The other ladies had warned me that day three would be shit. Day three is when the last of the general anaesthetic and other drugs given during surgery completely leave your system. It is also the day that the drugs given orally reach their effective level in your blood. It tends to make your emotions tank and not one of the patients in my bay had gone through day three without having a least one crying jag. In my case it also saw the arrival of the most appalling nausea and a bad tempered physiotherapist. I'd just been injected with anti-nausea medication when she started in on wanting me to walk up and down some stairs. I tried to tell her I would, just not right now, but she still went on and on. The physiotherapy assistant with her gave me a sympathetic look. In hindsight I wish I'd given in to the urge to projectile vomit over her.
My right incision was still bleeding so I stayed in hospital scrubs. The morning was a bit of a blur as I felt really sick. I seemed to be outside of myself, the world a bit distant. I still went for walks and ate but it all became more disorienting as the day wore on.
I eventually did do the stair walking and was able to explain to the physiotherapist's assistant that I'd been trying to avoid puking over them earlier rather than being uncooperative. She understood but the physio herself still had a face like she'd been chewing wasps when she met us in the test room. I was to find out a couple of days later that she'd had several run-ins with other patients on the same day. I felt like I floated up and down the steps rather than walk on them. I also managed not to swear at the physio when she snapped at me that I was only to use the one handrail (rather than both) as I only had one at home.
I'm not sure but I think day three was when one of my former colleagues and friends popped in to see me on her way from visiting her mother in the same hospital. Jane patiently let me ramble on and on. It was whilst I was talking to her that I realised I seemed to be gabbling and a bit off my tits to be frank. I'm also not sure if it was day three or day four when I saw Mr Muir again. He appeared to be about the size of a leprechaun and floating in a seated position just about the end of my bed. I remember telling him I felt chemically toxic. In fact, I felt like I'd been poisoned! The psychedelic effect was only added to be the fact he seemed to take this completely in his stride and told me that what I was experiencing was completely normal.
Two porters took me down to Main X-ray in the afternoon. I was so glad to be wheeled out of the ward on my bed as the corridors were so much cooler. The accompanying stand-up routine was a welcome distraction. The younger of the x-ray technicians was a bit startled when I pointed out that my consultant wanted my x-rays to be done 'under loading', i.e. with me standing up. Even so, she still wheeled my bed too close to the machine. It had various bits sticking out all over the place. I was still very nauseous so I really did not want to have to look down or move my head at all really. The technician went to check with her older colleague that the 'under loading' bit was correct. Having checked the sheet, the older lady said, yes, it was. So the younger one added "who's her consultant?"."Oh, it's Mr Mckenna". "Ooh" was the reaction, said with a tone that suggested that this explained everything. I surmise his post-surgery method rather startles some of his colleagues!
Two porters took me down to Main X-ray in the afternoon. I was so glad to be wheeled out of the ward on my bed as the corridors were so much cooler. The accompanying stand-up routine was a welcome distraction. The younger of the x-ray technicians was a bit startled when I pointed out that my consultant wanted my x-rays to be done 'under loading', i.e. with me standing up. Even so, she still wheeled my bed too close to the machine. It had various bits sticking out all over the place. I was still very nauseous so I really did not want to have to look down or move my head at all really. The technician went to check with her older colleague that the 'under loading' bit was correct. Having checked the sheet, the older lady said, yes, it was. So the younger one added "who's her consultant?"."Oh, it's Mr Mckenna". "Ooh" was the reaction, said with a tone that suggested that this explained everything. I surmise his post-surgery method rather startles some of his colleagues!
Days three and four I had the most appalling craving for a chicken mayonnaise sandwich. So much so that I nearly kissed my friend Mary's feet when she brought me one in. The hospital food was great. I just had this awful craving. She sat and chatted to be for quite a while then pointed out the window and told me she was not surprised I felt weird. Mary eventually had to explain that it was the night of the full moon and commented that of course a white witch like me was bound to feel strange.
It was something more than that though. I was on high dosage of paracetamol and of codeine. I'm not sure at what point the nursing staff figured it out, but it would appear I shouldn't be allowed anywhere near codeine. It had been causing the nausea, the hallucinations and the sensations of non-existent constipation and period cramps (yes, that good!). Once my mental fog cleared a bit, they explained that it's not uncommon for people to find that they can't take a given pain killer in large amounts. I was told that I would seem to be at the extreme end of the codeine sensitivity however and to make sure to check anything I took in future for codeine as an ingredient (e.g, cough and cold remedies).
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