The Major Operation

I shan't go into the first time I met my surgeon - we have met so many times, they all roll into one. 

The only reason I went into each meeting with the previous consultants was to illustrate my journey throughout various specialists to find the answer I was looking for. 

What I will say is from the first day I met him, I knew I was in good hands - he is a marvellous man and has been approachable, sympathetic and charming (and incredibly apologetic once we reached operation number three!) the entire time. He is also incredibly knowledgeable and the right man for the job - my operations have been complex, serious and complicated. 

At the first meeting he did offer to remove the SCT after our wedding and honeymoon to relieve some of the stress we were under but gently pushed that the operation was urgent and needed to be done. 

We chose to put my health first and have the operation within the seven weeks leading up to the wedding. 

Fun facts: not only is my surgeon a surgeon to the royal family (and the very same hands performed on little old me!) but he also has the EXACT same accent as one of my bosses at work - a strong yet posh Scottish accent to be precise - and every single time he says 'I'm just going to stick my finger in your bottom' I cringe instantly and have to stop myself from laughing - it isn't something you wish to hear your boss say. I still can't look him in the eye. 

Speaking of work - once the SCT was found I arranged for a meeting with my bosses to tell them what was going on. I was embarrassed and worried  that I would come across over dramatic - I still didn't understand what had been found and the extent of the seriousness of it all but I was becoming weaker and felt that with surgery of any kind, they had a right to know. 

My employers were and continue to be incredibly supportive and understanding - I left work just a week before my operation which was booked on 30th July 2019, to go on sick leave. 

My hen weekend was actually planned four days after the operation - as time went on I made the heartbreaking decision, along with my bridesmaids, that the best idea would be to cancel my hen weekend and postpone until I was back to full health. I was absolutely devastated to do so and cried for days. 

My surgery date quickly arrived and with a tummy empty due to bowel prep and a head full of worry I sat in my hospital room and met with my surgeon, anaesthetist and various nurses to go through the procedure. When the anaesthetist asked me if I knew what surgery I was about to have, my soon to be loving husband belted out 'BOOB JOB!'. 

If my dignity had not already drained away I was then told by the anaesthetist (after he had stopped laughing) that I would be face down during the operation with my bum in the air - how incredibly sexy! and the first thought that came in to my head was - oh bugger, what if I do a massive fart?!

Soon enough I was met with a nurse who would escort me down to theatre - I hugged fiancé goodbye and couldn't squeeze him hard enough - I asked twenty times that he would be there when I returned and he insisted he would. 

I'd never been put under anaesthetic before and I was frightened-- cannula's were embedded into my skin, I could see the staff  in theatre through a gap in the door and I was anxious that I was soon to be the human that they would be cutting into. A mask was placed over my face which must have done its job as the next thing I knew I had woken up feeling groggy and with a very sore throat in a completely different room - which I now know was intensive care. 

After a six hour operation my bed was wheeled back to my hospital room and the rest of that day - and the next was a complete blur. However I now know and am able to confirm that in the initial operation the SCT was removed alongside half of my coccyx which had become deformed and had two spikes coming off  the end of it - these spikes had pierced my bowel in two places when I gave birth naturally to my twins;  so my bowel also had to be repaired during the operation. The intense pain that I experienced in my back on Father's day (remember that?!) was an infection that had developed due to the pierced bowel. 

phew!

I was in hospital for a while and caught an infection whilst I was there. I was lucky the first time to have my fiancé, parents and children visit me in hospital to keep my spirits up  - my lovely friend Hannah also came to visit me and was there when I experienced my first 'high' from controlled medication. I was in a lot of pain and asked my nurse for pain relief, she gave me morphine and it felt like I flew up in the air - the word that came out of my mouth was 'woooooo!' and I couldn't stop laughing;  even more so when I looked at Hannah and she was looking at me like I suddenly started doing the can can with my knickers on my head - a face of pure surprise and horror. I've never been one for illegal drugs - even when I was younger, I never touched them, but if that's how they make you feel then I totally understand the hype. 

I cried for most of that stay - I missed my children, I was stressed about my wedding and upset over my hen weekend. I couldn't wait to leave and jumped at the chance to go home as soon as it was offered to me. 

I changed out of my hospital gown and for the first time in days I put on some of my normal clothes which was such a relief. Before I could be discharged, my surgeon came into my room to check me over - once finished, he boomed 'So, are you off on your hen weekend now?!' I was taken aback and said 'well..err.. no'..  and I kid you not, the man looked me up and down with a frown as if I had only broken a nail, not someone who had just had a major operation, a bottom covered in stitches and an open wound and said 'well why not?'.

I was lost for words and deciding instead of pointing out the obvious physical reasons, to say 'well I'm on strong painkillers'. With a serious face he winked at me and said 'well then, you'd have one hell of a time!'