Wednesday, May 25, 2005
And so I had my operation.
What a palarva. And what relief I felt as my head hit the pillow last night.
I'd nearly bolted I can tell you.
I arrived at the hospital to find they'd lost my notes, a bit of a blow to the confidence.
Then I met with the plastic surgeon, who told me how it wasn't possible to remove all the xanthelasma, just the biggest lumps, because it might risk changing the shape of my eyes, that I'd have two massive black eyes, detailed all the risks of infection and then asked me if I'd like to be asleep or awake, but if awake, blood would run down my eyeballs... thought I was going to be sick then and there.
As they'd lost my notes she said I had time to think about it further. I ran outside for air.
Upon my return, they kind of swiftly took me in the system. I was ushered into a cubical, changed into regulation hospital gown and foam slippers, all my clothes and belongings locked away, and I didn't even have the key.
So then began the long wait, with a few other tired and starving people, and their loved ones.
In the corner of the room, up high, was a badly focused TV, showing some gory hospital show. I thought 'how can they show this?' then the man next to me said, 'hey that's my wife' and suddenly the room became aware that this was a live broadcast from this very hospital, which was funny and scary, 'cos we all agreed that none of us wanted to be on telly in this particular outfit and situation.
At one point the fire alarm went of and the tv crew, dressed in blue hospital outfits were ushered into our waiting room, and made such a fuss about being off air for six minutes, and shouted loudly into their walky talkies and generally strutted about oblivious to the few of us assembled nervous, semi-naked types who were trying to ignore them and their programme.
We were all I guess, contemplating more life and death matters.
Fortunately the alarm stopped, the film crew were able to leave, and the anesthetist arrived to offer me a pre-med, and eventually, it was my turn.
And people were shoving needles into me, complaining I'd made my viens dissapear, asking me questions that got steadily more difficult to answer...
And the next moment I began to wake, acutely uncomfortable, feeling sick, throbbing headache. I was immediately offered medication, and the wheeled back down to the day patients place. Pretty quickly I was unplugged from my drip and off the trolly. I still had perfect vision. I had no idea what my eyes looked like, but was kind of past caring, just happy to have come through it.
T's dad arrived quickly and signed me out. It was wonderful to be home.
This morning, my eyes are not as bruised as they said, and its impossible to tell how they lokk really. T's dad's just gone to work, and I'm feeling sick for some reason.
What a palarva. And what relief I felt as my head hit the pillow last night.
I'd nearly bolted I can tell you.
I arrived at the hospital to find they'd lost my notes, a bit of a blow to the confidence.
Then I met with the plastic surgeon, who told me how it wasn't possible to remove all the xanthelasma, just the biggest lumps, because it might risk changing the shape of my eyes, that I'd have two massive black eyes, detailed all the risks of infection and then asked me if I'd like to be asleep or awake, but if awake, blood would run down my eyeballs... thought I was going to be sick then and there.
As they'd lost my notes she said I had time to think about it further. I ran outside for air.
Upon my return, they kind of swiftly took me in the system. I was ushered into a cubical, changed into regulation hospital gown and foam slippers, all my clothes and belongings locked away, and I didn't even have the key.
So then began the long wait, with a few other tired and starving people, and their loved ones.
In the corner of the room, up high, was a badly focused TV, showing some gory hospital show. I thought 'how can they show this?' then the man next to me said, 'hey that's my wife' and suddenly the room became aware that this was a live broadcast from this very hospital, which was funny and scary, 'cos we all agreed that none of us wanted to be on telly in this particular outfit and situation.
At one point the fire alarm went of and the tv crew, dressed in blue hospital outfits were ushered into our waiting room, and made such a fuss about being off air for six minutes, and shouted loudly into their walky talkies and generally strutted about oblivious to the few of us assembled nervous, semi-naked types who were trying to ignore them and their programme.
We were all I guess, contemplating more life and death matters.
Fortunately the alarm stopped, the film crew were able to leave, and the anesthetist arrived to offer me a pre-med, and eventually, it was my turn.
And people were shoving needles into me, complaining I'd made my viens dissapear, asking me questions that got steadily more difficult to answer...
And the next moment I began to wake, acutely uncomfortable, feeling sick, throbbing headache. I was immediately offered medication, and the wheeled back down to the day patients place. Pretty quickly I was unplugged from my drip and off the trolly. I still had perfect vision. I had no idea what my eyes looked like, but was kind of past caring, just happy to have come through it.
T's dad arrived quickly and signed me out. It was wonderful to be home.
This morning, my eyes are not as bruised as they said, and its impossible to tell how they lokk really. T's dad's just gone to work, and I'm feeling sick for some reason.
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