I thought I would interrupt the series of My Hospital Story to reflect on some of the small difficulties I've encountered every day since having my surgery. None of these are particularly great - just an adjustment to what was usual pre-surgery.
As the surgery is now almost 6 weeks ago, some of these Temporary Difficulties have now become Everyday Life, although some have disappeared altogether, or will do soon, I hope!
Showering
I have always used a huge bath-sheet towel to dry myself with after a shower, but, post-surgery, I found there was no way I could fling one of those giants around myself, as it was just too heavy! So I've got into the routine of using 3 small hand-towels - one for my hair, one for my body and an extra one specially for my chest, as recommended by the nurse at the hospital.
Dressing
It's quite difficult to dress when you can't open your arms very wide or raise them high enough to put on a top or t-shirt. Fortunately, I had bought a few button-up shirts and they have worked really well. It's only in the last few days that I've been able to put on a t-shirt over my head. Getting the t-shirt off again is another thing, of course!
On the last day in the hospital when all the dressings were removed (as I will share, eventually, in My Hospital Story), I had to put on a bra for the first time. I'd taken about 4 different ones to hospital with me, but the only one that was comfortable enough (and still is!) was the Shock Absorber sports bra, as the straps were wide and plain and it was a really good fit.
Sleeping
Getting into a comfortable position to sleep in the hospital is straightforward, as you have a bed that you can move into just about any position you like. Which is not the case back at home.
As I still have to sleep on my back, I've been using a square Continental-style pillow, a regular pillow plus a v-shaped orthopaedic pillow to get comfortable every night. This means I'm already half-way down the bed before I'm even horizontal! But it is very comfortable. The regular pillow supports my lower back and the v-shaped pillow keeps me in position during the night.
Walking
At first, even something as straightforward as just walking was really hard. I would go for a walk around the block with my Mum and my daughter and I would find it difficult to walk and talk at the same time. Even walking at about half my usual pace, this was not easy, and I would be really tired by the time we got home.
But walking is the best exercise to do during recovery and now, 6 weeks later, after walking every day, I have realised I'm walking more or less at my normal pace, and I can walk and talk at the same time with no problem.
It's quite interesting to discover just how far I've come in my recovery in those few weeks. I mean, I'm still taking it very easy and not doing much at all in terms of housework etc. and I still need my nap every afternoon, so I'm still quite a way from full recovery, but it is definitely a big step in the right direction!
Thursday 19 July 2012
Friday 13 July 2012
My Hospital Story - Part Two
Day Three - First day after the Operation
The next time I woke up, it was daylight and there was a tray on the table in front of me, holding a small bowl of porridge and a cup of tea!
The porridge was quite runny and I didn't find it easy to eat, as I couldn't sit up properly. I managed a few spoonfuls and it tasted really good. The cup of tea was even better, though, and was so much nicer than a few sips of water.
I could see now that there were just four patients in the ward and that it was much smaller than it had seemed to me the night before.
The nurse looking after me was amazing and as the morning went on, she told me that the plan was to move me to the High Dependency Unit (HDU) by lunchtime.
This meant that they had to move me out of the specialised bed of the ICU into a "normal" ward bed.
That was the hard part, as I was still attached to all the lines/drains etc. But I had to get to my feet, hang on (literally!) to the nurse, wait until I could feel the new bed behind my knees, and then collapse weakly onto it! The nurse had asked me to march a few steps while I was upright, which was a lot of effort. I felt really sick as I sat down on the bed, but it soon subsided and I felt better after a few minutes.
The best part about that morning was when the nurse told me that I was a really good patient! In the past I had never been a good patient, having a fear of going into a hospital (even as a visitor!), but the nurse's words made me feel really pleased.
Lunchtime came and I was wheeled off to the HDU, ready for the visit of my husband and my parents later on.
The High Dependency Unit was much the same really - four patients, but just two nurses to look after us. I was on the right nearest the door, as you came into the room. The door was always propped open and in such a position that I couldn't see the clock on the wall above the door, which meant I had no way of telling the time without asking the nurse, as I still didn't have my watch which was on the main ward in the safe!
By the time my parents and my husband arrived to see me, I was sitting in the chair next to the bed. I think they were very surprised to see me out of bed. I managed to carry on a conversation for a while and read many of the Get Well cards that they had brought for me to look at, but I could feel my eyes starting to shut as I struggled to concentrate on what they were all saying. They left soon after that, saying they would visit again the following day.
