The porter who wheeled me through the corridors wouldn't stop talking about fucking giraffes and monekys. And I don't mean that as an adjective, as in "I hate those fucking giraffes", I mean it as a verb; he talked incessantly about him fucking giraffes. And this was BEFORE I got given any drugs. The nurse who spoke to me outside surgery was calming and reassuring. The anaesthetist was not. He let some fucknut student put the needle into the back of my hand, and the dumb-fuck couldn't seem to locate a vein. It took him four or five attempts, which was painful, and left my hand looking like this for two weeks.
Then the moment I really was dreading. "OK, just count backwards from ten, and soon you'll feel yourself falling into a deep sleep". This is the part that traumatised the fuck out of me as a kid the last time I got put to sleep, only that was with gas, it took fucking ages to work and I was basically lying hallucinating for a good 30 seconds, swinging punches at the guy holding the mask over my face. My last memory before going out this time was saying to the anaesthatist, dreamily "Whoah.... this feels like magic mushrooms or some shit...." Cue laughter from the anastaetist and surgeons. "Not that I would know, I've never done magic mu............." SLEEP. Just like that, mid sentence. Two or three seconds of extreme dizziness and that was it. That's what I was worried about?
I woke up an hour and a half later in recovery. My first words, upon feeling someone's fingers poking around in my mouth taking swabs out were "I'm glad you woke me up. I was dreaming about Nickelback". Even in surgery, I'm fucking funny. The next 20 minutes or so were drug induced comedy. When I came to I was shivering like hell, uncontrollably, and the nurse had to give me extra blankets. She asked if I was in pain. I said yes. She injected a wee thing into my drip. 5 minutes passed. She asked if I was still in pain. I said yes. I got another wee injection thing. I think this happened around 6 times before she finally said "Well I can't give you any more morphine! You've had your whole allowance!" By this point I'd mysteriously perked up somewhat. For some reason I was determined to sit up in the bed, despite the nurses instructing me to lie down, wear the oxygen mask and recover. I kept asking every nurse who passed if the operation had gone OK and they kept telling me yes. It wasn't until a while later I realised it was the same nurse that I'd asked over and over again. She kept telling me to put on the oxygen mask and relax. My response? "NO! IT TASTES LIKE FUCKING PINEAPPLES!"
So to the ward, where half an hour after having my mouth butchered, they made me eat a tuna sandwich. My mouth was still full of blood, my lips were covered in blood, and everything tasted like a blood. Tuna and blood sandwich. Fantastic. 4 hours to kill until I could go home. More Top Gear. Amazingly I wasn't in any pain whatsoever. A friend who works in the hospital popped in to say hello and I was all smiles and pretty much climbing the walls. I ordered vegetable quiche and potatoes for dinner. It came under one of those serving things that the butler pulls off and says "voila!" to present a stunning lobster bisque. Well my veggie quiche and mash didn't quite live up to expectations when I whipped the dish thing off the top:
Mmmmm. But at least I managed to eat it. By the time my flatmate came to pick me up at 7 I was dressed and walking round the hospital out of sheer boredom. No pain at all I told him. There's no swelling, it doesn't hurt, I should have got this done years ago. Swagger swagger bravado bravado etc. But it was true, it didn't hurt at all. Until the next day when the morphine wore off. Motherfuckshitass did that shit hurt the next day. And the day after. And the day after. And the day after. My jaw looked like a chipmunk with two golf balls stuffed in his cheeks, and both sides of my face were bright yellow. I'd planned for two days off work, I ended up not going back at all that week and missing a whole week. Not only because the pain was so bad that all I could eat was this crap:
but also because I was taking so many painkillers / anti-biotics / anti-inflammatories etc. that my head felt like it was full of fluff, I couldn't concentrate on anything, and I kept falling asleep. I had to take all this, four times a day:
That's a lot of drugs. The worst was the codeine. It's a little publicised fact, but codeine can cause constipation, and I was taking a lot of codiene. By the time I realised that I hadn't taken a dump in 4 days I was getting bad stomach cramps. That night I took some Dulcolax. It didn't work. The next day my stomach was swelled up like a balloon, and I was doubled over in pain. I took some more Dulcolax that night. That did the trick. When I woke up in the morning and went for a shower I weighed myself, like I do most mornings. 11st 3lb. More than usual. 6 days since I last took a dump. When the Dulcolax worked (which it did in explosive fashion), I weighted myself again out of curiosity. 10st 12.5lb. I'd taken a 4.5lb shit. That's more than half the weight of a new born baby I'd been carrying around in my bowel. No wonder I felt bloated.So now a month on, the pain is gone, the wisdom teeth don't hurt any more and my bowels work again. The only real annoyance with them now is that I keep getting small bits of food stuck in the holes in my gums where the teeth used to be. After every meal I have to flush out my gums as things like lettuce, coleslaw, rice etc get wedged in the wee holes and won't come out. That's unpleasant, and so was carrying a 4.5lb shit around, but it's a great feeling not having crappy sideways teeth and toothache all the time. My smile may still be more Shane MacGowan than Simon Cowell, but at least the cunts are out now and I won't have to go through all that pish again. Now, about those dodgy knees....
Song currently stuck in my head - "Good Times, Bad Times" by Led Zeppelin.
ireallyhatelucky@googlemail.com
That was really quite funny. 9/10
ReplyDeleteThanks anonymous! If that is in fact your real name.
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