Well, it is a while since I last posted on here. Due to computer troubles etc, I have been somewhat adrift.
While in hospital for the latest op I did scribble a few notes though.
Early in September the letter came through to notify me of the admission date for surgery. It was an early start to the day. I had to be on the plastic surgery admission ward to 0730am. Fortunately it was not crowded. To be honest though I was nervous. There is that common denominator of having to undress and put on the ubiquitous hospital gown. Deep joy though, the hospital provided gowns that fastened on the side, thus preserving dignity. Small details but they make a world of difference. Seeing the surgeon my trepidation grew. This was not going to be such a simple op as first thought. Many women have a boob job and think little of it. This was more complex. Basically, breast reconstruction. The surgeon had to incise old scar tissue and reopen old wounds. Also, he had to go below the chest muscles. The surgeon explained what it would mean, drainage tubes, more pain, longer healing. He was honest but gentle in his explantions,for which I was grateful. Once I had seen the clinical team, been marked up by felt tipped pen, came the long wait. I tried to read but could not concentrate. Not having had anything to eat or drink since the previous night, as per pre op instructions, my mouth was dry and I craved a cuppa. Finally, not long after 11 am, a theatre nurse came to collect me. I was surprised to be actually walked down to theatre. Odd, walking down hospital corridors and being in a lift naked except for a hospital gown and felt slippers. Led into the prep room, I am instructed to lie down on a trolley. A quick check by the anasthetic team and then another short walk actually in to theatre. Something I have never experienced before. I try and remain calm but suddenly reality bites, this is scary. Lying down on another trolley. People bustling around me. my gown is drawn down to my waist. There is little room for dignity in theatre. Sensors arestuck to my chest and back. There is almost a sense of panic, fear. My breathing is arratic. Overhead an array of surgical lights. I hear more people arriving. Out of my periphial vision I can see people, anonymous, shapless, dressed alike in blue hospital scrubs. A low murmur of voices. The clink of metal on metal makes me cringe. The anethatist looms over me, he wants me to gargle a local anathetic and then swallow it. Yuch, it is foul. I fail to gargle enough and have to endure a second dose, almost gagging on the awful taste. My throat goes so dry, sort of numb. My anxiety goes up a few more notches. Someone takes my hand, raising the vein. They talk soothingly as I automatically flinch when a canular needle is inserted. Then blackness, nothing.
As if from a great depth, I surface slowly, I can hear someone moaning. Dimly I am aware that it is me. Pain, pain, pain, hurting. I can hear myself mumbling, not aware of what I am saying. later I am told I was I was talking about my ice axe, it sems I thought I had had an accident with it???????????????? Blurred figures talking to me, as from a great distance. Slowly I become a little more aware of my suroundings. Someone explains they are administering more morphine to control the pain. Eventually it is decided I am recovered enough to be taken to the ward. I am giving a trigger device that controls my morphine input. it is pre set so that I am only allowed a limited dosage. The night is passed in a foggy nether world. The following morning I am given a blanket bath and allowed to rest. There are the constant two hour checks through the day. Slowly the pain settles down. The surgeon and his team do their rounds and he offers reassurance that the op went well. A couple of days later and I find that the dressings are actually hurting. it appears there was a reaction to the dressings. As they are peeled off, skin is removed too. large blisters have formed, some septic. Antibiotics are prescribed, along with all the other meds I am recieving. An infection in the actual wound causes concern slowly though, it begins to clear up. It was to come back several times over the next few weeks and after my discharge I had to change my own dressing and clean down. Drainage tubes where left in for twelve days and overall I was in hospital for 14 days. stitches where removed after three weeks. Support bras had to be worn 24/7 for three months and at times proved very uncomfortable. Things are still sore, recovery is slow. Regrets though, no, my only regret is that I was ever bulldozed in to ever having breast reduction. On that point I am bitter. All this could have been avoided.
