My Body Lotion fan club, and The Good, The Bad and The Ugly!

 Before I go any further with this blog, I need to point out that I am NOT medically qualified, and anything I post here is based on my own personal experience. You should ALWAYS defer to a medical professional. 

Right - Day 3 in hospital was meant to be the day I went home. I woke early, and managed to get myself to the bathroom using a zimmer.  It’s not easy to lift your “bad” leg into bed, it’s a dead weight. So a valuable piece of advice that came from the lovely Owenna Orme, is to turn your crutch upside down and use that to lift your leg in. I used the bed railings to drag myself into position, and flopped back onto the pillows. 

The day shift sister came in to check my obs and give me some medication. I was still on the “Long Tec” (slow release morphine). I had been given “Short Tec” plus paracetamol and my reaction to all this morphine was nausea, dizziness and constipation. I asked for a different painkiller, (paracetamol is surprisingly good on an empty stomach,) I can’t take NSAIDS or aspirin, which limited the choices available. Pain management is VERY important. I can’t stress this enough, all the health professionals will tell you to keep on top of the pain. This is so you can move sooner and get the muscles working again. 

“On a scale of 0 to 3, where is the pain today?”

I hadn’t had any medication since late the previous night, so it was pretty high.

“It’s a 2. But I’m feeling awful on the morphine.”

“I’ll speak to the Dr and see if we can get a different medication for you. I don’t think you will be able to go home today. Not by the look of you. I’ll see what Phil says though.”

Did I look that bad? I wasn’t going to argue. I did miss my own bed, and my lovely husband and dogs, but I was also aware that I didn’t think I’d be able to manage that long journey in so much discomfort. 

“I haven’t been to the loo yet - It’s quite uncomfortable”

“I’ll get you something for that too. Do you fancy a shower?’

“Yes please, and thank you.”

Breakfast arrived. And coffee! I’m a coffee addict, and had ordered porridge and fruit from the menu. At home, my husband brings me a freshly brewed coffee in bed every day. It’s my favourite cup of the day. 

2 spoons of porridge, and a little fresh fruit. I couldn’t drink the coffee. It just tasted wrong. I put it down to the drugs. My tummy felt VERY uncomfortable. I was in pain  and was feeling a bit sorry for myself.

I rang Roy. He was his normal cheerful self. Until I told him I might not be coming home. I was aware that he would be preparing to leave shortly. 

“They know best, you know. It’s only another day, and it won’t be comfortable for you to travel. Don’t get me wrong, I miss you, but we need to be sensible here. The doggies are missing you. I’ll move some plants round the garden and get the house all ready for you.”

“Love you!” 

“You too” We hung up.

One of the young nursing support workers came in - “Do you want me to help you get a shower?”

“Yes please”

She was so chatty and pleasant, helping me to wash and dress. She loved my body lotion - I’m a bit of an aromatherapy freak and had mixed up a lotion containing rose oil, lavender and patchouli. (Neal’s Yard do a range of fragrance free lotions and oils that you can personalise! Just saying!) I felt much better. My painkillers had kicked in, I was fresh and clean and smelled lovely. It makes a huge difference to your morale to pamper yourself when you are ill. 

My next visitor was Phil the physio. “Ooh this is the most fragrant room on the ward. It smells gorgeous in here!” My body lotion had it’s own fan club! 

Today we were going to walk up and down the stairs. EEK!

First of all I demonstrated my ability to do (or not) the bed exercises. I still couldn’t do the leg abduction. Even with the slidy cloth. Ah well! A wheelchair was brought in and Phil plus another physio took me to the staircase. There were workmen on the landing. I was pleased I had my dressing gown on, although I wished I had worn a slightly longer nightie and knickers! 

I stood at the top of the stairs. Looking down felt like staring into the abyss. I must have gone pale again (or peely wally as they say in Scotland!)

“I’ll be in front of you every step. Don’t worry. Put your left hand on the stair rail and both feet on the edge of the step.” Phil reassured me.

Crutch down, bad leg down, then good leg. Ok. I got this. I felt momentarily dizzy and unsteady but by the time I got to the bottom I was ok. I knew that the criteria for going home was the ability to go up and down stairs. I was NOT going to botch this!

“Now, we have to go back up. This time, it’s the good, the bad, and the ugly. Your good leg first, then your bad leg, and then the crutch, that’s the ugly.”

I repeated this in my head as I climbed back up again: “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” Ennio Morricone’s iconic theme tune bounced round my head. Still, I was relieved to be back in my wheelchair.

 Back in the ward, I took up residence in my chair by the window overlooking Ross Hall Park. I read my kindle; Rugh Hogan’s latest, ‘Madame Burova’, I love Ruth Hogan’s books, which lately I have alternated with Strike novels by Robert Galbraith and books about the natural world. 

At teatime, Mr D popped in. Tall and casual in an open necked blue shirt and smart jeans. Brown leather bag over his shoulder. All ready for home after a long day at the office, chopping people up and putting them back together again. And thank God for that!

“How are you feeling?” He asked, looking concerned.

“I’m a bit better, I managed the stairs today, although I’m struggling a bit with my pain killers.”

“We hung on to you today, because we didn’t think you were ready to go home. We’ll see how you are tomorrow, but there’s no rush. Take all the time you need.”

“I guess I’m a bit concerned about the journey.”

“Yes, understandably so. It’s a long way. The best advice I can give you is to take your time. Stop every 45 minutes and get out and walk around. We’ll give you pain relief just before you get into the car, and that should see you through the journey. You’re doing great. But you have had major surgery, you need to remember that!”

I was completely exhausted. I was in bed by 7pm. I messaged Roy to apologise for not calling him that night, but my leg was swollen to twice it’s normal size, I was bunged up and nauseous. 

Roy texted back. 

‘Lost Lilah again - found her sulking by the bed. Hopefully you will feel better in the morning. I will try to land at 12pm. Love you xxx  

But there was one more ordeal!

Injections!

Major surgery on lower limbs predisposes you to blood clots, especially as you are immobile. Mr D insists his patients wear “blow up” boots in bed. They pump up and squeeze your calf muscles all night. They are a bit noisy, but the alternative is much worse. Then, once you go home you have to inject yourself into your stomach with Heparin. Fun eh? 

So, you pinch an inch (not difficult in my case!) and hold the syringe at right angles. Plunge it in and then withdraw it. you are given a yellow ‘sharps’ box to drop your spent injections in. 

Ordinarily you would do this for 10 days at home and then switch to aspirin. I do a fabulous impression of Linda Blair from the Exorcist if I take aspirin, so I have to inject myself for 28 days instead. Guess I’m just lucky.