Friday, 17 June 2016

99 red balloons...

It's a very early start for me this morning. Having starved myself for 12 hours, bathed in some weird soap guaranteed to kill anything with a pulse and donned a pair of loose trousers (which will be even looser by the end of the day due to starvation rules) I will be ready for the small 'procedure' on my stupid 'old lady ankle'. 

It's only a cortisone injection, but I am such a pansy where pain is concerned that I requested full unconsciousness for the three minutes it will take.  This is all my consultant's fault.  When I asked him whether it would hurt, he shrugged his shoulders, and simply said, 'Yes, of course'.  Well that was it for me - at the age of 52, I see no reason to subject myself to any pain if there is the choice not to...

I am going back to the same ward which was the scene of an extremely embarrassing incident a couple of years ago - on my 50th birthday to be precise.  My consultant wanted to have a bit of a poke around in my knee, and when the date for the op came through, the husband thought it was hilarious that my milestone birthday would be spent in bed.  It wasn't a big deal for yours truly, as we had partied hard the week before, and to be honest, a day in bed was quite an attractive proposition.

When I had first got onto the ward, the nurse asked me if I'd like something to reduce any nausea.  Well, that seemed like a fine idea, so I had popped the pills quite happily. I had some trashy magazines, and a book, so kicked the husband off the ward, and settled down to wait.

Well I waited, and I waited....Everyone went down for their ops, one by one, and all I could do was watch the air slowly seep from the birthday balloon which the husband had thoughtfully tied (in a double knot) at the end of my bed.  At one point late in the morning, I had wondered whether I had disappeared from view behind the balloon, but a press on the emergency button confirmed that they still knew I was there.  The nurse was quite short with me actually, so I lied, and said that I must have rolled on the button by mistake...not sure she was convinced...

Eventually, I was last man standing (last woman laying down really).  Emergency Button Nurse appeared from behind the deflating balloon, and informed me that it was my turn to go down.  As she wheeled me into the anaesthetist's room, I suddenly felt quite odd.  Putting her ice cold hand on my forehead, Emergency Button Nurse asked me, in a very condescending fashion actually, whether I was frightened.

'No, not frightened, I replied, 'I just feel a little light headed'.  I must have said this very quietly, because she leaned closer and asked me to repeat what I had just said. 

It was at that very point that the anti-nausea drugs reached their sell by date, and I threw up all over her.  I'm not too sure who was more surprised if I'm honest.  Me for throwing up when I hadn't eaten for thirteen hours, or her, who was looking forward to heading home after a particularly difficult shift (especially with that woman in bed number 3 who kept pressing the emergency button).

Fingers crossed that she's not on duty today.....
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