The following morning M and I were feeling like we had gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson to be honest. The lovely nurse came in and gave us a bottle of water (thats right, bottle of mineral water.. not a jug of tap!!) for us to try to drink a little. If we could drink then she would remove the intravenous drip that was KILLING my arm. I drank. Cheers. She removed it. YAHOO!!!
Until that point it had been totally nill by mouth except for one of those Evian spray canister things which M correctly summed up as 'tasting like Poison'. If I could have laughed and not hurt myself I would have done. It was actually fine according to our companions, but with nothing to eat or drink my breath munged so bad that even toothpaste tasted like death.
A little while later they brought us some breakfast. Custardy vanilla pudding stuff, milk, coffee and a yogurt. God grief. There was no way we could eat it. I felt totally off my food. I ate a little custard type stuff and had a mouthful of coffee but I was just really scared, and to be honest not feeling hungry one little bit.
Dr. Dillemans came to our ward a few minutes into our meal and looked at our dressings. There was a bit of blood on all of them. 4 holes and a slice, so they changed the dressings to waterproof ones and that meant we could have a shower. A shower was urgently needed considering I was pasted from breast to knee with red iodine.
Revelation: Dr Dillemans also told us of how LJ was not allowed to have surgery in the end. He had complained so much, about the meeting on Tuesday, the hotel, the food, the language barrier (what language barrier????)and the hospital procedure and so much questioning that Dr Dillemans decided that he would not want to perform the surgery on him! We were flabbergasted. I don't blame him one little bit. I mean, one little thing wrong and you dont know what LJ would have done. So he sent him packing. I don't think LJ was ready for it anyway. He was a brute of a man. Very sexist and arrogant. He didn't even look nice, he looked venomous and menacing... even when he was smiling. He also looked worried and scared although he swore blue he wasn't and that he was a big hard man and he was this and that and owned this and that. All that bravado showed to me that basically he was scared stiff. The more he protested that he wasn't the more I thought he was. Stupid bloke. He really had not thought through the procedure.
The another Revelation... D had vanished!!! Apparently D, who checked in with us and was wanting to be first on the slab -"Get that band on me no matter what" - had done a runner. They came to get him for surgery and he wasn't there. He never said goodbye to any of us, and vanished without a trace. We heard from Dr. Dillemans that the bloke's wife had written a stinking email to Cisca at the office saying it was the most traumatic experience of his life and no one spoke English and he had no confidence etc etc. What an utter load of crap. The Dutch speak fluent English! I mean everyone even the shop keepers spoke beautiful English. at the end of the day, we are English people in a foreign country. If he didnt want to have it done in Belgium.... then he should not have come. Come on man!!! Basically he was chicken too. didnt want to lose face and made some b****cks up about it being terrible. He didnt even get the surgery! If that was the most traumatic experience of his life, then he has had a very pleasurable life!! Both M and I were both very very shocked that they had both not had the surgery. so at the end of it, M, N and Me - the three girls - went through with it, and the boys chickened out. There is no shame in that, i mean I was questioning my decision all the time, but for goodness sake, just admit to it. Dont make up some rubbish about it being a terrible service, because it wasnt.
So after they changed our dressings we were allowed to go home. I dressed gingerly and we went back to the hotel armed with 10 hypodermic syringes of blood thinners.
If you are considering this operation, be aware that apart from the initial consultation that Marc picked us up for, all the other journeys to and from the hospital you had to make by yourself. D and M drove from the UK and very kindly took us to the hospital and back, and D also took my travelling buddy back from the hospital the night that me and M had to stay in, an brought her back the following morning. If it wasnt for that, because we flew, we would have had to get taxi's costing around 10 Euros a throw or a bus. Their kindness meant that I rested easy knowing my travelling buddy was able to get home and wasnt wandering around Brugge on her own in the dark.
We walked to the car and I developed a very bad pain in my shoulder. If felt like someone was ripping my arm off in between stabbing it with a dagger. It was the most excruciating pain ever. It was more painful than the wounds themselves. The gas they use to separate your organs during surgery finds its way out usually through your shoulders, and this was what it was.
As soon as I got back to the hotel, I laid down and it was better.
We spent the day in the room, watching tv a bit, and chatting with D and M in our room, and then in their room and walking up and down the room as we were told to mobilise as soon as possible. However, I finally got into bed at about 6pm and stayed there until the morning. My back killed me all night and I had crud on my lungs which I couldnt cough up because of the pain in my stomach when i coughed.
It was a pretty bad night to be honest. I was awake a lot and feeling very sorry for myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment