Holy Flying Mackerel!

My sojourn to the land of Chelsea and Westminster is over and I’m back in the safe confines of Streatham where I can play loud music to speed my recovery. What a strange five days I’ve had. Admitted to hospital on Wednesday afternoon and left to my own devices until the evening when the seemingly endless battery of tests began – blood pressure, blood oxygen, blood sugar, repeated every one or two hours for the next two days, then only every four hours of so, interspersed with various pills and potions. Great for your sleeping pattern.

Thursday dawned and I was put on an insulin and glucose drip to control my diabetes at 6am so I lay there all morning with the drip in my right hand. Then the anaesthetist arrived to talk about that side of the operation, followed quickly by the surgeon with consent forms (and the astonishing news that the hospital has found some of my notes) and then within an eye-blink I was being whisked through the corridors on my bed to the operating room, more questions about allergies and suchlike and then drifted off to sleep to quiet talk of a holiday on a tropical beach with surf crashing and palm trees swaying and …

…and then I woke up with two nurses fussing over me, plugging a morphine machine into my right hand, a saline drip into my left and with a ‘drain’ in my back to drain away the left-over juices from the operation. After discussing the merits of champagne as a cure-all with the nurses the surgeon came round to tell me to drink lots of coke since the caffeine would counteract the effects of some of my nerve-juices he’d spilled that would give me a killer headache. OK, I said, thinking more of morphine and champagne. Wheeled back to my little ward and told to lie flat for the next 24 hours.

Tired and dozy, pressing the morphine button when pain started (a nice little machine that pumped small amounts of morphine into me), drinking through a straw but not eating much. Chris came to see me with supplies of Pepsi Max and news of Big Brother to take my mind off things. Not really up to much, just dozing and having tests and various pills, but despite being tired, not much sleep, partly through pain and partly the noise of the night nurses and fellow patients (probably exaggerated by the drugs).

The surgeon came to see me the next day to explain the operation and next steps. When he opened me up he found not only the biggest slipped disc, he also found the oldest, which was growing into other organs and around bones, attaching itself to them and calcifying. It could only happen to me. He removed as much as he could but had to leave some of the disc that had grown into other organs or risk damaging them so I’ll have to wait and see whether that’s a longer-term problem or not. He’d also split some membrane that coated some nerves trying to remove bits of disc and that’s what had released some juices into my blood stream that would give me a killer headache so I have to drink lots and remain on the drip to get it out of my system. I had to stay flat in bed with the drip for another day.

He came again on Saturday (in what looked like ‘day off’ clothes so it was good of him to come in) to check up on me, check reactions and say that I can be de-dripped and de-morphined, can get up for short periods with the physio and, if all went well, could go home on Sunday. Phew, that was such a relief! I’ll get the stitches out in 2 weeks time and start physio, and go back to see the surgeon in 6 weeks. He’ll then assess whether I can return to work. The physio gave me a walking frame so I can start getting used to walking again and the delight of that first trip to the toilet is a personal joy that will stay with me for a long time. There are only so many things you can do with comfort when lying flat on your back or even on a slight incline.

Saw a doctor on the ward on Sunday morning who gave me the all-clear for going home, the physio tested my walking without the frame and on stairs and gave me some exercises, the pharmacist gave me pills and got my discharge letters from the ward. Rang Chris to come to pick me up and that was that. Had lunch in the hospital and then a slow walk to the hospital entrance, a taxi home and slowly up the stairs to my flat and I was home again! Lots of slow healing to do and in the meantime I can’t sit for more than 15 minutes so this blog is being written in bits, but that time should increase as I get more mobile.

Such a relief to have it all over with. And, of course, there had to be complications since it’s me. Before the op the surgeon talked about 4 weeks off work to recuperate and this went up to 6 weeks after the op. My problem is going to taking the time to get well properly and not try to do things too quickly. Even this morning, when I awoke early, took some pills and went back to sleep and then felt fine when I woke again, thinking it won’t take six weeks… and then I moved. Ouch. I need to take it slowly.

I'm very grateful to the surgeon and his team for sorting me out and doing it so quickly and professionally. It just lowers my view even further of the orthopaedics team that left me with this disc for 10 months after I first saw them, saying it wasn’t worth a scan and I would be fine if I just lost weight. I now have plenty of time to compose a suitable letter to the hospital about my treatment (or lack of) over the past 10 months.

No doubt there’ll be more to tell after my latest adventure but that’ll do for now.

There was a great view out of the ward window, a panoramic view that took in the chimneys of Battersea Power Station to the south, the Big Wheel at Westminster with St Paul’s dome in the distance, and the BT Tower (or whatever it’s called these days) in the north. It was quite impressive and a reminder at how low-rise much of London still is.

The mackerel? Well, Chelsea and Westminster is an odd building, with wards and clinics all running off a large main hall with aerial walkways and lifts with all the scaffolding showing. It’s roofed over with glass, a “modern” building that just looks a bit unfinished to me. It has various “art” installations dotted around and outside my ward were four flying fish suspended from the ceiling (10-12 feet long). Since my ward was on the fifth (and top) floor then there was a great view down and along the hospital with the fish flying boldly in free space. I thought of them as my mackerel sent to watch over me. And they did.