If
you're reading this before your operation...know that you are facing
going through something that you probably haven't got much choice
over. You want to be well. You're trusting your surgeon
and your caregivers. Surround yourself with positive stories
and people. You may well encounter folk like the one I'm describing
below, because people are bloomin thoughtless. They just are.
Shut your ears, and know that you'll be OK. I was, and still
am,
amazed at
how far surgical technique has advanced since my days as a nurse, and
how easy and honest to Goddess painless my post-op period was.
*
"Ooh dear...You
are not going to be able to do anything after this op, for a long
time. We looked after my mother's friend after and it was awful, she
was in complete agony."
O
well cheers for that. Inexplicably (for I have been stoic
before) I feel a sliding earthquake-like shifting of my centre, a
sense of panic. I'm standing in the clinic at work, where I
have waited for the last mum and baby to leave before explaining that
I'm going to be away for a while.
"Uh,
well, I might be able to get keyhole, so that would be better..."
Too
late I remember this person's keyhole surgery stories come in a
selection which she flicks through like a Roladex at any given time
and recites word perfectly every time keyhole surgery comes up. I
swear I heard that thing whirring and she stopped it on the card
marked 'the worst things you can think of', none of which were a
surprise to me as I am, after all, a trained nurse. But then
she hit on the jackpot. The horror story that fit straight into
my worst horror; one that I share with so many people, despite the
rarity of it's actual occurrence... waking up mid-operation.
I
simply got up and walked out of the room, into the other room with
the coffee machine and all the health visitors. They looked at
me, puzzled, whilst I fiddled with the machine and ended up drinking
water out of one of the coffee cups whilst reading a list on the
wall.
It
took me a while before I realised that I actually know the horror
stories pertaining to this cancer and the operation I'm facing,
because I lived them once. It was a long while ago and I was a young
woman, pregnant with my fourth baby and full of hope and sadness. My
lovely sweet mum, my children's nana, had this cancer, and she died.
So I know. I know in my heart and belly and head how
wrong this could go and how that might look, in fact, at the moment
I'm having a hard time seeing it from any other angle.
I
crumpled the cup and walked back in to clinic, where the conversation
had progressed to other matters. What can you say to someone
like that? Really, I mean I actually think she wanted a
reaction so I decided to not give it to her. I just took her
little gift home, and tried my best to un-hear it all.
*
I
spoke to my surgeon during my consultation, and to the booking nurse,
and the anaesthetist on the day of surgery, at length, about my fears
of anaesthetic. This is such a common fear, and these folk were so
lovely, amazingly reassuring and understanding of me. The
anaesthetist didn't just brush my fears away, he really listened and
spoke at length to reassure me, and remembered our conversation when
I met him in the anaesthetic room right before surgery. So if
you have these fears too, please, please don't do that 'I'm fine'
stoical thing before hand, just be honest and speak to your
caregivers about it.
