We return to Maidstone and Dr Chan is syringing the final dregs of fluid from the pericardium. He dragged the straw out which feels like when I used to dangle strawberry laces down my throat and pull them out again and you'll be surprised to know that I did in fact have many friends as a child. For such a big procedure it's left little more than a ink dot scar. Chan and Caulfield you've done it again. Friday was uneventful; I think that's when I got a visit from Carol, my friend Kathryn's Mum who works as a dietician there. We sat and chatted and she gave me some tips on eating etc. Later on, Kathryn came to visit me and bought me goodies, Pringles, Coke and PJs. You really know who your friends are in situations like this ha! I told her about the possibility of cancer and that I thought I had it. She was very Kathryn and sympathetic and supportive and did the dutiful "it's probably not" response. But she could tell I was serious especially when I said "So when I have cancer, does that mean I can skip the queues at Thorpe Park?". Ah, you always remember your first cancer joke. Seeing my friend cheered me up and the thought of my hospital field trip to London was exciting. The rest of the evening was fine and I got to see my favourite night nurse Agata (no not Agatha). Agata was my favourite because instead of making me piss in the commode she would wheel me the six feet to the bathroom. She was also a dab hand at changing the drip thing in the arm and I generally just loved her. She was chilled like me, well probably more because I would not be chilled about wiping shit from an old man's rim.
Saturday arrived and I was ready for Guy's. I was so ready to leave as there was a weekend nurse who was slightly crap and was doing that thing where she over-explained everything I already knew so that she could reteach it to herself. My Mum and Fatman (step-dad) showed up shortly followed by the Thames Valley Ambulance team. These guys provide ample amounts of entertainment because they're little double acts. Bouncing of each other and actually being funny. When we got in the ambulance I pretended to be asleep because it did wear dreadfully and I could not be arsed to say where I was going to uni, where I was studying, did I like it, what''s your bra size, who is the best Bond villain, if you could be any character in Titantic who would you be and why? That sort of thing. As we were driving to Guy's we drove past Bermondsey Street Tunnel where the club Cable is and where two weeks ago I had spent New Year's Eve. It really drove home how much can change in a fortnight.
We got to Guy's and took the lift to the 9th floor and got wheeled into the ward during what appeared to be "nap time". All the blinds were closed and everybody was nice and quiet. The first thing I noticed was that I HAD A WALL. Yes, not a curtain but a wall. Only on one side but still I had a sink and a mirror to monitor the progressive greasiness of my hair. Excellent. Guy's was great you could pretty much do what you want; computer, phone, TV you name it. CCU had a no phone's policy which was wank. The nurses were lovely and a lot of them Irish which meant lovely soothing accents. I got settled in and tea time rolled around, this is where I first met my wonderful Jamaican Tea Lady.
"Tee or COH-FEH?"
Fuck I love her. She was hilarious, you could tell she wasn't overly bothered about anyone. If anyone asked her to repeat anything she would roll her eyes and say it again with a head jiggle. I wish I had a picture or video of her. She approached everyone else with mild disdain but came to me with a smile. She read the menu options and I chose spicy pork with rice and broccoli. Another great thing about Guy's was that the food was soooooo much better. Dinner was banging. She gave my Mum the up and down with an arched eyebrow then smiled at me and left. Haha! I'm sorry, you probably won't find this funny but my brother and I can testify to how hilarious this woman is. I felt good at Guy's and a big dinner was in order as I was having surgery on Sunday and couldn't from midnight.
Not a bad view either, especially if you love London as much as I do (shitty phone quality though):
I woke up in the recovery room. I was much less embarrassing than my first surgery when I woke up screaming "THIS WASN'T WORTH IT!". Enough of that. I was in a fair bit of pain and the Xing the nurse dosed me with Morphine immediately, such good service. Every time I breathed it hurt, a lot. I had taken about an hour to come around and had been lying there for ages when I told the nurse I still had a lot of pain. I was groggy but I still had a disgustingly vindictive mind to fool my nurse.
"I've still got a lot of pain" I did.
"Does it hurt when you breath in and out?"
"Does it hurt when you don't?"
"...Yes...". It didn't.
"Let's get you a Morphine drip."
"If you think it would be best *cough*".
Yes, I'm a junkie but fuck you I've been through some shit. Morphine drips really are as good as they say and they have you on a five minute timer so you don't overdose. The world is better with Morphine (in a controlled environment). I went up an hour later and got wheeled back to my poor Mum who had been sitting there for four hours. Ah, Jen such a G. I noticed as well that I had a huge hose coming from my left boob leading to a bucket full of heart juice. It really was a hose, not a tiny straw with Chan & Cau; a hose. Well that's my tits ruined, I thought. For the record they're not, they're still wonderful. I chatted with Mum all day and she left to get the train home. I ate dinner, felt ok and sweet baby girl Morphine sent me to sleep. The noisy, moaning bitch next door woke me up loads but two clicks of the Madame and I was off. Maybe, this post should have been called "I Heart Morphine" or "I Am a Junkie".
Monday came and with Monday, the hose came out and I said bye bye to my morphine drip because in all honestly it was making me a bit sick. Trigger Happy Krissy. I had loads of visitors starting with Adele and Gerard my friend's Mum and Dad. The O'Sullivan clan as a whole are my family, I consider Emily and Sean my siblings, Gerard as a doting father-type who thinks everything I do is wonderful (it is) and Adele is like an Auntie/Friend who is hilarious in too many ways to mention and none of them will paint her in the best light so I won't list any. In any case she has MS so she can always rely on the "I'm disabled" card to balance out her terrible behaviour. I'm going to get a "what the fuck are you talking about" text after this. In any case, they came for the afternoon, we had a Maccies and then Emily and Kathryn came. Adele and Gerard left and my brother's friend Sam turned up with a special gift for me. For whatever reason (probably the chavvy hair and gold hoop earring combo I favour) Sam thinks I look like Katy B. He brought me a copy of the CD complete with a gaffa-taped-on personalised cover of me on the front. It was touching. Then my brother turned up and it was a party. The party was cut short when I started to double over in pain and not be able to move. As it turns out the Senna tablets some nurse gave me early to "keep everything moving" were Satan incarnate. Everyone had to leave as I spent the next hours in labour. Out of everything that has happened, a little bit of poo-problemos was the most painful. Morphine couldn't even save me, it knocked me out for sure but I woke up in pain still. I know you probably are thinking "ERGH DON'T TELL ME THIS" but you need to get a rounded picture of the experience.
I got transported back to Maidstone on Tuesday and was free to roam about commode free, heart monitor free and gown free. One more night and Wednesday came. Caulfield came to do the rounds and a nurse informed him that I had cried because I wanted to go home. He checked me over and said that I could be discharged. Sweet Jesus, yes. Matthew (I won't put quotation marks round his name because I saw him do loads of work and he discharged me) sorted out my papers and university letter and the pharmacist loaded me up with pills and I was gone. I was almost a stone lighter and was the palest I had ever seen myself but fuck it I was out of hospital and most importantly skinny.
10 days seemed like a month but it was all for a good cause, you know to stop me from dying and stuff. I had a clinic with KHP on Thursday when she was to tell me I had cancer but I already knew that. I just had my fingers crossed it was small and Hodgkin's and that by some freak ginger mutant strain miracle my hair wouldn't fall out. Sorry for the length, again.
Big Love x