It happened

HELLO I'm back again talking about my back again.

Sorry for my extended hiatus*; a cocktail of painkillers really stifles your creativity, I honestly don't see why celebrities are always getting addicted to them.

Before I start my rambling there's some things I should cover:

1. I am not writing this posthumously, I survived. Big shout out to my surgeons for that.
2. My irrational fear of waking up during surgery surprisingly didn't happen.
3. I can walk, with a posture so straight that it gets admiration from old people and gets others asking 'You OK hun? Looking a bit uptight'   
4. I grew. Two inches. Take a minute to let that sink in. The view from up here is incredible.

THE HOSPITAL STAY

Waking up 

• Apparently I refused to wake up post surgery.  I don't remember this but my anesthetist tells me that I reverted back into a teenager, pushing them away and trying to go back to sleep. Old habits die hard, I pre-warned them that I love to snooze. It's my sloth heritage.
• So the second time I wake up, I thought it was the first time and panicked. It's happening like I knew it would. I'm awake during the operation. I decide to lie there, eyes closed until they say my name. But first, I'll just wriggle my toes. OK good they work. Oh my god, wait, I cant move my toes individually. Oh I could never do that. Then I get bored of waiting, so I figured I'll just peep my eyes open slightly. 
• WOW what a vision, I'm hallucinating, I can see pretty flowers and a blue sky on the ceiling (I learnt later that this was not my imagination and actually a fixture in the hospital)
• My face hurts and what is covering my face. Cue the nurse who reassures me that this isn't a dream after I've asked her for the 100th time and takes off my oxygen mask. Then she hurries to get another nurse. 
• Next thing I know, they're telling me these things happen sometimes, the hospital can't take liability for it and they're sure it won't scar.
• I'M SORRY WHAT. In my head all I can picture is Two-Face from Batman.
• Later I see that I've been cut under my eye, presumably from the eye tape. But listen, these guys have just spent hours straightening a spine, they're allowed to get a tad impatient when finishing up. It was probably a last resort to wake me up.

DAY 1

• I'm alive, I feel fantastic, not a bone in my body hurts. I've made best friends with the nurse in extensive care, she is amazed at how perky I am. I'm pretty amazed, why do people go on about recovery, pack a bag, I'm ready to go home.
• I call my mum to tell her I feel fantastic, she's slightly bewildered but relieved. Apparently I'm a bleeder and lost 2 litres so my surgery lasted longer than expected and I had a blood transfusion. (Thanks Ella, on the off chance I was given your donated blood and that)
• The surgeons come round to see me, say it went really well, my ribs didn't need to be broken, news everyone wants to hear. I'm nodding enthusiastically, trying to thank them for fixing me, not paralysing me nor killing me. In hindsight, maybe the nod wasn't good at conveying this gratitude.
• The rest of the day in intensive care was pretty chilled all things considering and then it all changed.

DAY 2

• I've been moved downstairs to the ward and this is where it starts to go downhill. 
• I'M IN AGONY. The anaesthetic has left my body and said a final goodbye by forcing me to throw up in celebration. This really isn't fun when you're purposely trying not to move any muscle in your body.
• I have my morphine button but it's obviously malfunctioning because I have never felt pain like this.
• One of the surgeons came into see me and did a sympathetic laugh saying he predicted this when I was telling them how fine I felt yesterday. I scream at him to get out and throw my pillow at him. Just kidding, I deserved it for being a cocky shit. 
• I won't go into much detail about this day because I'd rather forget it to avoid future traumatising memory recalls. 
• However I will say, It is a strong contender for the worst day of my life, competing with the dark day in the 90s when The Spice Girls broke up.

DAY 3-5

• To emphasise how difficult it was, I couldn't talk which is rare for me. The nurses were great though and tried their best to converse. One even showed me her ear infection and complained how painful it is. I guess it was to make me realise I wasn't the only one suffering or something...
• What was even less like me, was the lack of appetite. Physically I couldn't sit up to eat and two bites in and I'd be full. Kept ordering three courses every day though, gotta waste those NHS resources.
• I realise I'm moaning a lot about the pain but it all honestly, things improved dramatically after day 2 and being in my particular ward, I soon realised there were much more patients deserving of real sympathy than I was.
• So it's day five and I decide I'm going home, I act unnaturally perky trying to convince the nurse. And it works, I pass my stair test and I'm allowed to leave.

I'm going to wrap this up now as nothing significant has happened at home. The turning point for me was week 3, I know this because that's when I stopped googling 'Will I ever feel normally after scoliosis surgery again'.

Every now and again I research whether I'll be able to bend again because my toenails desperately need painting.

So now I'm at home and to give you a good comparison I would say my situation is extremely similar to uni life; the pain and aches (reminiscent to hangovers) the drugs and the lying in bed watching TV all day.

Oh and now I have a 15inch scar, I'm currently working on a good story to explain it to strangers, preferably one that makes me look all heroic and a badass.

*This apology is solely for Anouj, my blog's 'single biggest fan'