They broke my face
7 days ago I had surgery for a deviated septum and I am feeling uncommonly sorry for myself. This is partly due to the 1,000,001 horrific recovery stories I read on the internet beforehand. I mean, this sort of thing is going to put the fear of god into you:
...The anaesthesia really did a number on me [...] and it took many, many, many nauseated hours before I even started recovering[...]
When the doctor ripped the well-crusted packing out of my nose [...] my gut reaction was to punch him as hard as I possibly could, then run far, far away. Searing, blinding, face-smashing pain...
I, however, was surprised how together I felt when I woke up in the recovery room. My nostrils were packed with mini tampons, but I was chatting happily with the nurses who wheeled me back to the ward. Then I spent a contented hour or so cheerily texting and phoning friends, marvelling at how out of it the other patients were looking.
Then the morphine wore off.
After that it was inexplicable and uncontrollable sobbing, bleeding and vomiting (sometimes all three via the same orifice) all the way. And a sudden flashback to the anteroom where the surgeon told the nurses he was going to "flush her sinuses with a cocaine solution". So basically I was.. what? Having withdrawal?
When the chipper young Irish nurse came to remove my packing the next morning, I was wide awake and counting down the hours till I was discharged. But 8am took forever to come. I now fully appreciate my dog's attitude of "okay, let's go!" when we exit the vet's surgery and she's hanging around while I pay the bill. Every second sentence out of my mouth was "...But I'm still being discharged at 8am, aren't I?"
Having the packing removed was a bit of an ordeal. She squirted saline solution up each nostril and dragged out the tampons while I held a kidney dish under my chin. It's a bit like having a wet weasel pulled from the back of your brain via your nostril. And with each one came blood. A lot of blood. Much of it was going down the back of my throat, too. And it just kept coming until the nurse got very pale and said things like "Oh dear" and "Oh god you're so young" and "I'm not very good with blood, you know".
Then another nurse came and there was a whispered discussion about whether I'd need a blood transfusion and an extra night in hospital. I fully believe that I only stopped bleeding then because I willed it. Then The Boyfriend showed up and I went from 0 to fully packed and dressed in 30 seconds. They strapped a sanitary towel to my face, gave me some painkillers and I zoomed out of the door.
I have never been so thankful to be home in my life. I have spent the last week on the sofa, mostly zonked on painkillers, although this weekend I have done an unwise amount of geeking, which only goes to show me that geeking in this condition is unwise. I get thumping sinus headaches, my nose hurts like a motherfucker but I can breathe through it a little. Thankfully my work sent me an enormous bouquet and a card, and I have 7 more days' leave.
So why aren't I slumped on the sofa watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Good question! Bye-bye...!
...The anaesthesia really did a number on me [...] and it took many, many, many nauseated hours before I even started recovering[...]
When the doctor ripped the well-crusted packing out of my nose [...] my gut reaction was to punch him as hard as I possibly could, then run far, far away. Searing, blinding, face-smashing pain...
I, however, was surprised how together I felt when I woke up in the recovery room. My nostrils were packed with mini tampons, but I was chatting happily with the nurses who wheeled me back to the ward. Then I spent a contented hour or so cheerily texting and phoning friends, marvelling at how out of it the other patients were looking.
Then the morphine wore off.
After that it was inexplicable and uncontrollable sobbing, bleeding and vomiting (sometimes all three via the same orifice) all the way. And a sudden flashback to the anteroom where the surgeon told the nurses he was going to "flush her sinuses with a cocaine solution". So basically I was.. what? Having withdrawal?
When the chipper young Irish nurse came to remove my packing the next morning, I was wide awake and counting down the hours till I was discharged. But 8am took forever to come. I now fully appreciate my dog's attitude of "okay, let's go!" when we exit the vet's surgery and she's hanging around while I pay the bill. Every second sentence out of my mouth was "...But I'm still being discharged at 8am, aren't I?"
Having the packing removed was a bit of an ordeal. She squirted saline solution up each nostril and dragged out the tampons while I held a kidney dish under my chin. It's a bit like having a wet weasel pulled from the back of your brain via your nostril. And with each one came blood. A lot of blood. Much of it was going down the back of my throat, too. And it just kept coming until the nurse got very pale and said things like "Oh dear" and "Oh god you're so young" and "I'm not very good with blood, you know".
Then another nurse came and there was a whispered discussion about whether I'd need a blood transfusion and an extra night in hospital. I fully believe that I only stopped bleeding then because I willed it. Then The Boyfriend showed up and I went from 0 to fully packed and dressed in 30 seconds. They strapped a sanitary towel to my face, gave me some painkillers and I zoomed out of the door.
I have never been so thankful to be home in my life. I have spent the last week on the sofa, mostly zonked on painkillers, although this weekend I have done an unwise amount of geeking, which only goes to show me that geeking in this condition is unwise. I get thumping sinus headaches, my nose hurts like a motherfucker but I can breathe through it a little. Thankfully my work sent me an enormous bouquet and a card, and I have 7 more days' leave.
So why aren't I slumped on the sofa watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Good question! Bye-bye...!
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