er…painful. NHS hospitals are notorious for not dishing out pain meds – so I count myself lucky they gave me a box of Paracetamol to take home with me. I think they rightly thought that what with a general, local, morphine, Paracetamol & tramadol coursing through my system I wouldn’t be begging for pain relief at the point of leaving hospital, but would be desperately keen on some assistance the next day….how right they were…cue The Mr getting sent to the supermarket to stock up on over the counter alternatives.
So now I focus my energies on healing, the little people have taken on the responsibilities of holding my hand as I climb stairs and pulling up my knickers post tinkle trips – The Mr provides food, drinks & pain meds frequently & so long as I don’t walk into the kitchen I can safely assume (pretend) that the house looks vaguely tidy!
& the scars……here you go – armpit looks like a small neat scar that is about 1.5 inches long & my back scar is a bit longer than it was before.