Monday, December 17, 2007
DAY 3, 4 AND WEEK 2......
Day 3
It started with my breakfast not turning up.
It would appear that the surprise wasn't just the menu but also whether or not the food would actually arrive.
After lamenting my lack of sustenance I managed to persuade a nurse to 'look into it and get the kitchen to bring something up'.
The post breakfast shower was an ordeal in itself.
I'd forgotten the ritualised plastic bagging and taping of limbs and involved and just how long it all takes, and how it isn't really waterproof.
The short walk to the ensuite was aided by the nurse and I carried out my morning ablutions relatively incident free.
The pills had worked and Sister Morphine's school bus turned from solid to liquid like Audrey Tatou turning to water in the movie Amelie.
I managed the shower by myself apart form having the nurse do my footsies, but noticed a lot of blood collecting in the bag around the left leg, figured it was just all the bandages getting wet and the previous two days bleeding slowly seeping out.
With the plastic bags removed we could feel that the left leg had indeed received moisture and a change of dressing was in order.
I'd had the right leg redressed the day before with some funny clear super sticky dressing I've not seen before which was to make its presence very noticeable some time down the track.
So after bleeding all over the floor on my way back to the bed the crimson bandages were swapped for some fresh ones.
Some time later a physiotherapist strolled in with walking frame.
This enabled me to shuffle around by myself, butt cheeks once again flying the breeze and afforded me a little more freedom, not there was much to see or do around the ward, but at least I was mobile again.
Some highlights from that day were a visit from the girls, with Snorkmaiden visiting later again after some shopping and putting on an impromptu fashion show for me, very nice, I like.
The phone rang and a non familiar number appeared, area code from South Australia according to Snorkmaiden.
Who the hell could that be?
Last thing I wanted was some telemarketers calling me in hospital.
Turned out to be Jeff, who so kindly let us camp next to him in Blanket Bay, just calling to see how the surgery went and wishing me all the best.
Loving old bloke he is.
Day 4
Once more, the surprise breakfast didn't turn up.
I was feeling heaps better and the end of my stay in hospital was in sight.
All I needed to do was to hassle a lot of staff repeatedly to get things moving.
Whilst waiting, I decided to write some notes about last few days and found the nerve damage to my right thumb had given me the ability to write like a drunk man, I'd lost a bit of strength and control in that area of my hand, time would tell how much I get back.
Sometime in the early afternoon I was finally discharged, so I wandered down stairs and hopped into a cab with my newly acquired walking frame.
The frame lasted a day and was swapped for crutches pretty quickly.
It now serves a very useful purpose as a towel rack in my room.
Although not totally sorted I was glad to be out and Snorkmaiden had kindly taken a couple of days of work to give me a hand around the house.
Managing all the day to day tasks would have been possible if not very slow, but it was so much nicer and easier having her around.
1 week later
I managed to jump on a tram and walk the half mile or so to 'the place that sells bad beer' for Friday night drinks, albeit with a crutch for support.
This was the same route I took 8 months ago when I was just starting to walk unaided again.
It was difficult and I could have murdered a beer by the time I got to the pub.
My recovery was progressing well, although I had noticed that my right for had dropped since the surgery.
I'm unable to lift it up and it sort drags if I don't raise my leg high enough.
Makes me look like I'm trying to walk through the water with one flipper on.
I'm hoping this nerve damage or whatever it is will come right over time.
Not realising it until I started writing this post, this 1 week after the surgery marks 1 year since I got my walking licence back!
Week 2
Hit a wall on Sunday and Monday, feeling very sore, lethargic, yet couldn't sleep much.
Tuesday I had an appointment with a specialist surgeon for a medical assessment, why I don't know as I was in no state to be physically examined for my work potential / incapacitation.
On the way home through the city the opportunity arose to do some Christmas shopping and as tired and sore as I was I figured wearing myself out would enable me to finally get some sleep that night / evening, or even resort to a nanna nap!
The staples were starting to give me the irrates and after driving my car to the local medical clinic, itself a challenge, I asked to be seen by the nurse to have the offending little metallic mites extracted from my skin.
Upon removal of most of the dressing we noticed that the incision on the inside of my arm was inflamed, as was part of the incision on my neck, but the staples were well ready to come out.
The doctor gave me the once over and the nurse received the thumbs up to remove the staples.
It was going ok with a couple of the staples being a little overgrown by flesh, until we got to the right leg.
Remember that funny clear dressing?
Well it was totally inappropriate as not only was it sticking to the staples as the nurse was trying to peel it off but also had the same effect as having your leg waxed millimetre by millimetre.
The last part was by far the most painful and accompanied by grunts, red face, bated breath and completely overshadowed any pain from the actual staple removal.
Had I not suffered enough already to be put through this ordeal? *raising back of hand to forehead, whilst tilting head back and to the side like some precious thing from a British period drama*
107 staples later ( I counted and felt each one as they were removed and the nurse counted them later ) I was given a script for antibiotics and sent home to chill out.
I'm to see the doctor again on Thursday to check if the inflamation has died down.
At the end of it all it's been a relatively incident free surgical procedure and recovery, here's hoping it continues like that.
This weekend Mick D. and I are off about 4 hours drive to Swan Hill way, for David's wedding.
Those who have been reading this blog for a while will remember him as the chap I met in rehab in August 2006, who like me was involved in a motorcycle crash, but unlike me had last an arm.
He asked me to be the best man some time ago and I was a bit worried the surgery might have rendered me incapable of attending, but I reckon I will be alright.
I may not post much over the Christmas period so I would like to extend all the best wishes to you for your festive period.
