I get up again at nine, hang the clothes over the radiator to dry, and absentmindedly have a cup of tea. Ooops.
I arrive at the hospital at lunch time and am shown straight to my room. The next 2 hours is spent answering questions about the drug regime, my health, my "current worries", next of kin, etc. The nurse measures my leg and gets a stocking that should prevent thrombosis. Sexy. Erm not. The nurse covers me me in ECG patches (she shaves me to enable them to stick) and then prints off 3 or 4 sheets of ECG report. She seems happy, I still have only one heart. The sticky bits are removed. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.
I do some work on a project plan whilst I wait. Then someone knocks and says they've come to take me to theatre. On with the gown and off with the undies. More sticky patches are attached for the monitors.
It feels strange to be carted around in a bed when I could easily get there faster on crutches. Still nervous, still frightened of a repeat of the last time.
The anaesthetist checks my tag and ask asks me my name and date of birth. A junior consultant marks an arrow on my leg, pointing at the frame. This time the canala goes in first time and something cold is pumped into my arm. He asks me about the drug regime and then injects some antibiotic.
"You should be feeling more relaxed now." No chance. Nervous as hell.
A mask goes over my nose, I adjust it, he says "thanks" and suddenly the lights are brighter, I am in a different room and agony is coming from my leg.
I call for help, someone comes over and tells me it's ok. Huh? "Painkillers! Please!"
"Carlos" and I then go through a cycle of injecting morphine, waiting, then injecting more until I can tolerate the pain and tell him to stop.
Another bed is wheeled in beside me, containing a women who moves briefly, but then lies quietly. Somewhere behind me another bed is wheeled out with it's sleeping passenger.
We spend 15 minutes watching the monitors until Carlos is satisfied, and he leaves for the day. My trainee nurse arrives and then it's my turn to be wheeled out.
Back at the ward the nurse sorts out the drip and monitor. I try to hold a conversation but my memory is shot. She keeps reminding me to breathe. "Don't forget to breathe." She stays for a long time and keeps me awake.
I ask for food, and someone has kept a sandwich for me. That's nice. Two bits of Mothers Paste white bread with a slice of ham which is oddly exactly the same outline as the bread. Not so nice. I eat a bit, and drink some water.
I worried about water retention again, I don't want another catheter, so I ask for urinal bottles. But I just can't pee lying down. I have to get up. The nurse helps me swing my legs over the side of the bed and I stand very gingerly, dizzy dizzy dizzy. After 5 minutes of standing holding a bottle I manage to dribble, and I get back into bed. Really dizzy.
Eventually I'm sick, vomiting harder than I can remember ever before. But it feels better.
And eventually the lid is cracked and the urine begins to flow. I heave a sigh of relief. This is a major target in getting home quickly, they won't let me out until I can pee properly. If you ever find yourself in bed after an operation, pee as much as you can at every opportunity!
Weirdly I don't need my glasses to see the TV. I've temporarily gone non-short sighted. I have no idea what time it is, so eventually I realise that the TV programmes have reached an intellectual level which will interest rodents an so it must be time to sleep.
Friday morning; Full breakfast with tea. I'm starving and surprise myself by eating every crumb and morsel as if I had been starved for 24 hours.
A very pleasant Physio called Jo comes to inspect my leg. I'm sure I've seen her face before. She thinks maybe so too, but we can't place it. She puts rubber gloves on before touching my foot. Is it that bad? She takes me for a crutch walk along the corridor and after a few tips on how to walk says "OK, I'm discharging you."
I'm somewhat taken aback. Already? I can go? Yes. We just need the drugs, the paperwork etc.
The troop of doctors and consultants arrive immediately afterwards. There are lots of smiles and jokes. Yes, I can go home. :-)
About 5 hours later we manage to get a supply of antibiotics, a letter saying that I'm free, and a cab booked to take me home. It's a really painful ride, but I'm happy to be out.
