I walked to St John's for the Eucharist this morning, my rucksack packed with stuff I'd need during my afternoon stay in hospital. When I got to church, I realised that I'd forgotten to pick up my phone, left on charge in the kitchen. Emma took the service, I sat in the congregation and didn't receive the sacrament, but Emma gave me a blessing after Communion instead. Thankfully Ruth's husband John offered to run me home to collect the phone afterwards and I was soon back to chat with worshippers before Emma drove me out to Llandough.
We arrived at 11.30am, and although early, my appointment was processed quickly and I was on the day surgery ward ahead of time. After the usual three interrogations (nurse, anaesthetist and surgeon's registrar), Mrs Cornish the surgeon arrived, and briefed me about the procedure. Given the MRI data, she was prepared for a worst case scenario. I pointed out how much improvement I'd seen in the three months since the scan, it was clear she would take that into account. It was then a matter of settling down and waiting.
The ward was busy, with a half dozen or so patients having minor surgery for carpal tunnel syndrome or Depuytren's contracture. It was marvellous to hear the nurses and doctors dealing with each one with consistent kindness and clarity. Each patient was different, from an extrovert septuagenarian, uninhibitedly chatting about her Catholic churchgoing, to a taciturn lady dressed in a colourful, probably North Africa burka and several other women, all but one of retirement age.
There were a couple of quiet men too. One of them found he couldn't get his wedding ring off, a prerequisite for the work to be done on his left hand. The traditional recourse to silken thread (such as was tried on me two years back in a clinic in Rincon de la Victoria), failed on him as it did on me. His operation was postponed to allow him to get a jeweller to remove it. The metal shears available on the ward, he was told, weren't good enough to ensure an easily repairable cut. As Mrs Cornish said to me two weeks ago, when mine was cancelled - sometimes it's just bad luck.
I was last on the surgeon's list of the day. During the long wait I read a chapter of the Poveda novel, dozed, occasionally paced up and down, feeling anxious given the uncertainty of the outcome. I don't know where the clouds of pessimism come from. I'm in good hands, well cared for, but dread another disaster, and having to cope yet again with a new open wound on top of the existing one. I realised how hard I was finding it to focus on God, or to pray. I made an effort to stay facing the experience of desolation as I waited, and telling God that's all I can manage for now. Only when I was being taken to the operating theatre did my anxieties finally calm. After so much waiting for treatment, and waiting upon the healing process, I then realised that any further wait of any kind would summon the clouds of anxiety. Am I naturally impatient? Or is this a low level stress disorder? No matter what, it is survivable, and that's all that counts.
It was ten to five when I went down to theatre and ten to six when I returned. The surgeon's registrar came in to tell me what she'd done. I still have the original seton's suture in place, but the excess tissue has been removed which will enable normal healing to take place. I get reviewed in six weeks time, then a final op will follow to remove the suture and plug the remaining abscess site hole in my anal muscle with a collagen compound. I forgot to ask if this would be a permanent feature, or one which muscle tissue would grow over. Finished in time for Christmas hopefully. As for travel, quite possibly, if the wound is now going to be more manageable, less risky to live with, as it has been for so long.
After getting dressed to leave, I stooped to put on my sandals, and was quite surprised that despite the hefty dressing pad, I was able to bend right down and reach my toes without uncomfortable pressure or tugging at the wound, sometimes painful. This was how it had been for the past four months, since the over-granulated tissue attracted attention from surgeon and nurse, and started to obstruct wound closure. It was a question of having to put up with it until it could be dealt with, and today was finally the day! I felt like cheering, and left the ward with a spring in my step, to meet Clare, who had just arrived at quarter to seven.
It was such a delight to return home to a most welcome cooked meal, and be able to sit comfortably to eat it, without fidgeting in the face of constant discomfort. I feel like I've turned a corner, just the way I did when the District Nurses took charge of my case for the first time last Boxing Day. There was much emailing to be done and WhatsApp messages to exchange as I settled down for the evening, and time for another 'Walter Presents' crimmie before bed.
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