Well it’s over, my little brush with mortality that is. I came round covered with inexplicable symmetrical scars in unexpected places, a bit like the appearance of corn circles on my once pristine body. I am also sprouting lots of barbed wire on my chest. However the guys and gals in scrubs have done a great job so many thanks, and yes I did insist on being called Dr Goodfellow throughout, so thanks Bob Bury.
To be honest I found the whole experience quite unreal as if it was all happening to someone else quite apart from me. Nothing could better exemplify this than an event which occurred on my second post-operative day when admittedly I was still suffering from mild drug-induced hallucinations. The well-known effects of opiates on the innards were taking their toll and, because I was still wired up to the National Grid, the nurses placed me on a commode then kindly left me to my own devices (don’t worry, this is as personal as it gets).
After a few minutes there came a knock on the door and a cheery bloke stuck his head in. “OK to check the shower?” he asked. I am not sure what I replied but he took it as an affirmation and pushed passed me into the en suite bathroom where he splashed around for a few minutes, presumably checking that I was not about to be infected with Legionella. Emerging with a cheery “Thanks mate”, he disappeared, leaving me enthroned in splendour.
Now if I was a sensitive soul I could have been quite offended at this serious breach of my personal privacy and dignity (which it undoubtedly was). However I actually found it hilariously surreal in a Pythonesque sort of way, and it merely added to my sense of dissociation. Surely this was not happening to me? Slipping in and out of half-consciousness I spent the rest of the day dreaming imaginatively of whom else I might like to inadvertently intrude on my presence in such a way.
I’m now laid off until September my dreams of languorously topping up the tan have been cruelly shattered by a text message, yes a text message, from the cheery cardiologist to remind me of the photosensitivity effects of one of the pills he is feeding me. It seems that if I am exposed to the sun my skin will fall off. So that is the rest of the summer completely buggered. I have instructed the wife to put up heavy blackout curtains throughout the house to prevent a single ray of sunlight from striking my pallid sallow skin.
Henceforth I shall only go outside after dark and, having been left profoundly anaemic by the surgeons, I will seek out additional sources of iron from whatever source I can find (well anything must be better that those ghastly pills they have given me). I wonder where the kid has left his Batman cloak?
On a separate matter, in my last blog, I commented on the departure of our latest CEO leaving the trust “rudderless”. I have subsequently learned that the job has been given to a longstanding mate and colleague. I am sure he will do a good job and I wish him well.
Tags: Patients
I don’t think I am alone in being glad to hear you are not only alive and kicking but still able to write extremely coherently. Hope the scars heal well!