Day Four - Day Two after the Operation
I slept quite well that night, as I felt really rested when I woke up. I enjoyed my breakfast - porridge again, but this time I ate it all! The doctors visited and, once again, it was likely that I would only spend one night in the HDU and be back on the main ward by the end of the day.
The worst part of my hospital stay occurred today - the removal of the drains! As part of my preparation for surgery I had read many accounts of what happens in the first few days post-op, and the removal of the drains was something that I wasn't looking forward to at all. The doctor explained to the nurse that she could take them out, and explained to me that it was "a little bit uncomfortable, but even small children find it no problem".
Now, sorry, but that I find hard to believe! As a child following my first surgery, I remember having stitches removed from my chest and it being quite unpleasant, but now I can look back and know that that particular experience was not about stitch removal but about the removal of the drains!
Unfortunately, this time another two patients on the ward had to have their drains removed just before me, so that I had to sit in bed and listen to their moans & groans of what I imagined was excruciating pain, before it was my turn!
Of course, it wasn't nearly as bad as that. I had my self-administered morphine dose, then breathe-in, breathe-out, breathe-in, breathe-out, breathe-in-and-hold....and the first one was out! It wasn't painful, just the oddest & most uncomfortable feeling of someone pulling your insides out very quickly! I had four drains, so had to go through it another three times, but the first one was definitely the worst.
After a quick trip to X-ray in a wheelchair, I sat in the chair for a bit and my husband arrived for his visit and we had a good chat this time, as I was feeling more like myself and not so weak as the day before.
My move back to the main ward was scheduled for 5pm, but before that the nurse from the next shift removed everything that restricted my movement, ready for my return to the ward, including all the cannula's in my hands, leaving just pacing wires in my chest and the central line in my neck.
And then we were off to the main ward, where I was pleased to find that two of the ladies that I had shared the bay with pre-surgery were still there. I retrieved my watch from the ward safe and all was well!
The next time I woke up, it was daylight and there was a tray on the table in front of me, holding a small bowl of porridge and a cup of tea!
The porridge was quite runny and I didn't find it easy to eat, as I couldn't sit up properly. I managed a few spoonfuls and it tasted really good. The cup of tea was even better, though, and was so much nicer than a few sips of water.
I could see now that there were just four patients in the ward and that it was much smaller than it had seemed to me the night before.
The nurse looking after me was amazing and as the morning went on, she told me that the plan was to move me to the High Dependency Unit (HDU) by lunchtime.
This meant that they had to move me out of the specialised bed of the ICU into a "normal" ward bed.
That was the hard part, as I was still attached to all the lines/drains etc. But I had to get to my feet, hang on (literally!) to the nurse, wait until I could feel the new bed behind my knees, and then collapse weakly onto it! The nurse had asked me to march a few steps while I was upright, which was a lot of effort. I felt really sick as I sat down on the bed, but it soon subsided and I felt better after a few minutes.
The best part about that morning was when the nurse told me that I was a really good patient! In the past I had never been a good patient, having a fear of going into a hospital (even as a visitor!), but the nurse's words made me feel really pleased.
Lunchtime came and I was wheeled off to the HDU, ready for the visit of my husband and my parents later on.
The High Dependency Unit was much the same really - four patients, but just two nurses to look after us. I was on the right nearest the door, as you came into the room. The door was always propped open and in such a position that I couldn't see the clock on the wall above the door, which meant I had no way of telling the time without asking the nurse, as I still didn't have my watch which was on the main ward in the safe!
By the time my parents and my husband arrived to see me, I was sitting in the chair next to the bed. I think they were very surprised to see me out of bed. I managed to carry on a conversation for a while and read many of the Get Well cards that they had brought for me to look at, but I could feel my eyes starting to shut as I struggled to concentrate on what they were all saying. They left soon after that, saying they would visit again the following day.
Day Four - Day Two after the Operation
I slept quite well that night, as I felt really rested when I woke up. I enjoyed my breakfast - porridge again, but this time I ate it all! The doctors visited and, once again, it was likely that I would only spend one night in the HDU and be back on the main ward by the end of the day.
The worst part of my hospital stay occurred today - the removal of the drains! As part of my preparation for surgery I had read many accounts of what happens in the first few days post-op, and the removal of the drains was something that I wasn't looking forward to at all. The doctor explained to the nurse that she could take them out, and explained to me that it was "a little bit uncomfortable, but even small children find it no problem".
Now, sorry, but that I find hard to believe! As a child following my first surgery, I remember having stitches removed from my chest and it being quite unpleasant, but now I can look back and know that that particular experience was not about stitch removal but about the removal of the drains!
