I have not written because I have not felt like writing.
And then it had been so long it seemed like work.
So much work.
So, the morning of the 1st I had to check in at the ward by 0645. Fortunately my father had othered me a ride in so I didn't have to get up and showered quite as early as I would have if I had had to walk.
Seems part of the earliness was in case I hadn't showered before I came as it was the first thing I was asked and then I got ignore for a bit over quarter of an hour. I think I was rolled into the theatre around 0800. Then Scottish anaesthetist who was dealing with me on the way in seemed nice. Then it was about 1430 when I was finally taken to the ward, but I had no real memory of anything until about an hour later, by which point my dad was in my room watching over me.
Seems that I was in recovery for rather longer than usual. There had been some sort of issue with the intubation and the general anaesthetic. But it was never explained to me, and wasn't important enough to be included in the letter for my GP. When the surgeons came to visit later in the afternoon, once I was properly awake, they were pleasantly surprised that I was able to talk (even though it was only very approximately talking - it was all rasp and pain). I was asked to count to twenty as as I rasped my way through it I could see palpable relief washing over the masked faces of the surgical team. Turns out they thought they had done significant damage to my left laryngeal nerve, as in possibly might have destroyed it utterly levels of damage. But I could speak well enough that they were discovering that they hadn't destroyed it - some of it is still there and functional.
So the risk I had been most worried about before hand turned out to be a closer call than ideal, but I am OK. My voice is still a bit off even four weeks after, might not be much of a singer ever as my pitch control is wonky as and I occasionally sound like a cracking teenage boy when I speak. But I can talk. So victory.....
On the first night I broke the vacuum on my drain and it wasn't fixed until the afternoon and never seemed to actually work again, but I guess I wasn't building up too much fluid as they removed it only a couple of hours after the original schedule, on early Friday afternoon. After the pain from it had earlier led to me having a cry while the hot Indian surgeon from my surgical team held my hand. Only way I can get a hot guy to hold my hand is to have a cry after he pokes me in an open wound......
The three days in hospital was just a lot of dozing, pain, drugs, tolerable food and lack of actual sleep. It wasn't until after the drain was gone that I could even do simple things like roll over. So it was only on Friday night that I was comfortable enough to even think to try to watch Netflix on my phone with the hospital Wi-Fi. Before that it was just wallowing and too much thinking. Got some good overthinking out of the way.
On the Saturday when I was discharged I had a nurse who seemed to really dislike me on a personal level, and the weird Saturday doctor who did not follow the guidelines left by my surgical team and changed a bunch of stuff, including putting me on meds he asked me about and I was very clear about wanting to avoid. Note for the future - leave on Friday. Weekend staff are not ideal. Though ideally I will never be in a position to use that advice. Die quickly, dodge being an inpatient ever again......
I use ellipses too much, and give them more dots than they need.
Once out of hospital, I had to fill scripts on a Saturday afternoon during level 3 lockdown. Which was a bit of a todo. Especially as I was stoned as fuck and couldn't move my neck.
I got home with two-to-three days of morphine (which I stretched to a six by minimal doses - does that make me an opioid addict?). I didn't do anything but doze and watch YouTube while failing to take anything in until Wednesday when I went to my GPs office for a bandage change. Then, on Thursday, I was finally allowed to shower. Washing is amazing.
I don't recall if it was last day or morphine or first day post morphine when Firmin dropped by to check I was alive. Which was very nice. I was a bit out of it either way. He has grown a beard over lockdown but had shaved it off before anyone else I know saw it so now I am not entirely certain it ever happened and wasn't some sort of opioid fever dream. I think I may have hugged him more than it is fair to hug any human.
Ten days after my surgery I finally did a social outing. I went out for lunch and then to Free Guy with Tavendale. Then because I had left the house my family made me do it again for dinner, for my trans-sisters birthday, that evening. To Speight's Ale House. I think I had ribs. Was a long time ago and my memory was fogged up by the tramadol I was still on at that stage, but I think it was ribs. I must have been confident that would be soft enough as chewing still hurts a bit.
On Monday, the 13th I was semi-conscious through some D&D. My character is a face build who is also a follower - so I don't have to be very on the ball.
The next day I had my first psych appointment since before the lockdown started, so I think about a month. I think we mostly just talked about my hospital stay and recovery. But very much not about the thinking I did on hospital which may have included dealing with some confused feelings I had about my shrink and he probably doesn't need to know I occasionally thought he was attractive because he was nice to me and my brain doesn't handle niceness well (due to lack of practice).
This is enough for now. I will be back with more. Someday.
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