A Scoliosis Journey

What I Went Through (in limbo)

Before I start, can I just clarify that "in limbo" does not mean actually doing the limbo. I've always been rubbish at that - even more so post-op!

Tuesday, 6th June was a pretty dismal day. And one of my friend's birthdays. (Sorry about missing that, if you're reading this!) The stereotypes of England are cold, rainy and cloudy - and not unusually, they were very accurate that day. Consequently I got a bit wet and cold on the journey back to the ward, even though for most of it I was under cover. Not that I remember very much of that journey!

Brodie - actually, no, her name was Brigette! - wasn't there that day, so I had a different nurse. I was extremely tired and woozy all day, so spent most of the time asleep. I did get offered a 'bed-bath', but I declined because the last thing I wanted was to get wet again. My surgeon did his rounds, and told me that I could probably get the chest drain out tomorrow. When my Dad arrived at the hospital, he told me how he'd said to the cat, "Where's Emma then?" and she meowed in response. She wasn't eating much either - her little routine had been disrupted.

I wasn't eating much either, and in hindsight I wish I had rammed something into my stomach because it might have given me a bit of energy. There's probably some sort of science-y explanation for this including glucose and other weird stuff, but I have enough science to deal with at school, thank you! I was desperate to get the oxygen mask off, because I couldn't talk with it on. However, I couldn't take oxygen in the form of the little tube that went around your face, hooked up over your ear and up your nose (not all the way, but enough to direct the oxygen to where it had to be). It just felt too weird and restrictive, so it was an oxygen mask for me. Brigette, who was on nights that day and off on Wednesday, tried me without the oxygen mask for a bit but my lungs weren't recovered enough yet to breathe sufficiently by themselves. I knew this because on the blood-pressure/oxygen machine thingy, when the number that related to oxygen levels went below ninety, it would beep. And that night... well, let's just say I didn't know machines could swear so much :D

At one point I looked at my phone, and I had two new Whatsapp messages, telling me what I had been missing and that I was missed. I did try to reply, but I got about five words in and gave up because I couldn't co-ordinate my hands properly. This was about five o'clock in the evening and I was exhausted after a long day of sleeping and attempting to eat.

But I did manage to reply the next day, even if it was only a few words long (in response to a funny picture that she'd sent me). I looked at my phone a bit more that day, checking that nobody was having any existential crises. When asked how I was, I simply replied "Drugged up". Because I was! Morphine, anyone? I also got told that our new Maths teacher was, well, torture. I can well believe that! But I felt better than the day before, and said as much.

Despite feeling better, I couldn't eat. The anaesthetic had messed my stomach up and I had zero appetite. None. Nothing. When I said this to my friend, she replied "I couldn't live without food!". Then we ended up sending food emojis to each other, before I began checking up on people.

The responses, that day, to "How are you?" were either "Tired" or "In pain". One of my other friends replied "Well that's normal (ish)!" which is pretty true, for pretty much everyone in that group chat. (3 people!) I then got a spam of emojis that lasted about ten minutes. Trying to change the subject, I sent a picture of my view: a blue dividing curtain and the door of Room 15. Yes, a very boring view. It didn't even work, because more emojis were sent and I nearly fell asleep while they were being typed.

Oh yes, and I sent them a picture of my hand, too. Once again trying to change the subject. While I'm talking about my hand, let's say it was... decorative. There was the cannula (once again, Google it), with a couple of tubes sticking out of it. The needle part of the cannula was covered by a giant white plaster, which by the end of the week was coming off.