Eventually the morning of Monday 20th July dawned. I kept a diary of
my stay in hospital, which may be of interest to anyone about to undergo a
similar procedure. My operation was
scheduled for the afternoon, so they wanted me in at 10 a.m. I wasn’t allowed
to eat anything at all after 7 a.m. apart from sips of water.
6.50 a.m. I eat a breakfast of Weetabix, not knowing when I
will next get a square meal. My original intention was to get the IPDG to write
on my good knee ‘Not this one’, to ensure they didn’t operate on the wrong knee
by mistake. However I thought better of it, as the surgeon may not take kindly
to me telling him his job, and I wanted to keep on the right side of him.
10.00 a.m. Exactly on time the IPDG drops me off at Ashford
Hospital with my overnight bag and in I went, to find my allocated place in
Dickens ward, which I understand is dedicated to orthopaedic patients. The ward was divided into bays, and
the one I was shown into had four beds in all. I was pleased to be shown to a
bed by the window, thinking that at least I will have a view. As I settled into my bedside chair, I looked
around at my three room-mates, who were all in for replacement knees. To my
left was a chap called John. He was being given exercises to do by a
physiotherapist, and seemed to be expecting to leave that day. Opposite him was
a chap called Terry, who looked a few years younger than me. He had been in
since Thursday, and had hoped to be going home by now, but he had very little
movement in the knee, which was seriously swollen, and also seemed to be having
problems with blood seeping through the dressing on his operation scar.
Physiotherapy
Next to Terry and opposite me was a man called Mohamed. Like
me he had arrived today, only he had been told to come in at 7 a.m. as he was
due to be operated on at 10 a.m. It turned out he was a retired GP, having had
a practice in Hounslow, so I presumed he was familiar with medical procedures.
I was also encouraged that a retired GP trusted the NHS for his knee surgery
when he could have gone private. However it was now gone 11 a.m. and he hadn’t
been called.
Hounslow
11.15 a.m. The anaesthetist visits me and talks me through
what would happen to me in the operating theatre. I would have a spinal
injection (epidural) which would numb the lower half of my body. He said I
could have a choice of staying awake during the operation or being given a
sedative. Without hesitation I asked him to send me to sleep, as I didn’t want
to know what they were doing to me in the theatre.
Epidural - long needle!
11.50 a.m. My surgeon, Mr Cameron-Smith comes to see me, and
gets me to sign a consent form. I presume it was to absolve the hospital in
case anything went wrong. I was pleased to see that he looked fresh and fit, as
I would have worried if he looked tired, or had a hangover from the night
before. He marked a big arrow on my right shin, pointing to the knee. This
pleased me, as I was content now that they would operate on the correct knee.
At around this time John in the bed next to me had some bad news – he was being
kept in for another night. Also Mohamed was told his operation had been delayed
which he was obviously unhappy about.
Not my legs - but note arrow
2.00 p.m. a student nurse brings me a surgical gown to wear,
which I put on the wrong way round to start with much to her amusement. I have also been given a pair of paper
knickers to wear. They were probably unisex, and a bit too small, but I supposed
there was only one size. The nurse goes
through a long questionnaire with me and undertakes various tests such as blood sugar, blood
pressure, heart rate, blood oxygen and she seemed happy with them. By now I am feeling hungry. All I have eaten
today was a small bowl of cereal at 6.50 this morning, and I’m not allowed
anything else before my operation. The lunch trolley has been and gone, and I
had to refuse suet pudding and custard. That was the hardest part of the day so
far.
Surgical gown
2.40 p.m. Mohamed is finally taken off for his operation,
and I find myself alone in the ward. I turn on the communal TV and watch a bit
of golf until 3.20 when a very little lady comes to fetch me for my operation.
I was sitting in the chair, but she wanted me to lie on the bed so she could
wheel me to the operation theatre. As she was half my size, I suggested that
she lies on the bed and I push her. She wasn’t amused at my desperate attempt
at humour and fetched a larger colleague to push me, in my bed, to the theatre.
3.25 p.m. We went down a few corridors and arrived in the
anaesthetist area, where I met the chap who had spoken to me earlier, and a few
others, including a student nurse. ‘Just my luck’ I thought, ‘An apprentice
will be wielding the needle’. But no, she just watched whilst the experienced
man did the deed. First I was connected, via a vein on the back of my hand, to
a cannula, which dosed me with a mild sedative, designed to put me to sleep
during the operation. The student nurse then attached several
wires to various points of my body using sticking plaster.
