We Have A Plan
Here we go again. I am back on the ward, in a stupid hospital gown. I am last on the list. There is only me and another lady. I start to make conversation with the lady opposite. We exchange commentary about our diagnosis. I ask who her surgeon and it's Mr ______.
To quote a lyric from one of my favourite songs, "I digress". I am a big fan of Mr ______. I like to fangirl generally anyway. I could give you a whole list of gentlemen I like to fangirl over. But it would probably fill up this blog and this is not the time or the place. Anway, I start to fangirl re: Mr _____ and say generally how amazing he is, what a nice man he is, how caring and kind, etc.
She doesn't answer me. I realise she is at least 10 years older than me (I am not ageist but a lot of people I meet on this journey are older than me!) amd, like myself, she is probably scared shitless. I decide now would probably be a good time to shut up.
A lovely young lady doctor comes round to talk to us, individually. She is Mr ____'s registrar. She explains that Mr ____ is in surgery but I am next on the list and she checks me over and draws the usual, complimentary arrow corresponding to the right body part.
The lady opposite me goes down to surgery. Her husband tells me the nice lady registrar is going to do the operation. He says that she has to do it because Mr ______ will be operating on a "tricky" patient. He likes to do the "tricky" ones himself. I guess I know now that I am "tricky".
Along comes my lovely anaesthetist. It is the same lovely man I had before. He says "Hello, Emma, Wow. I like the hair. Its grown since I last saw you. It's looking good." OMG. I think I love this man. Fangirling again. He askes me how it went down last time. I told him I was sick. "That will not do. That will not do at all. I shall have to change the mix."
Off we pop along, a la ER styley again, to the Operating Theatre - or a small room before the Operating Theatre - mortals are not allowed beyond this area. It would be like the LHC going into overdrive and sucking us all into a black hole. Cosmic fallout. My lovely anaesthestist is there. He is working his mojo. We start to talk and we are laughing when my Consultant strides in, dressed in full theatre combat gear. He asks if this is a private party, or can anyone join in? Such fun.
Then boom I am asleep, And when I awake, things go grim again. My Consultant comes to see me. He didn't do this last time. So something must be up. He says "I'm sorry. Things didn't go as we had hoped. It's a good job we have a Plan B."
Crap, crap, crap.
I am allowed home later that evening. I have another drain in. I am very sore this time round. I appreciate my boob has suffered trauma. It looks like it has been mangled. Such is another day in the crap that is my life at the moment!