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Considering it was major surgery (ie, over 4 hr long) the cutting and subsequent convalescence were quickly achieved: Into the Gloucester Royal, 07.30, December 14; out of that rambling collection of buildings at 19.30 December 17. But long enough to disprove a worldwide belief – that hospitals are always over-heated.
There I lay on my back, like long-dead Tutankhamun, in my summer PJs (Keeping my baggage to a minimum as instructed,) arms tightly to my sides, legs as one, covered with three hospital blankets not much thicker than handkerchiefs, shuddering, close to hypothermia, wondering if night would end.
The next night I discarded my PJ trousers substituting them for chinos (with galluses) I had worn en route to the hospital. Only marginal improvement.
Next night, and on top of my PJ jacket, I wore my outdoors reefer jacket made out of material as durable as two carpets. True I felt stiffer – more corpselike – but only slightly warmer.
The trouble with being cold in bed is you can’t risk having your hands exposed, thus you cannot read. You may only spend endless time sharing your thoughts with a David Attenborough commentary about the new fate of polar bears. Except that those poor creatures are suffering because the ice caps have, ironically, become TOO WARM.
Occasional Speeder sneaked her way in – outside visiting hours – with a bag of Cadbury’s milk chocolate discs. She had emailed me asking for a list of my needs but was incapable of meeting my one vital request: “A burning fiery furnace.”
OS took the above photo and captioned it “Cauliflower cheese.” I trust you’ll agree it accurately captures my sense of distraction.
Pain kept me from sleeping at home. I took two codeines, bravely risking the threat of constipation. Bad health is rarely glamorous.
I hope things have improved for you and that you are warm, comfy, and well into a good recovery. Take care there.
ReplyDeleteI'm happy you are home and on the mend. The chilly nights you had to endure sound nightmarish. Careful with that codeine. I took one after surgery and had dreams that I sprouted a third arm in my chest. OS takes good pictures of you - really capturing you in the moment, rather than a portrait where you pose.
ReplyDeleteWelcome back!
ReplyDeleteIncredible that you were so cold, When visiting my wife in hospital the heat hit me when I entered the ward and she was always asking me to uncover her a bit.
ReplyDeleteYou seem to be going through it with 4 hours of surgery (my wife's first op. lasted 7 hours, but that involved removing all her pancreas and some of her stomach, then joining up cut tubes to fill the empty space - all, eventually, to no good effect.
I wish you well and hope you are now feeling warmer and relaxed in the bosom of your own house. To wish you a Happy Christmas would not seem right. My wife's final op. happened on 21st of last Decemeber, they wanted to clear the wards for Christmas and i brought her home on 24th - we cancelled Christmas last year.
NewRobin13/Colette/Avus: I have been reflecting hard on this post. I was cold in hospital, no doubt about it. And when I suggested (in a jokey tone of voice) to the stern senior consultant on her morning rounds that I was OK surgically but in danger of dying from hypothermia, she seemed to agree - by implication - that the heating levels were below par. And yet others were sitting up in bed with open-necked PJs. The fact is I am more prone to cold in my extremities - feet especially - ever since a debilitating attact of sciatica several years ago. Plus, no doubt, the side-effects of entering advanced old age.
ReplyDeleteI mention this because I want to be more than fair towards the hospital where I experienced the highest level of attention. Not least when the surgeon - taking a hurried time-out from work in the theatre - clearly gambled about letting me go home that evening. I wasn't entirely sure I was entitled; I looked like hell with thinned blood leaking profusely from giant stitches that traversed my neck and face like barbed wire fencing. Would such bleeding ever stop? I wondered.
I devised an absorbent scarf, tied it round my neck, and fell into troubled sleep. The next morning the bleeding had stopped, as the surgeon had gambled. Now there's a skill for you. It's much more than cutting finely.