.
It started with my breakfast not turning up.
It would appear that the surprise wasn't just the menu but also whether or not the food would actually arrive.
After lamenting my lack of sustenance I managed to persuade a nurse to 'look into it and get the kitchen to bring something up'.
The post breakfast shower was an ordeal in itself.
I'd forgotten the ritualised plastic bagging and taping of limbs and involved and just how long it all takes, and how it isn't really waterproof.
The short walk to the ensuite was aided by the nurse and I carried out my morning ablutions relatively incident free.
The pills had worked and Sister Morphine's school bus turned from solid to liquid like Audrey Tatou turning to water in the movie Amelie.
I managed the shower by myself apart form having the nurse do my footsies, but noticed a lot of blood collecting in the bag around the left leg, figured it was just all the bandages getting wet and the previous two days bleeding slowly seeping out.
With the plastic bags removed we could feel that the left leg had indeed received moisture and a change of dressing was in order.
I'd had the right leg redressed the day before with some funny clear super sticky dressing I've not seen before which was to make its presence very noticeable some time down the track.
So after bleeding all over the floor on my way back to the bed the crimson bandages were swapped for some fresh ones.
Some time later a physiotherapist strolled in with walking frame.
This enabled me to shuffle around by myself, butt cheeks once again flying the breeze and afforded me a little more freedom, not there was much to see or do around the ward, but at least I was mobile again.
Some highlights from that day were a visit from the girls, with Snorkmaiden visiting later again after some shopping and putting on an impromptu fashion show for me, very nice, I like.
The phone rang and a non familiar number appeared, area code from South Australia according to Snorkmaiden.
Who the hell could that be?
Last thing I wanted was some telemarketers calling me in hospital.
Turned out to be Jeff, who so kindly let us camp next to him in Blanket Bay, just calling to see how the surgery went and wishing me all the best.
Loving old bloke he is.
Day 4
Once more, the surprise breakfast didn't turn up.
I was feeling heaps better and the end of my stay in hospital was in sight.
All I needed to do was to hassle a lot of staff repeatedly to get things moving.
Whilst waiting, I decided to write some notes about last few days and found the nerve damage to my right thumb had given me the ability to write like a drunk man, I'd lost a bit of strength and control in that area of my hand, time would tell how much I get back.
Sometime in the early afternoon I was finally discharged, so I wandered down stairs and hopped into a cab with my newly acquired walking frame.
The frame lasted a day and was swapped for crutches pretty quickly.
It now serves a very useful purpose as a towel rack in my room.
Although not totally sorted I was glad to be out and Snorkmaiden had kindly taken a couple of days of work to give me a hand around the house.
Managing all the day to day tasks would have been possible if not very slow, but it was so much nicer and easier having her around.
1 week later
I managed to jump on a tram and walk the half mile or so to 'the place that sells bad beer' for Friday night drinks, albeit with a crutch for support.
This was the same route I took 8 months ago when I was just starting to walk unaided again.
It was difficult and I could have murdered a beer by the time I got to the pub.
My recovery was progressing well, although I had noticed that my right for had dropped since the surgery.
I'm unable to lift it up and it sort drags if I don't raise my leg high enough.
Makes me look like I'm trying to walk through the water with one flipper on.
I'm hoping this nerve damage or whatever it is will come right over time.
Not realising it until I started writing this post, this 1 week after the surgery marks 1 year since I got my walking licence back!
Week 2
Hit a wall on Sunday and Monday, feeling very sore, lethargic, yet couldn't sleep much.
Tuesday I had an appointment with a specialist surgeon for a medical assessment, why I don't know as I was in no state to be physically examined for my work potential / incapacitation.
On the way home through the city the opportunity arose to do some Christmas shopping and as tired and sore as I was I figured wearing myself out would enable me to finally get some sleep that night / evening, or even resort to a nanna nap!
The staples were starting to give me the irrates and after driving my car to the local medical clinic, itself a challenge, I asked to be seen by the nurse to have the offending little metallic mites extracted from my skin.
Upon removal of most of the dressing we noticed that the incision on the inside of my arm was inflamed, as was part of the incision on my neck, but the staples were well ready to come out.
The doctor gave me the once over and the nurse received the thumbs up to remove the staples.
It was going ok with a couple of the staples being a little overgrown by flesh, until we got to the right leg.
Remember that funny clear dressing?
Well it was totally inappropriate as not only was it sticking to the staples as the nurse was trying to peel it off but also had the same effect as having your leg waxed millimetre by millimetre.
The last part was by far the most painful and accompanied by grunts, red face, bated breath and completely overshadowed any pain from the actual staple removal.
Had I not suffered enough already to be put through this ordeal? *raising back of hand to forehead, whilst tilting head back and to the side like some precious thing from a British period drama*
107 staples later ( I counted and felt each one as they were removed and the nurse counted them later ) I was given a script for antibiotics and sent home to chill out.
I'm to see the doctor again on Thursday to check if the inflamation has died down.
At the end of it all it's been a relatively incident free surgical procedure and recovery, here's hoping it continues like that.
This weekend Mick D. and I are off about 4 hours drive to Swan Hill way, for David's wedding.
Those who have been reading this blog for a while will remember him as the chap I met in rehab in August 2006, who like me was involved in a motorcycle crash, but unlike me had last an arm.
He asked me to be the best man some time ago and I was a bit worried the surgery might have rendered me incapable of attending, but I reckon I will be alright.
I may not post much over the Christmas period so I would like to extend all the best wishes to you for your festive period.
.
