Lib and Gord visited me the next day, Tuesday 22 Jan. Sarah and William had both left the ward the previous day, their beds filled by others. To have clean clothes was pleasing. I was scheduled for an ultrasound on my carotid arteries and was taken in a wheelchair in lifts and long corridors. I said I was able and happy to walk but they insisted I go in the chair. I'd well learned by this time that in hospital everything worked to a procedure which couldn't be varied. Everybody drilled in their role. A bit robotic. Lib and Gord went off for lunch while I did the ultrasound.
The lady doing the ultrasound took heaps of pictures of both left and right carotids. I asked her what she was seeing. She said she was just trained to take pictures, not interpret them. I had to wait for the vascular team to come later in the afternoon to tell me my right carotid was 75% blocked and I'd be booked in for surgery either Thursday or Friday, after which I'd be two or three days under observation, then I'd go home Sunday or Monday probably, barring setbacks. Lib and Gord had gone home by this time, so I rang them with the news. Lib had brought me a Tony Park novel, 'Silent Predator', and Gord gave me a biography of Paul Lynde the actor comedian. Two contrasting reads so I determined to switch between them, something I don't normally do, usually it's one at a time for me. The Australian Open tennis was on TV night and day, meals came like clockwork, and the nurses were at me every hour so with their monitoring. There were a lot of TV channels to choose from and I watched the classics station a bit. Shows like My Favourite Martian, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeanie, The Beverley Hillbillies. I really laughed at these, fifty years on, I realize the satirical brilliance they were.
A lovely young lady named Bronwyn from the vascular team came again on the Wednesday. She was of South African origin she said when I inquired as to her accent. Said her family came from Capetown when she was 13. She ran me through the pros and cons of the operation, the sequence, and gained my permission for it, and detail that would happen while I was out to it. It was not without risk, there was a 2-4% chance I could have another stroke during the op. She said she'd see me again prior the operation. Another group of three came to talk further about my wishes/instructions should things go wrong, like a formal delegation attending to paperwork. Apparently, there are 3 stages of resuscitation, did I want 1,2, or 3. I chose the wrong one going by their raised eyebrows, I didn't really grasp what they were saying. I changed my answer to say give me the whole hog to which they said "Good, that's the right answer." I added that if I came out a non-compos banana wife Lib could tell them to switch off the machines. The anesthetist's assistant James came to see me and run me through the process.
I was then told I was booked into theater first cab off the rank Friday morning, Australia Day, a public holiday. There were two surgical teams who could do my operation if it was Thursday, the emergency team and the other, which didn't work public holidays. So, I'd be done by the emergency surgical team. About 8am I was scheduled, but if there were emergencies on the morning, mine could be delayed. I was to fast from midnight the night before, so my last meal was Thursday dinner. I slept well, packed my stuff, into bags then one big plastic bag a nurse gave me and sealed it with my name three times on it. After theater I'd be going to recovery for four hours, then a high dependency ward for a day. They'd put me in a hospital gown. I waited a couple of hours, something must have come up to jump me in the queue. I was wheeled down to the prep area. I waited another couple hours. The anesthetist, an Irish guy named Morgan, with assistant James came and talked to me. I told them I hoped they would have a good day. Bronwyn from the vascular team came again. Then the surgeon/doctor, Taven Ramachandren, a youngish guy, very pleasant and reassuring, ran through what he was going to do. Cut the artery and seal it, blood would go to my brain through the other carotid and veins so I'd be OK. Then he'd slit the artery where the blockage was and remove the plaque blocking it. When finished that he'd place a patch on the slit so that it could heal up with less risk of attracting more plaque and starting the blocking process again. I told him also I hoped it was a good day for him.
