So, back in Surgery, and true to form I had a slight panic attack as they were putting me under, and in the in-between I have no memory of being in recovery.
What I remember next is being back in my ward bed, being woken up, by a nurse…because they wanted to move me. Now, since I was in a semi-conscious state, I heard most of this later because I was not on the planet and all I remember was the pain, since I now had two plates and nine screws holding my foot together.
No one was telling me anything, and I only had time to grab my phone, call my mum and scream down it! By this point, my bed was half way out of the door and I was in agony. In my confusion I begged them to stop, and I remember Ratched telling me she “Was going to call Security!” I have no idea, what that would have accomplished…were they going to strong-arm me out of the room?
Thankfully, my house is only five minutes from Hillingdon, and my mum and sister K practically flew to the Hospital. What I remember next was the sound of my sister’s voice telling them to “Put her back now!”
One thing I will give K, she stands only five foot tall, but even with our sisterly conflicts, she went above and beyond for me that day. Whilst K and her husband were speaking for me, my mum was coming up in the lift after her, and was standing next to the Security Guards, who had been sent for me. I had two guards; post-surgery to bully me…I had no idea until that moment, that I was that dangerous!
My mum, having worked at the Hospital for over twenty years as a nurse actually knew them, and let them know that I was her daughter and I never saw them.
In the meantime, K was having it out with Ratched and I have no idea what was said, but I was swiftly put back where I was…though still not in arms reach of my glasses, so I was clueless to what was going on around me.
But I do remember, my mum…the retired nurse, pointing out in her no-nonsense voice, that since I wasn’t able to speak for myself…literally, that their jobs was to be my Advocate and speak for me. A notion that went over the heads of these nurses.
Then, it really got interesting, as one of the nurses said to K, “As a citizen of the United Kingdom, she should be happy to move!” Right, so I am being threatened by security, manhandled post-surgery, and apparently I should be happy about it…because I am British!
Let’s quickly examine what the above statement could mean? It could be that she believed due to my surname, that I was a foreigner turned naturalised citizen, and as such should kowtow to the nurses and everyone else in the vicinity, because apparently not being born in the UK somehow makes you a lesser being, which is rubbish by the way. Or she knew I was laying in the hospital I was born in, and because I’m British…I have no rights.
Right, so the Nurse is casting dispersion against my ethnicity, in the hospital where as a UK taxpayer I am using the service I am entitled too, and have paid into since I was sixteen. So I shouldn’t be bothered that I’ve just been assaulted by the Nursing staff.
Ok my ethnic back ground, is I am Brazilian on my dad’s side, but we got here over a hundred and thirty years ago, and that’s just minimal, but just by looking at me, it’s clear what my ethnicity is. I have a South American last name, but since I inherited everything from my mum, I easily look like I fought on the losing side of the Battle of Hastings! Though thankfully, at that moment I had an Anglo-Saxon mother and sister fighting for me! I even managed to point out the blatant racism of the nurse.
In the end, mum and K pretty much kicked the nurses out, whist Steve, (my brother-in-law) gave me some privacy whist I was sorted out, as I came to realise that I was still in my surgery gown and had the electronic pads still stuck to my chest.
After I was given some pain killers in a drip, I finally began to wake up fully, and then even though I was exhausted from the drama…and the surgery, paranoia set in. I managed to convince myself, the moment I shut my eyes, the nurses would try to move me again. After my family left, I asked them to draw the curtain and spent most of the night throwing Pepsi Max down my throat to try to stay awake. I knew post-surgery, I needed to rest…but I physically couldn’t.
Every time a nurse came into my room, it was like “Red Alert”, in the end I drifted off to sleep, but the next morning I did notice the nurses giving me a wide berth. Also the moment the guy came for more exercises on the crutches, I practically threw myself into it.
I also found out, when mum called to complain in the morning to a more senior member of staff, she was told by a nurse, that I was on my laptop when she originally came in to move me. According to her, I was totally compos mentis and agreed to leave my room…like I was really going to wake up from surgery and the first thing on my mind was playing Candy Crush Saga on Facebook.
Thankfully, since she was there at the time, mum chewed her out brilliantly for that lie, and the nurse perhaps in her first smart move said nothing more.
Later on in the day after K came up to give me a shower, I was finally told by the Doctors that the moment they gave me my discharge note…I could go home. Now I know I really wasn’t up for going home, since my leg was in total pain, but I had already endured Hillingdon Hospital’s level of “care”, and I wanted no more of it.
In the end it took ages to get out, and unlike so many patients who buy flowers and chocolates for their nurses, I just gave them a casual wave, and was wheeled out. Though true to form, K was still on her way, so the nurse just left me on a chair outside and in total honesty as I lit a cigarette whilst I waited, it really was one of the best feelings of my life.
So, I was home too soon, I had two weeks of rest to get through but the nightmare was over.
Of course that was almost three months ago, and I’m still learning to walk on the damn thing, but I see the ten days I was there as a learning curve…next time I’m going private!