I was admitted to exactly the same ward as last year. My attitude was different tho. Quite jovial and upbeat. The admitting nurse was nice. Because we were early, he had time to chat and be human with us; always a nice touch.
Then the anaesthetist, who was a little more formal but nice still and lastly the consultant. Who was NOT my consultant but her registrar. Grrrr. I’d met him in clinic and not liked him but no one had pointed out that he would be doing my op. What a choice though. Allow him to operate or not have the operation.
He drew all over me, marking where my nipple would be moved to and making minute measurements. I wasn’t happy with where he wanted to put my nipple. It was gonna be higher than the other one. Hmmm. So much for a consultant listening to their patient. I explained my opinion and he went off to consult via telephone with CP my real consultant. She agreed with him and despite misgivings to the contrary, I bowed to their combined experience.
I had my premed and then, 10 mins later, they came for me. I was on a trolley because of the premed so was wheeled down. When I got into anaesthetics my anaesthetist was already there. He was lovely. He listened to which vein I wanted the canula in and when I explained the premed wasn’t working he gave me some more through the canula. Getting drowsy, drowsy, drowsy.
My boob hurts! More morphine. Back to sleep. I wake up on the ward with R sitting next to me, despite my having told him there was no point coming in because I’d be too out of things to spend time with him. THIS year I make a concerted effort to stay awake for him (last year I slept through his visit). It's hard talking with an oxygen mask on and eventually I get fed up and take it off. I manage to stay awake for a while but eventually begin to drift off. R leaves. I wake intermittently in the night. The woman opposite me has diarrhoea on the commode in our room. Yuk! I note that my boob isn’t as sore as it could be. Goodo. At some point in the night I try to get up to go to the loo and vomit with the effort. I give in and go on the commode.
Next day is good. I make sure I conspicuously get up and about appearing lively to encourage the staff to feel I’m OK to go home. Overall I DO feel very good. I’m in a lot less pain than I expected. Breakfast stays down. I read the paper a bit. The nice red headed nurse takes my drain out which is weird. Not painful but a peculiar feeling curiously near the inside of my nipple. It can’t have been that far in, surely?
And home. Well, well, well. What a lot of fuss; or not really. Done and dusted. I’m a seasoned patient, me. Even if my nipple is twinging.
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