It’s done. I’ve survived. I went into hospital feeling fit and well and came out feeling as if I’d been assaulted by a bloke with a knife, but that’s more or less the way of the thing. I was actually lucky in that when I arrived at 11:30 having followed the fasting instructions to the letter (up at six so I could have tea and toast no later than 6:30, glass of water just before 11), the operation before mine had gone unexpectedly quickly (I didn’t ask whether that was because they’d just killed the patient) so I was into the world’s least flattering pair of stockings and onto a trolley before I could even get irritated by the daytime television being shown in the waiting room. Pausing only to discuss cycle campaigning with my anaesthetist (who recognised me from our bike breakfast earlier this month, what can I say, this is Bigtown) I passed out in mid sentence – possibly explaining why the council’s plans for access to the new hospital are a bit rubbish – and the next thing I knew I was waking with a start in the recovery area with the feeling that I’d overslept because I had to get up early to have my tea and toast before my operation and oh…

Since then, I’ve been learning how to just relax and convalesce, looked after by the other half who has been feeding me pretty much at hourly intervals as though I were some sort of orphaned baby animal, and not letting me carry anything heavier than my phone, which I’m to have with me at all times in case I need him and he’s not in the room. The process has been helped by yet another gloriously sunny day (what is going on?) which meant it was almost too hot to sit on the bench by lunchtime, especially when you’re still wearing the world’s least flattering pair of stockings under your trousers. I’ve been feeling groggy enough to just sit still and read, which has had the unexpected bonus that the birds have been ignoring me and continuing their lives around me oblivious. It’s nice to have a front row seat for the robin wars…

I have to admit that cycling seems a distant prospect at the moment. The most active thing I’ve managed today is to totter up to the veg garden to show the other half the seedlings which need watering and then totter down again. I have discovered that everything – sitting up, sitting down, standing up, bending down, getting dressed, laughing, breathing – uses your stomach muscles, and they’re telling me all about it. Forget that abdominal workout, people, you’re doing it already, I tell you.

My mother and aunt who have both had the same operation tell me that I’ll feel better pretty quickly but then they’re both apparently indestructible. Here’s hoping that I inherited some of those genes, and not just the slight manufacturing defect part.


13 Responses to Grooh

  1. Well done. Here’s to a speedy recovery.

  2. disgruntled says:

    Thanks. Though if anyone deserves a ‘well done’ it’s the other half

  3. Viviane says:

    Get better soon ! I was operated of a hernia, but I was thirteen or so, and my memory is rather hazy. I remember laughing and climbing stairs were tough in the first days… I also remember that when I woke up I asked where my hernia was (in a jar, maybe ?) and they laughed before explaining to me that nothing had be cut off.

  4. Best wishes from across the big pond.

  5. disgruntled says:

    yeah, just discovered that laughing can be painful…

  6. bob says:

    I know that discomfort. Oh hell, let’s just call it PAIN, shall we?
    You were somewhat fortunate to get into the surgery expeditiously I might say, as my surgeon and I were delayed due to an accident on the highway, which then meant that some poor soul needed the operating theater more than I. I was left to lie about in the hallway for quite some time. Getting hungrier by the minute. My surgeon decided to take a nap. I was OK with that.
    Take it easy, and get well soon.

  7. Andy in Germany says:

    Get well soon. I sympathise being the veteran of three such operations. After the third I made the mistake of travelling with a very funny friend and laughed so much I thought the stitching had broken…

  8. CJ says:

    So glad it went well and that you have a good man to look after you. I do hope it’s a speedy recovery. CJ xx

  9. Flighty says:

    Take care, and make the most of the other half’s ministrations. xx

  10. Charles Lock says:

    Look on the bright side. Not being able to laugh makes all flat jokes etc suddenly extremely funny because you dare not laugh. It is like being child in front of teacher and being told to stop grinning – not going to happen.

    Also a good time to sit in the garden and visualise where all the missing tools might be, I am still trying to find a few with this Zen mind tracking – it beats walking around looking for them…

  11. Anonymous says:

    Glad it went well.
    Best Wishes

  12. disgruntled says:

    Thanks everyone. I shall try the zen missing tools technique although there’s no sign of the old hand fork yet

  13. […] I got assaulted by a man with a knife and discovered that the most painful part was not being able to ride my bike […]

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