The nurses in the prep room were excellent, I can't remember the name of the main one who attended me. We talked about family and kids. She was divorced she said with two teenage boys. Her husband some years ago refused point blank to have a vasectomy, and their relationship deteriorated from there. I said that was a pity. Sex loses its importance the longer you go. With a lot of think time I concluded if I died on the table, it was OK. I believed in voluntary euthanasia; I was past my best and had had a good life, it would be nice and neat with no pain and suffering into crippledom. I was wheeled into theater about midday. The theater nurse Kate was brilliantly comforting and competent. Doc Taven was there, so were anesthetists Morgan and James. They peeled the gown off me and placed a warmed blanket on my legs and torso. As I looked up into the faces and the lights, I realized there were $millions of equipment and training about to perform on me. They were there to get me over this, not kill me. They told me to breathe deeply. The next thing I know I'm in the recovery room. I was there four hours and a bit tired and groggy. The doc came in, said he'd ring Lib and tell her it went well. He said he did have complication as the artery was crossed over/twisted with another vein or such when it should have been straight. Why? He knew not. The nurse there was nice, said she lived at Aldinga, her husband worked at Coles in McCracken. I said I'd look him up, I shop there often. His names Ken and he's tall and has a bushy beard. She said he's qualified in horticulture but tired of working outside in all weather.
From there I went to the high dependency ward for 24 hours. The nurse taking me there said Ash was brilliant and would take good care of me. Ash, a big chubby guy, had earrings and a nose ring and bright green hair and was as camp as you like. He was good though. He said Lib had rung wanting to know how I was. He said he'd ring her and say I was good, the operation successful. Apparently, the number the Doc had was wrong on the hospital records, I'd given them the wrong number when being treated for shingles a couple of years earlier. I'd told him to ring the landline as Lib's mobile often played up. When he did, he was told it was disconnected, he told me later. I apologized to him. Nice guy, I'm booked to see him March 15 when they do an ultrasound to check the artery. Ash knocked off in the evening and was replaced by Debbie. It was one on one nurse to patient in the high dependency, so she was there on an off all night. It was most uncomfortable there. I had a catheter up my penis draining the bladder to a bag, a draining tube from my neck wound removing bloody fluid, tubes in both wrists. One feeding me antibiotic, the other I'm not sure. Blood pressure was monitored constantly and for a while I was getting oxygen by tube into the nose. ECG wires hooked up to monitor. I couldn't move much, my cock got stingy, I worked out by moving it and the tube the draining would restart and the feeling I wanted to pee stopped. All most unpleasant. I didn't warm to Debbie initially, I thought she was a bossy boots. By the next morning as the tubes and wires were disappearing, I was feeling better, we got on fine. As she pulled the catheter out, I said it must be a bigger tube and a harder job for women patients. She said no, men need a good tube to get past the enlarged prostate. It's more difficult. I was glad they did mine while I was out to it in theater. She said there was blood in my urine, probably because of some trauma getting past the prostate.
Debbie came with me as the orderly wheeled my bed up to the next ward for me, the observation one before discharge. We'd both loosened up. She'd let her hair down and I noticed how attractive she was. She said she was a bit sunburnt from her day off the previous day. She'd had drinks with her partner in the backyard with friends, and she was sensitive to the sun. I told her she should be careful with that. She said she only had a couple of drinks, she's not really a drinker, but her partner had lots, he's a binge drinker with company. I told her to be careful of that too, and that I gave up alcohol four years ago and was so glad I did. When she handed me over to the next lot of nurses she stayed a while. I thanked her for being so efficient and also being so delightful. I said if I was thirty or forty years younger, I'd be asking for her phone number. She farewelled me warmly with best wishes for the future.
Lib and Gord picked me up about lunchtime the next day, Sunday 28 Jan. My neck still oozed a bit of blood and fluid, but the nurse Gina Ok'd me to go. She was mature age, of Polish origin, said she escaped what was then communist Poland, in I think 1987, with husband and young child. They went on a supposed holiday to Italy but never went back to Poland and came to Australia via a refugee organization. I exchanged stories with her of Polish people I had known. We bought some lunch in the cafeteria in the hospital foyer. Man o man, was my mideast lamb and salad roll thing grand after two weetbix and a piece of untoasted brown bread for breakfast, after no food for the 30 hours prior to that. We stopped at Morphetvale at a 24/7 chemist to fill my prescription for Atorvastatin and Clopidogrel blood thinner and the over the counter 100mg aspirin they've put me on. so I'm on the drug train now for a while. It was great to get home and see Pip and walk down the river, then sleep in my own bed again.
No comments:
Post a Comment