中Having been through general anaesthesia and had the side of my neck opened up, it must have been quite a shock to the body even though blood loss was minimal. This probably explains why I was tired post-operatively (post-op). Fortunately I wasn’t bedridden but had the energy to pace around in the ward for some gentle exercise, chat with my neighbours and share the news about my pain-free post-op magical experience with my worldwide friends. Indeed, I had never come across a single pain-free case among all friends and family who had had Caesareans or operations of all kinds.
What was the most exhausting during my hospital stay? Managing the “handbag” all day? No. It’s about making plans to have sutures (stitches) removed after being discharged!
The instruction from Mr J was that the stitches should be removed within 5-6 days of my operation, as the scarring could become more noticeable if left for longer. Taking into account the three days I spent in the hospital, the simple procedure, which could be done at a local NHS clinic (where people see their family doctors), should ideally happen a few days after my discharge. My original plan was to have it done at the clinic close to my parents’ home, where I would be recuperating post-op, instead of taking a 45-minute car journey to the clinic I’m normally registered with near my own home. To this end, I contacted the desired clinic a few weeks before my operation and completed the paperwork for a “temporary” (non-regular) registration. I didn’t take my chances to leave this till the last minute, just in case the processing of paperwork slowed due to the pandemic, or perhaps clinics impose limits on how many “temporary” registrants they take in, so to guarantee a place, I thought it’s best to get into their system early.
The time finally came when an appointment for removing my stitches was needed.
“Sorry, we don’t have a record of this patient” was the answer from the clinic to my enquiring parents.
What? How’s that possible? It then transpired that a “temporary” registration is like food on supermarket shelves —— it comes with an expiry date! From the date of handing in the paperwork, the registration is valid for about a week, after which it’s deactivated or cancelled! (To this day we still don’t know exactly how long a temporary registration lasts......) There was no warning or disclaimer on the form about the volatile nature of the registration, nor did the clinic staff alert me to it. How could I have known that an accepted registration could “self-destruct” after a short while, just like messages in some chat apps!?
Oh well, I would register again then. The clinic still had a copy of my previous registration form. All details on the old form were still valid, except for the date of submission. I wondered if it’s possible to just copy the details over? No.
Fine. Then I would need a new form, that my mum would bring to the hospital and also help return to the clinic. Ah, that’s not possible, because the clinic has since ceased issuing printed forms; forms were issued only via email.
Grrrr, fine. My parents were prepared to provide my email address to the clinic over the phone. That should be simple, right? No, no, no. It had to be the patient to initiate the process by sending an email to the clinic.
Grrrr, grrr, grrrr. OK! What’s the clinic’s email address? The staff tried to spell out the really long and complicated address over the phone, but my parents weren’t sure if they had got it right.
Fine, fine, fine. I would speak directly with the clinic. Without earphones, it’s quite tricky to keep my “handbag” on one side, keep my neck straight, hold the phone with my left hand and scribble down the stupidly long email address.
Email, sent. Form, received, finally!
Hang on, the clinic sent a scanned image of the form in PDF! So that’s basically a photo, not a form. What should one do with it!?
I wasn’t going to give in —— I am an IT professional after all! My high-end phablet with a big screen, the right set of apps and a built-in stylus met the challenge perfectly. I wrote (drew) on the photo (form) and sent it back in PDF. Mission accomplished! Man vs phone, final round, 2:2, it’s a draw!
My neighbours witnessed the to-and-fro exchanges between me and the clinic in disbelief. Why should the process be so complicated and opaque? Why such bureaucracy? How many patients would have the energy and IT knowledge to navigate around the mess?
Anyway, I was discharged the following day.
It’s time to part with the drainage tube and “handbag”. I was again concerned about any pain when removing the tube, but was reassured by the sister that it would all be fine if I followed her instructions on breathing (it sounded as if I were giving birth!?) But she’s right! Out came the tube, then the hole was quickly covered with a plaster. No blood seeping through, no pain. It was all over in a few seconds!
In contrast to the ordeal of clinic registration, the removal of sutures was relatively simple. It was the first time I got to see my wound when the thick dressing was peeled off. The nurse said my surgeons had great skills when closing my wound, since the stitches were of the perfect tension. Scarring should be minimal. We were chatting along nicely and forgot to count the number of stitches, but I reckoned there were around 20-something.
Post-op recovery was faster than I had expected. I had my first solo stroll for about a kilometre just a few days after leaving the hospital. It’s interesting to notice for the first time how my neck muscles are involved in maintaining my balance as I walk! I was mostly independent too, with the exception of needing my mum’s help with washing my hair, since my hairline is very close to the wound, which had to be kept dry for a while both before and after the removal of stitches. Once the wound had healed further, I was fully independent, ending my recuperation at my parents’. I returned to my own home and got on with life as usual. The “facelift” scar was barely visible from the front, so I didn’t attract any stares or strange looks from passersby on the streets.
The healing of muscles and nerves on my left jaw was an interesting process! To combat trismus, the jaw muscles needed some stretching exercises everyday, which felt like making a conscious effort to yawn. Within a month of the operation, my jaw movement was no longer restricted, nor did I feel any more pain in my “first bites” every meal, so my manners returned to a commoner’s! As for the nerves, there wasn’t much I could do to encourage its repair, but it was more of a waiting game. But that’s fine, the left jaw was mostly numb, which I would much much prefer to pain! The body did take its time to reconnect the nerves. How did I know? Well, every few days, parts of my left jaw would have some tingling sensations. It could be near my chin, face, or ear. Sometimes they felt like pin pricks, other times they felt like pinches on my skin by a mischievous toddler. Everyday was a guessing game!
Two months later, while being tormented by the side effects of radiotherapy, I brought up this magical pain-free post-op period with Mr J. Nonchalantly, he said,
Ah, I cut a few minor nerves during the operation, that’s why you didn’t feel any pain.
What!? Seriously? Disconnected nerves, no pain, simple! Oh, Mr J, why hadn’t you told me earlier?