中The things I dreaded most didn’t materialise: damage to major nerves, and pain. Thank goodness! As for the irritating but temporary drainage system, I was certain that it would last for only three days, and the drainage hole would heal by itself without requiring stitches, so that’s definitely tolerable.
I did experience two temporary side effects though, just as my surgeon had predicted. The first one was trismus, that’s the stiffening of jaw muscles due to surgical injury, which restricted the stretching of my jaw. The second one was “first-bite syndrome” that affects the same set of muscles, and refers to the discomfort in the first (few) bite(s) of a meal due to nerve damage. It actually felt more like muscle ache after strenuous exercise than sharp pain. What’s more, the gentler I chewed, the milder the ache. These problems were easily mitigated by adopting some aristocratic lady-like manners —— eating in small mouthfuls, and no shouting, so no angry outbursts, ha!
Life of a “lady” could be embarrassing at times, like how I forgot there’s something called the “ward round” every morning! A registrar duly came to check on me one morning just as I had started very sl-o-wly eating some chocolate and ripe dark cherries. It was my jaw and oral cavity that he needed to examine. I explained that I had just put the food into my mouth, and he said it’s not a problem. “Ah ——”, gone were the manners! But then, what exactly could he see when it’s all dark inside? No idea!
As my operation finished in the early evening, it wasn’t until late afternoon the day after that I finally reunited with my personal belongings, including my smartphone and glasses. It was like waiting ages for one’s checked-in bag at an airport’s baggage reclaim long after the flight had landed. Thanks to the company of my bay neighbours, I managed to hold back from hassling the busy staff about my bag’s whereabouts. Man vs phone, round 3, 2:1.
Prior to the operation, knowing that I had never stayed in hospital before, a medic friend reminded me that I should be prepared to meet patients with a diverse background and medical conditions in my bay.
That's so true. The three ladies in my bay all had had operations of some sort. Let’s start with my neighbouring bed, occupied by an independent and jolly old lady, who was admitted a few days prior to my arrival, recovering well and close to being discharged, so I didn’t get to speak to her much. In the last evening of her stay, as she was trying to reach the bathroom, something triggered her incontinence —— perhaps it was old age or the confusing, unfamiliar environment —— right by the bathroom door. She felt really bad about the accident and kept apologising to the nurse. The nurse gently consoled her, without the slightest hint of resentment or being judgemental, that it was okay and she needed not worry about it. It must have been a humiliating experience for the lady still.
Diagonally from me was a rifle shooting Olympian who just had an adjustment operation on her amputated leg. It is none of my business why she needed this adjustment, so I shouldn’t and didn’t ask, but from what she shared, it seemed to be some complications caused by type I diabetes (a mostly congenital condition that’s unrelated to lifestyle choices). She stayed on her bed most of the time to nurse the wound, which inevitably brought on excruciating pain whenever she had to transfer to the wheelchair. The operation also caused some baffling issues with her diet, that apple juice was all that her stomach would tolerate. Apple juice was “off menu” in the ward, but fortunately the medical team always managed to fetch her some. To supplement her diet, she also needed a drip for the essential nutrients. One thing I remember vividly is the concoction of drugs carefully prepared by the nurse for her several times a day. Oh my goodness! Was that a temporary post-operative prescription, or the regular one? I’m not sure if I could cope with this, since I’m ever so clumsy even when taking just one single tablet occasionally.......
As for the lady opposite to me, hers was a spinal operation near the neck with the hope of relieving some pain caused by rheumatoid arthritis. The severely deformed joints in her limbs, which made an independent life impossible, were testaments to her living with the arthritis for over three decades. Her husband has always been her trusted full-time carer. It was really unfortunate that the operation didn’t seem to have the intended impact as the pain was unabated. While discussing pain management, I heard her surgeon say that she’s already on the maximum painkiller dose, and it would be unsafe to increase it further. It was quite a helpless situation as this literal “pain in the neck” was there 24-7 in various severities, even when she’s sitting still. And let’s not forget that arthritic inflammation on her other joints, such as the hip or legs, was still ongoing. Pain would definitely ensue with any unplanned, major movement of those joints.
Every morning, the staff would transfer her to a one-seater sofa next to her bed, since it’s healthier than lying on her back all day in bed. Yet, the staff seemed to have overlooked how her slim frame wasn’t fully supported by cushions of the relatively large sofa, which resulted in a mini disaster, alas. That day, she knew she was sliding forward and downward on the sofa. If worse comes to worst, not only would she be slumping, she might actually end up on the floor! Restoring her posture then would involve so many joints that would cause huge pain, so she sought help all afternoon before the situation deteriorated, but no staff was available. Her husband wasn’t around either. I so much wanted to do something for her, but with my drainage “handbag” in tow and the lack of proper training, I feared that I could cause more harm than good, so the best I could do was to keep her company. The “rescue” party finally arrived in the early evening, but that was too late. She was in absolute agony when they transferred her from the chair back to the bed; it was really heart wrenching to watch.
The following day, her husband visited and discussed the situation with the occupational therapists, to figure out the best technique for “moving” her without inflicting so much pain. It turned out that the technique he’s been using all these years, tried and tested, wasn’t the safest for the two of them. He also had a small frame and is no longer a young man, so there’s a substantial risk that he could suffer from joint problems too if sticking to the same old technique, a dire situation since he’s her full-time carer. The therapists suggested that the couple explore and learn a new technique that would suit them both, and perhaps consider installing some electrical equipment, such as a hoist, at home to alleviate the mechanical strain on him.
Witnessing the suffering and ordeal of my bay neighbours’, my three-day irritation from the “handbag” faded in significance, absolutely. Arthritis? I suffer from it too, but it’s mild, palindromic (comes and goes) and easy to control. Seeing your loved ones? While my mum visited daily and brought me snacks or helped me get changed, my neighbours’ families all lived far away from the hospital; visiting every other day was already quite a stretch. For example, it was a 90 minutes’ drive one-way for the carer husband to visit, and that’s on a good day without traffic issues.
Since I was the only mobile patient in our bay and staff always had their hands full, once I figured out how best to carry my “handbag” around, I started running tiny errands for my neighbours, like getting a drink, fetching a pen, plugging the charger into the phone, and so on. Every little helps, I guess.......
Medication was handed out a few times a day in the ward. Nurses would always ask how much pain we were in, on a scale of zero to ten, “ten” being the maximum, and adjust the dosage of painkillers accordingly.
Pain level never seemed to go below “eight” for my neighbours. For me? Zero, always zero, flat.
I felt really bad every time I reported this. I would speak softly, just enough for the nurse to hear but not my neighbours, I hoped.
All in all, I felt like being an imposter amidst real patients who dignifiedly live with chronic conditions, severe pain, feeding problems, and restricted mobility......