How cute is that kitten?! That’s as cute as this post will get 🙂
Right, the timeline might be a bit jumpy from here on in. Brain injury, concussion & a helluva lot of confusion. But at that point upon arrival at hospital I really wasn’t thinking/worrying about my brain because I couldn’t see it. My most pressing issue was my arm the size of Bluto’s. That and the fact I had no idea what had happened to me. No memory of it. Scary.
I’d been taken to ICU and had a lovely elderly lady in the bed next to me called Pamela. At some point my friends Julie & Charlotte arrived and I gave Charlotte my key to sort Bailey (dog & gerbils) out. I don’t remember seeing them. Visitors every day and no memory of any of them except my brother who said he came twice.
I’d been out with Julie & Charlotte the night before. I didn’t want to go out – rarely did. Had a Fibromyalgia diagnosis a year before and every day I wake up feeling hungover. So drinking on top wasn’t really appealing. Especially as I worked both Saturday and Sunday mornings and was hard enough to trying to get out of bed as it was.
That night we’d been to see a band in a pub about a 5-10 minute walk from my house. I wanted Julie & Charlotte to meet each other, hoping they’d hit it off and continue to socialise together so I didn’t have to(!). I drank 3 halves of lager & lime. And I know this because we bought one round each and I was bored. The band’s usual singer was on holiday, the power kept cutting out and then to top it off, some idiots decided to have a full on fight. So myself & Julie ran behind the band (we knew them) like total bravehearts. And what with the power going off as well, the band decided to call it a night at about 10.15pm. Julie hopped in a taxi to take her home in the opposite direction and I walked home, 10 minutes along the road. If that. Wasn’t drunk, perfectly able to, not a problem. Charlotte lived directly opposite the pub.
Back to the hospital. By this point I’d spoken to Sophie’s dad and as he had to go back to London arranged for Sophie to stay at her friend’s house for the night. Ha! I actually thought I was going to be home the next day! Her friend’s mum, Marie, brought Sophie to see me that first night. I could see the tears in her eyes, trying to blink them back. She was 13. My lovely lady Pamela in the next bed told her to be brave for me. She was very brave, because I looked like a corpse.
That first night was horrendous. I always imagine every nurse is an angel. Turns out not every single one of them. That night was filled with buzzers and shouting. Every time a buzzer went off I’d hear screams, then nurses shouting. Really shouting. Awful. At one point the curtains were pulled around Pamela and I remember her screaming “GET OFF ME! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO ROLL ME AGAIN! I DON’T GIVE A MONKEY’S FANNY!” Which still tickles me. But by this point I’ve had enough and yelled “LEAVE HER ALONE! THIS ISN’T LIKE A HOSPITAL ITS LIKE A HORROR FILM!” and then wept for hours. Shuddering, silently, inconsolable (a nurse did try). Every few hours I’d have to take more drugs, lights shone in my eyes, etc.
The next morning I’ve had barely any sleep, still crying and I apologised to the male nurse about my outburst. Well sort of. “I’m so sorry! My head hurts!” And then I was moved to a tiny room on my own.
Right, back to the pulling. Oh and this is probably a good time to interject that I fancied every single doctor I came into contact with for about 3 months. They’re so fit, so cute, so life saving, Dr Dreamy. And they weren’t, so totally blaming that on the brain damage!
I’ve got two oh so cute doctors trying to explain to me that the op is going to hurt, I will be awake but they’ll do their very best to get it over with as quickly as possible. Can I remember what had happened to me? No, nothing, One of them says I may have been attacked. I don’t remember. Did someone follow me home from the pub?! [Spoiler: No] One of them whispers “you’re very lucky to be alive”. Heard that a few times. Not helpful. I was wheeled into a room full of people and then it began. And I feel a bit queasy thinking about it (I can’t watch “You’ve been Framed” – even watching other people injure themselves makes me want to vomit) & definitely tried to block most of it out but here goes – I must have had a local anaesthetic because if they cut me open I didn’t feel that bit. They had to try and manipulate my bones. And oh did I feel that bit. So many hands on me, holding me down(!) pulling my finger bones, pulling my shoulder, pulling my arm and wrist bones, feeling them twist and stretch! I screamed a lot, was told I was ever so brave (where’s my sticker?) and then I fainted. I think.
Lying back in bed in my little room I looked at my arm encased in plaster to a few inches beneath my shoulder. And it didn’t look right. The bit of arm I could see was absolutely massive, bulging out over the plaster, I panic. Press the buzzer and a male nurse came in. “Look! Look at my arm!” He’s not seeing the problem straight away. “Its huge! The plaster is too tight, its excruciating!!” You know when you have your blood pressure taken and right before they let out the air you think your arm is going to explode? Well like that but constant.
The last thing I remember is him pushing a panic button and being wheeled out and straight into theatre, looking up at the lights. I woke up with a metal plate in my wrist.