Wired up (body double used here)
3.40 p.m. I am transferred
from my bed to an operating bed and told to sit on the side of it, hunched forward. The anaesthetist then
said to me that although he is warning me that I was about to be sprayed with a
very cold spray, I would still be shocked by just how cold it was. And so it
proved, as he sprayed my lower back it felt like a block of ice had been placed
there. I nearly jumped through the
ceiling. The spray temporarily numbed my lower back, whilst I was given the
epidural, which is a strong anaesthetic injected into the spine. Within a
minute my body was completely numb from the waist down, and it would take some
24 hours to fully wear off. Whilst I was receiving this injection, Mr
Cameron-Smith appeared and shaved the area around my right knee to prepare it
for being operated on. When he finished he jokingly asked for £5 for the
haircut.
4 p.m. Finally I am wheeled
into the operating theatre and positioned under some large overhead lamps. I was
aware of 6 or 7 people bustling around me, including the anaesthetist, who sat
alongside me, observing information being provided to a monitor by the various
wires attached to me. I saw one of the surgeons applying a tourniquet to my
right leg, well above the knee, then a screen was raised at waist level, so I
could no longer see what they were doing to my leg.
An operating theatre
The strange thing was that although I felt like I was in a
sort of twilight zone, I wasn’t asleep, so was awake for the entire operation.
Normally this would have freaked me out, but in my half-asleep state, I was
quite relaxed and interested in what was going on. I could hear the team
talking to each other as they worked, including Mr Cameron-Smith, who was
clearly in charge, and I could hear all sorts of scraping, sawing and banging,
which sometimes would reverberate through my body, although I felt no pain.
I was concentrating
on the conversation between the surgeons, listening for someone to say
something like ‘Oops’ or ‘s**t, that
shouldn’t have happened!’ Happily
everything I heard was positive and they seemed happy with the outcome of their
work. At one point the anaesthetist noticed I was awake and sought to reassure
me by telling me that I was in hospital, having a knee operation. Fortunately I
knew that already.
5.20 p.m. The operation lasted an hour and 20 minutes, and
seemed to be quite hard work physically for the team, as they were constantly
lifting my leg and manipulating it to check the new joint. Eventually it was all over and I was transferred
back to my ward bed and wheeled down to the recovery room, still
connected to all my wires. Removing the tapes that held the various wires to my
chest and arms was the most painful part of the proceedings. I was the only
patient in the recovery room, which clearly had space for several others, and I
sensed the staff were waiting for me to go back to my ward so that they could
go home.
A recovery room
6.05 p.m. I am in the recovery room, where I will stay for 30 minutes, having
my heartbeat, blood oxygen levels and blood pressure monitored throughout,
before a porter came and wheeled me back to Dickens ward. Mohamed was already
back, but wearing an oxygen mask. This was later removed.
The disappointing thing for me was that I had missed dinner,
and was now starving, having eaten nothing for 12 hours. I was brought a cup of
tea and a cake, then texted the IPDG that I was back in the ward. She came
through the door very shortly afterwards looking very relieved to find me
alive. The problem had been that although she phoned the ward, they didn’t know
what was happening in the theatre. I felt for her. She had been visiting her
Mum that afternoon at St Peters Hospital, and now me at Ashford. At least she
knew I was OK. She brought some welcome snacks for me, and a porter also
brought me a cheese sandwich off the trolley, so my hunger was sated.
7.30 p.m. I could feel the numbness slowly leaving my lower
body, and by the time the IPDG left I could move my feet, although not my toes.
I was also aware of some pain in my leg. Before I went in, I had been advised
by others who had this operation that I should ensure I take pain killers at
the first sign of any pain. If you catch it early, it is easier to control. I
actually went one better than that. At 9.15 p.m. the nurse came round with a
trolley of drugs. She gave me some paracetamol even though I hadn’t yet felt
any twinges.
A drugs trolley
10.00 As I settled down for the night I reviewed my
situation. Both my legs had pumps attached at the calf. These are connected to
a power supply and alternately constrict, then release the leg. This causes
blood to flow, which will hopefully prevent DVT, or blood clots. Additionally
there was a tube, attached to my (heavily bandaged) right knee, which was
draining blood from the wounded area. It looked as if a pint or so had been
collected so far. I also had a saline drip attached to my left wrist via a
cannula. So I was therefore pretty immobile, even if I wanted to move. I would
have liked to change into nightwear (purchased specially for the occasion last
weekend) but this seemed impossible so I resolved to try and sleep in the
half-reclining position I had been left in, wearing my surgical gown and paper knickers. If I had
been given the opportunity at this point to turn the clocks back 24 hours, I
probably would have cancelled the whole damn thing.
My knee post op
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