All of a sudden it was time to go and a nurse whisked me away to do the walk of doom along grim looking corridors to the prep room where I was asked to hop onto the trolley and the anaesthetist cum DJ starting plugging me in. We chatted about Australia, she’d lived there for a while, and suddenly I was feeling woozy and then I was gone, disappointingly quickly I must say.
The next thing I knew someone was telling me it was 4pm and that the surgery was done. I had a rotten recovery. I felt like I couldn’t breathe properly which was terrifying. The recovery nurses told me that my SATS were fine but that didn’t really help me to calm down. I found out later that this is quite common with the surgery I had because they’ve had to break a rib to get to the necessary blood vessels which can make it feel like someone is sitting on your chest. I was given an adrenalin nebuliser which seemed to do the trick. But once I’d recovered from that little episode I started to vomit. I was feeling hugely sorry for myself by this stage and remember just sobbing, very loudly. Not one of my finer moments.
What made things even worse was the indigestion, nausea and wind I suffered from the various medications and from having to eat without sitting up. I was burping and farting like a trooper. Apologies to my ward mates!