Here's how the planned operation day panned out.
(Feel free to skip to 4.30pm- that's where shit starts happening)
5.30am
I'm up deliriously early, so early in fact that for the first time I've escaped being awoken by the neighbour's donkey's weird jurassic wail.
7.00am
Bloody freezing walk from the station to the hospital. I made one tiny comment about it being a bit nippy and then get informed by my mum that it might be the last walk I ever do so I should enjoy it. Yes, that has changed my outlook on the situation.
7.30am
The nerves are disappearing and now I'm feeling pretty pleased with all the attention I'm getting. I mean, my name is in CAPs on the whiteboard. In hindsight, I probably should have been worried when the nurse kept saying 'fingers crossed' an awkward amount of times when I walked in...
8am
My anesthetist is one cool lady. She knows all the right things to say. No longer do I think I will be secretly awake the whole time, feeling everything. She also tells me that I will be able to administer myself pain relief HA HA fools. AND I get Ket, maybe this won't be too bad after all.
11am
My irrational fear about being awake the whole time is coming back. I curse that stupid horror film I watched when I was younger... Mum is ignoring me and listening to smooth radio that's on in the background. Apparently, it's the 'soundtrack to her life'
1pm
GOOD NEWS! I have a bed with my name on it in HDU.
2pm
I'm reminiscing about the times I used to drink and eat. Oh, I get a text from a concerned friend. Wait, no, she's sent me a pic of her lunch. She's having a veggie burger. I can't even begin to think of a sassy response to her insensitivity, the dehydration is kicking in.
2.30pm
My friend sends a worried text asking if I've gone 'in' because I've become unresponsive. No fool, I just don't want to compliment your food when my body is shutting down from the shock of not eating every ten minutes like it is used to doing on a normal day.
3.00pm
I'm in my gown guys, it's happening. No backing out now, no turning back (pardon the pun) One quick au revoir to mum and I'm in the room before THE room AKA theatre.
4.00pm
Right, an hour has passed, but it's OK, I can see the surgeons in the room, I'm so close.
4.30pm
This one surgeon is literally on Tinder right now. I can see him swiping right on his iPhone. Little unorthodox but needs must I guess. Surgeons are human too right.
5.00pm
Look at all these important doctors come and surround my bed. I'm ready, put me to sleep guys. WAIT, no no no. And the crying begins. Mixed with laughter. But mostly crying. Something extremely rare just happened with the last patient so I'm being told to go home, which is an hour away, and my mum took my clothes. God works in mysterious, but mostly annoying, ways.
5.30pm
So here I am, sobbing into a cheese and pickle sandwich the nurses gave to me to break my 20 hour fast. Wrapped in a blue NHS blanket and disposable pants to conceal myself.
The nurses were all extremely kind and considerate, albeit slightly worried about my mental state. I did look v.deranged. But now's not the time for vanity, I need to go and find my ride home.
6.10pm
After walking out of the hospital, half expecting someone to try and escort me back in against my will (I can not emphasise enough here how much I looked like I was escaping) I realised my friend was in a different pick up point. This is where it gets real low, I think all is doomed after being outside for fifteen minutes in Antarctic conditions. The tears start again and I'm ready to run into the rush hour traffic. Then, I find her car, open the door, get a hug and a box of Jaffa cakes.
8.00pm
I'M HOME FINALLY. I'm feeling less dramatic at this point, and later I get told by mum that there was one plus to waiting all day; she got to listen to some cracking tunes on the radio.
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