Unfortunately, this time another two patients on the ward had to have their drains removed just before me, so that I had to sit in bed and listen to their moans & groans of what I imagined was excruciating pain, before it was my turn!
Of course, it wasn't nearly as bad as that. I had my self-administered morphine dose, then breathe-in, breathe-out, breathe-in, breathe-out, breathe-in-and-hold....and the first one was out! It wasn't painful, just the oddest & most uncomfortable feeling of someone pulling your insides out very quickly! I had four drains, so had to go through it another three times, but the first one was definitely the worst.
After a quick trip to X-ray in a wheelchair, I sat in the chair for a bit and my husband arrived for his visit and we had a good chat this time, as I was feeling more like myself and not so weak as the day before.
My move back to the main ward was scheduled for 5pm, but before that the nurse from the next shift removed everything that restricted my movement, ready for my return to the ward, including all the cannula's in my hands, leaving just pacing wires in my chest and the central line in my neck.
And then we were off to the main ward, where I was pleased to find that two of the ladies that I had shared the bay with pre-surgery were still there. I retrieved my watch from the ward safe and all was well!
Thursday 5 July 2012
My Hospital Story - Part One
First of all, I would like to say how devastated I am for the patients and their families of the three children's heart surgery units that are due to close as a result of the Safe And Sustainable review by the NHS.
I'm particularly sad for the little patients of the Royal Brompton Hospital where I was looked after and cared for so well just 4 weeks ago - the hospital is a world-class unit carrying out highly regarded research into congenital heart defects in babies, even before those babies are born.
As mentioned in my previous blogs, I stayed in the hospital for just 8 nights - this is Part One of that stay.
Day One - Admission
It was a terrible day. Despite all my best efforts I couldn't stop myself crying when I said goodbye to my little girl before she went to school, and that set the tone for the whole day. I could hardly speak by the time we left the house, leaving my parents and father-in-law standing on the doorstep.
The journey to the hospital took about an hour and a half and we stopped for a sandwich in South Kensington before going into the hospital.
It took some time before there was a bed available and the seemingly interminable wait before anyone talks to you at all. I must've said my name and date of birth a dozen times to confirm my identity.
Is it likely that a stranger would just walk in off the street and pretend to be me to get a pulmonary valve replacement?!?
Eventually we saw the registrar and he explained about the surgery and the risks involved and I had to reach for my husband's hand for support. I couldn't stop the tears once again and I think the registrar was a bit taken aback. I got through a whole pack of tissues, as once I started I couldn't stop.
The anaesthetist arrived to go through my file and to explain his part in my surgery. He was very down-to-earth and told me that my case was not complex, it was in fact very straight-forward. He did this same surgery with the same surgeon about once or twice a week. For some reason this calmed me down and by the time my husband had to leave to find his accommodation in the hospital, I was feeling much better. I'd also been prescribed some sleeping pills, which was good news, as I don't think I would've slept otherwise.
The other ladies on the ward were friendly and we chatted until bedtime, sharing our heart stories and that made me feel better too.
Day Two - The Day of the Operation
I woke up feeling really woozy after the sleeping pills but had to rush to shower and pack all my bags, as I could only take my toilet bag with me. I even had to leave my watch and phone with my husband, which left me feeling really cut off from the world. Luckily they left me my glasses which they would put into my toilet bag once I was in surgery.
The surgeon came to see me at about 7.15am. It was the first time I'd met him and I was relieved to find him so friendly and laid-back. He didn't go into any details about the surgery but looked at my notes and asked about my family and my little girl (managed not to cry this time!). He said "See you later" and gave me a wave!
I was first in the line for surgery that day, which was a huge relief. We left the ward at 8am and my husband came with me as far as he could. By that point I was as ready as I was ever going to be for the surgery and was feeling pretty good - I remember joking with the porters, when they accidentally bumped my bed against a wall, that I didn't want to be battered and bruised before surgery!
And then suddenly we were in the room and the lovely anaesthetist from the day before was there and gave me a big thumbs-up. They asked me what surgery I was expecting to have that day, which I found quite funny! One of the team was from Wales and he kept me talking about where I was from in Wales and whether I knew Llandovery (!), before putting an oxygen mask over my face and suddenly I was out of it!
The next thing I remember someone is calling my name and telling me they were going to remove the breathing tube. I thought "Oh no, I'm not going to like this....", but the voice asked me to cough a couple of times and out it came! No problem! I was so relieved, as I'd been dreading that bit.
