MOOMINS M.C.

Sometimes we get an opportunity that we should make the most of.
That's precisely the kind that has been offered to me at this moment.
I've been shifted back to my ward sooner than expected and managed to get enough energy up to write this.

For some reason or another I didn't feel all that crash hot about having this surgery.
And it seems I was right.
After waking up from my anaesthetic induced slumber I was glad to find I'd had my favourite toy returned to me.
Yes, the prodigal morphine pump had returned.
I was understandably in some discomfort, a sensation not unfamiliar to me, but I could at least hit the button and hear the sweet beep emanating from the machine, signifying the slight alleviation form the pain.
At that point things bode well for my recuperation.
I was in a ward dedicated to orthopaedic surgery and so figured I would be receiving the best possible care.
I had forgotten what it was like to be in post op.
I'd forgotten about the half hourly, then hourly observations, you know the temp., blood pressure, pulse, O2 saturation and how these make it completely impossible to get some sleep.
I'd forgotten about the other patients and the crap they're going through, also making sleep an unattainable commodity.
I was in a room of four, two were in obvious pain and one was throwing up all night due to his newly discovered allergy to morphine.
So no slumber the first night.

The next morning there were the hordes of well wishing visitors.
Included were the screeching children, whose screams and yelps of seemingly unreasoned delight resounded throughout the room with chaotic unpredictability.
After lunch the room appeared to have quietened down a bit and I was settling down to some well earned and needed sleep.
I'd made myself about as comfortable as I could, which took quite a degree of effort and teeth gritting.
Then I got a surprise, well an unexpected announcement ( surprises aren't really surprises anymore, well they don't have the same effect as they used to before the crash and all the related post big bang experiences ).
I was to be whisked off to x-ray for some more irradiation ( as if I hadn't had enough, don't be amazed if I turn out like the Incredible Hulk after all this ).
As expected the irradiation was a particularly painful affair.
I had to be transferred onto the radiology table and this was still an agonising affair, even with my little morphine pump doing its thing.
After completing my radiology yoga exercises I was then transferred back to my bed and wheeled back to my room.
Thankfully, I noted that two of the beds had been emptied and assumed that I would be able to once again indulge in the luxury that is sleep.
Bong Bong!! Wrong again!

What was to come was 24 hours of fever ( which is still continuing, although at a reduced temperature, hence my taking this opportunity to write a blog entry )
One of those free optional extras that you get with surgery.
Apparently, I had ticked the box on the form requesting one of these, unawares.
It started off as feeling a little on the warm side, and quite rapidly progressed into a full blown fever.
Time had ceased to flow at its usual pace and my vision had become seriously compromised as a result of the fever combined with the morphine.
Memories of reading a book my sister gave me "Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas", returned with visions of surreal and tortuous images and patterns.
I was having a real tough trot.
It was all but impossible to find a comfortable position to rest in.
Usually a side sleeper, I was finding it really tiring attempting to get comfortable, even more so than the previous night.
I couldn't sleep on my usual right side due to the wounds there, I was having real problems sleeping on my left side because of the metal plate in the collarbone and the only other viable solution was on my back, which I just can't seem to be able to come to grasps with as it causes my throat to close up and starts me on a snoring enterprise that not only keeps me awake, but also any other persons unfortunate to be in the same room.
On top of all that, the bed was a right mess as the radiologists had removed me and my bed sheet for the irradiation process.
When the sheet and I had been transferred back to my bed we'd both been left in a right shambles, with the rest of the sheets and blankets simply thrown on top.
My bedding looked like it had been put through a washing machine and then simply dumped on the bed.
It was absolutely soaked due to the fever.
So there I was lying in a mess worse than the U.S. liberation of Iraq and I got some disturbing news.
The nurses ( who for some reason could be heard laughing somewhere in the depths of the ward, but were unable to come to my aid for periods of up to 10 minutes or so, arseholes!!! ) had decided that the I.V. line in my arm connecting me to my best friend, the morphine pump, wasn't looking too good and had to be removed.
The pain until then had been barely bearable, but since I was now taking painkilling pills of inferior effect, the level of pain had increased somewhat.
Being wrapped in wet blankets and sheets, which seemed to tighten around me the more I struggled and writhed, weak with fever and exhaustion, wracked with sharp, throbbing pains and others I hadn't experienced before, I finally understood the meaning of the phrase "Couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag."

I managed to get through the night somehow and eventually just before lunch, was moved back to my old ward.
The moving from the bed to wheelchair and to another bed was one of the most painful experiences I've had to endure and I can honestly say I was nearly reduced to tears during my relocation.
I'm in a new room now with the ward's resident wet blanket.
This bloke seems to be a real negative bring down, and I know this from people who'd shared a room with him and requested they be moved.
Regular public disagreements with his girlfriend don't help his cause much either.
After lunch I managed to slip some earplugs in and finally get a few hours rest, more from exhaustion than anything else I suspect.
Only to be woken by more of the ''screeching child, whose screams and yelps of seemingly unreasoned delight resounded throughout the room with chaotic unpredictability'' syndrome.
This time however, my gloomy cellmate was telling the child to be quiet because I was trying to get some sleep.
Why he was bothering was beyond me because all the while "deal or no deal" was blaring out of the television.
For those fortunate ones who have not experienced the brain dead excuse for entertainment that is this show, let me enlighten you.
It is a game show, but in this game show there are no physical challenges, there are no trivial facts to regurgitate and there are no brain teasers to solve.
No, in fact all there is, is some loser contestant who has to guess the amount of money in the cases that are being held by other loser contestants.
The imbecilic contestants holding the cases also have to guess how much is in the case when their's is picked by the main contestant, or head moron.
This ridiculous exercise is carried out for some time and is punctuated by much yelling and screaming from the audience and the occasional "bank offer", which is announced by an extremely loud and annoying ascending siren.
That is when the head moron has to decide whether to accept the bank offer, hence the deal or no deal title.
On top of all that, my cellmate and his girlfriend sat there speculating on what decision the head moron would take and announcing to each other their own preferences if they were the head moron on the show.
Compared to deal or no deal, reality tv shows come across as well thought out, creative, beautifully planned and executed award winning productions.
This show is constantly one of the top rating shows in Melbourne and makes me believe that there are some real dickheads living in this fine city.

Time for me to try and extract some sleep from this 24 hour period.


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