I was to spend a total of seven days in Hunter Ward. The reaction to codeine was awful and really messed with my head, even after the nausea and other physical symptoms had gone. I was in a cleft stick regarding my bleeding right incision. The nurses wanted it to close as they were concerned about the risk of infection. The surgical team were happier that it was leaking as it was better for the blood trapped during surgery to evacuate rather than staying in (a haematoma) providing a route for infection and, possibly, leading to further surgery. I was subject to endless blood taking. I think the lab technicians must have been heartily sick of checking for signs of infection by the time I was released.
Washing was restricted as I needed to keep the dressing on the open right incision dry. This meant I could not wash my hair as I was not allowed in the shower. I can not tell you how revolting it felt. I'm normally prone to the dry frizzies but by day seven, it looked like I'd tipped a vat of oil over my head and encouraged my hair into clumps that stood out at all angles!
The nursing staff were avoiding getting trapped into the 'what does it look like' conversation. My friend Jimmy popped by after visiting a relative and kindly took a look at my wounds for me. Apparently they did not look 'too bad' but were about six inches long instead of half inch. He also counted my staples for me. I had seven in the left side and fourteen in the right. I am glad that the staples did not give me too much discomfort as the wounds shrunk widthways as they closed.
I had several false starts regarding discharge. My right incision would dry up for just long enough to convince the staff I could go now go home, only for it to suddenly flood again. It was to be day six before they made a firm decision I could go.
Day seven was a complete muddle. I was not the only one scheduled for discharge, nor was I the only one due to take their first shower. There must have been three of us in my bay alone who were to take a first shower and get discharged. It was just after lunch by the time I got my turn. I was left alone in the ladies' wet room. This made the whole thing so much more hard work. I am very short sighted. I was still unable to 'read' my body properly. There was nowhere to put down my wash bag that would have been accessible whilst standing so I had to perch on a shower stool that was set a little too high for me. To say I was a nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs was an understatement! I was so exhausted by the time I'd washed that I had to ring for a nurse to help me finish drying. I'd more or less drip-dried by the time she got there. I just could not reach my feet.
I collapsed on the bed until a nurse came to ask me if I'd been signed off my everybody at about 2pm. How should I know? I didn't know who had to sign me off! Eventually they were happy for me to go. I was issued with pain killers, including the wretched codeine, and a slip of paper with the ward phone number on it. No spare dressings, no post-surgery booklet, and no tips on how to care for incisions I couldn't see let alone re-dress.
A pal eventually drove me home after I was let down my my planned designated driver. She could not stay too long so she cleaned up after my cat sitter and then I was on my own. The first problem arose when I realised I could not eat because all the meals I had prepared before going into hospital were at ankle height in the freezer. Fortunately my hose and cat sitter Gary had left enough in the 'fridge for me to fix a sandwich. I had to eat it off the breadboard however as, of course, the plates were also at ankle height in the cupboard!
I pottered about a little, trying to see what I felt okay about doing for myself and trying to work out what I would need help with.
The sofa and TV beckoned about 9pm. My ability to concentrate was still quite limited so I turned off the TV called a neighbour who'd had knee surgery a few weeks before I went into hospital. Best thing I could have done as he echoed that admission and surgery was good but that the discharge was a complete shambles. He also fixed for his wife to come over once she got home as I needed the cat pan changed before I could go to bed. I then realised that I was sitting in a pool of my own blood. I went into complete meltdown.
The doorbell rung. Perfect timing. I rang Hunter ward and rambled at the nurse until my friend took over. She confirmed that the right dressing was totally flooded. The next ten minutes were frantic as I contacted Gary to tell him he had to continue cat sitting, and got into another neighbour's car as I'd been told to go to A&E.
Washing was restricted as I needed to keep the dressing on the open right incision dry. This meant I could not wash my hair as I was not allowed in the shower. I can not tell you how revolting it felt. I'm normally prone to the dry frizzies but by day seven, it looked like I'd tipped a vat of oil over my head and encouraged my hair into clumps that stood out at all angles!
The nursing staff were avoiding getting trapped into the 'what does it look like' conversation. My friend Jimmy popped by after visiting a relative and kindly took a look at my wounds for me. Apparently they did not look 'too bad' but were about six inches long instead of half inch. He also counted my staples for me. I had seven in the left side and fourteen in the right. I am glad that the staples did not give me too much discomfort as the wounds shrunk widthways as they closed.
I had several false starts regarding discharge. My right incision would dry up for just long enough to convince the staff I could go now go home, only for it to suddenly flood again. It was to be day six before they made a firm decision I could go.
Day seven was a complete muddle. I was not the only one scheduled for discharge, nor was I the only one due to take their first shower. There must have been three of us in my bay alone who were to take a first shower and get discharged. It was just after lunch by the time I got my turn. I was left alone in the ladies' wet room. This made the whole thing so much more hard work. I am very short sighted. I was still unable to 'read' my body properly. There was nowhere to put down my wash bag that would have been accessible whilst standing so I had to perch on a shower stool that was set a little too high for me. To say I was a nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs was an understatement! I was so exhausted by the time I'd washed that I had to ring for a nurse to help me finish drying. I'd more or less drip-dried by the time she got there. I just could not reach my feet.
I collapsed on the bed until a nurse came to ask me if I'd been signed off my everybody at about 2pm. How should I know? I didn't know who had to sign me off! Eventually they were happy for me to go. I was issued with pain killers, including the wretched codeine, and a slip of paper with the ward phone number on it. No spare dressings, no post-surgery booklet, and no tips on how to care for incisions I couldn't see let alone re-dress.
A pal eventually drove me home after I was let down my my planned designated driver. She could not stay too long so she cleaned up after my cat sitter and then I was on my own. The first problem arose when I realised I could not eat because all the meals I had prepared before going into hospital were at ankle height in the freezer. Fortunately my hose and cat sitter Gary had left enough in the 'fridge for me to fix a sandwich. I had to eat it off the breadboard however as, of course, the plates were also at ankle height in the cupboard!
I pottered about a little, trying to see what I felt okay about doing for myself and trying to work out what I would need help with.
The sofa and TV beckoned about 9pm. My ability to concentrate was still quite limited so I turned off the TV called a neighbour who'd had knee surgery a few weeks before I went into hospital. Best thing I could have done as he echoed that admission and surgery was good but that the discharge was a complete shambles. He also fixed for his wife to come over once she got home as I needed the cat pan changed before I could go to bed. I then realised that I was sitting in a pool of my own blood. I went into complete meltdown.
The doorbell rung. Perfect timing. I rang Hunter ward and rambled at the nurse until my friend took over. She confirmed that the right dressing was totally flooded. The next ten minutes were frantic as I contacted Gary to tell him he had to continue cat sitting, and got into another neighbour's car as I'd been told to go to A&E.
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