I knew I was in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) but the place looked huge with lots of people moving around - in reality there were just four patients in this particular bay. Someone told me that there had been a few phone calls asking about my progress, including from my husband. I asked the time and it was 7pm, about 11 hours since I'd last been awake.
They let me have a few sips of water through a straw, but no more. It was difficult to get comfortable and get any sleep, as I was attached to so many lines. Also the specialist bed kept adjusting itself automatically (I think so that patients don't get bed sores) and the blood pressure pad squeezed my right arm at regular intervals. I asked what the time was on a few more occasions, when I could get the attention of the nurse, as I couldn't really speak very well, and that's all I remember until the next day.
Part Two of My Hospital Story will follow in my next blog.
I'm particularly sad for the little patients of the Royal Brompton Hospital where I was looked after and cared for so well just 4 weeks ago - the hospital is a world-class unit carrying out highly regarded research into congenital heart defects in babies, even before those babies are born.
As mentioned in my previous blogs, I stayed in the hospital for just 8 nights - this is Part One of that stay.
Day One - Admission
It was a terrible day. Despite all my best efforts I couldn't stop myself crying when I said goodbye to my little girl before she went to school, and that set the tone for the whole day. I could hardly speak by the time we left the house, leaving my parents and father-in-law standing on the doorstep.
The journey to the hospital took about an hour and a half and we stopped for a sandwich in South Kensington before going into the hospital.
It took some time before there was a bed available and the seemingly interminable wait before anyone talks to you at all. I must've said my name and date of birth a dozen times to confirm my identity.
Is it likely that a stranger would just walk in off the street and pretend to be me to get a pulmonary valve replacement?!?
Eventually we saw the registrar and he explained about the surgery and the risks involved and I had to reach for my husband's hand for support. I couldn't stop the tears once again and I think the registrar was a bit taken aback. I got through a whole pack of tissues, as once I started I couldn't stop.
The anaesthetist arrived to go through my file and to explain his part in my surgery. He was very down-to-earth and told me that my case was not complex, it was in fact very straight-forward. He did this same surgery with the same surgeon about once or twice a week. For some reason this calmed me down and by the time my husband had to leave to find his accommodation in the hospital, I was feeling much better. I'd also been prescribed some sleeping pills, which was good news, as I don't think I would've slept otherwise.
The other ladies on the ward were friendly and we chatted until bedtime, sharing our heart stories and that made me feel better too.
Day Two - The Day of the Operation
I woke up feeling really woozy after the sleeping pills but had to rush to shower and pack all my bags, as I could only take my toilet bag with me. I even had to leave my watch and phone with my husband, which left me feeling really cut off from the world. Luckily they left me my glasses which they would put into my toilet bag once I was in surgery.
The surgeon came to see me at about 7.15am. It was the first time I'd met him and I was relieved to find him so friendly and laid-back. He didn't go into any details about the surgery but looked at my notes and asked about my family and my little girl (managed not to cry this time!). He said "See you later" and gave me a wave!
I was first in the line for surgery that day, which was a huge relief. We left the ward at 8am and my husband came with me as far as he could. By that point I was as ready as I was ever going to be for the surgery and was feeling pretty good - I remember joking with the porters, when they accidentally bumped my bed against a wall, that I didn't want to be battered and bruised before surgery!
And then suddenly we were in the room and the lovely anaesthetist from the day before was there and gave me a big thumbs-up. They asked me what surgery I was expecting to have that day, which I found quite funny! One of the team was from Wales and he kept me talking about where I was from in Wales and whether I knew Llandovery (!), before putting an oxygen mask over my face and suddenly I was out of it!
The next thing I remember someone is calling my name and telling me they were going to remove the breathing tube. I thought "Oh no, I'm not going to like this....", but the voice asked me to cough a couple of times and out it came! No problem! I was so relieved, as I'd been dreading that bit.
I knew I was in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) but the place looked huge with lots of people moving around - in reality there were just four patients in this particular bay. Someone told me that there had been a few phone calls asking about my progress, including from my husband. I asked the time and it was 7pm, about 11 hours since I'd last been awake.
They let me have a few sips of water through a straw, but no more. It was difficult to get comfortable and get any sleep, as I was attached to so many lines. Also the specialist bed kept adjusting itself automatically (I think so that patients don't get bed sores) and the blood pressure pad squeezed my right arm at regular intervals. I asked what the time was on a few more occasions, when I could get the attention of the nurse, as I couldn't really speak very well, and that's all I remember until the next day.
Part Two of My Hospital Story will follow in my next blog.
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