So, pre-op clinic visit. H and I lay in bed last night thinking up sensible questions to ask about the laparoscopy/ hysteroscopy/ D&C extravaganza, and, what is more important, writing them down. See? We are prepared and sensible. And what’s more, I put the enormous list of questions in my handbag the next morning. And then, get this, and then… I remembered to take my handbag with me. I am just running red-hot today. And H took the morning off work to come with me and play back-up, in case I went all wibbly and started nodding like a berk at anything they said or, more importantly, did not say.
The hospital where they will be polishing my innards with fine-grade emery cloth is not the Hospital in the Country. Nor is it the Big White Matterhorn that messed up H’s first SA. It is The Mother Ship, and it is quite a way away in yet another direction, so H and I had a whole new train-route to admire. And yes, the Day Surgery Unit is right next to the Maternity Unit, but someone had a rush of blood to the head and decided that they did indeed need separate waiting rooms. So we went in, and were given a Big Form to fill in, with sensible questions about previous surgeries and medications and health problems, and I filled it in very carefully, and handed it back, and then sat flicking through six-months-old magazines with H and watched all the other people in the waiting room go one by one to see the same nurse (why on earth is the weighing machine in the waiting room, by the way? It’s not that huge, why not put it in the consulting room? I’m pretty sure no one likes being weighed in public. Even if the nurse doesn’t scream with laughter and announce the results to the rest of the room). It took half an hour to do everyone else in the waiting room. This is moderate to good for the NHS.
And then I was weighed. I hate that part. I am FAT. Fat girls don’t like being weighed by medical professionals. They say things. Therefore I am happy to announce that the Nurse Lady is a good Nurse Lady and did not have anything to say about my weight.
And then we went into the consulting room, and she took my blood pressure, which was high. Very sensibly, she got on with going through my Big Form with me, checking that there would be someone to take me home and look after me after the operation, and the exact details of what I was and was not suffering from or medicating myself with and then she took my blood pressure again while we had a nice chat about commuting, and lo-and-behold, my blood pressure was perfectly normal. The first time any medical professional takes my blood pressure it hits the roof. Iatrogenic, is the fancy word for it. It’s always reassuring to meet someone who assumes that might be the case and tries again.
And then I got out the Big List of Questions. Oh, dear, but really, she was the nurse, not the surgeon, and she did do her absolute best. I wanted to know what exactly would be done about the adhesions and possibility of Ashermans, as D&C’s can often trigger a whole new batch of adhesions in the vulnerable. She had no idea. I am to ask the surgeon on the day. Pfft. I asked about taking my medications during and/or after surgery, she seemed to think it would be OK. I wanted to know how long to take off work – a week to ten days. I wanted to know how much bleeding and pain was normal. No more than a normal period. I don’t have normal periods. I’ve never had a normal period. This information is meaningless. I’d’ve liked to know how many pads per hour for how many days. And yes, any endometriosis will be treated right then and there. OK, so when was the operation? I’d get a letter in six weeks time setting a date, but the waiting list was for another three or four months.
I pointed out that I was starting an MA in September, so this was a Bad Time, and I really needed it done sooner, and both H and I had arranged matters so I could go in at a day’s notice, please? Please? Really, please? The Nurse Lady carefully wrote this on my form, and then said she’d go right now and mention it to the consultant, and nipped out. Ooh, taken seriously, another merit mark for Nurse Lady. Unfortunately she came back very quickly to say the consultant in whose care I apparently was, had gone to lunch.
But Nurse Lady pointed to the notes written on my Big Form and solemnly promised to mention it to the Consultant-at-Lunch.
So, not fuck.
And then we were all done and had to go away. And I still, still, do not know when I am having this be-damned operation. Dammit.
And then I had my mood thoroughly interfered with by a phone-conversation with my mother, all about the power of being Relaxed By Vitamins and doing a raw vegetable fast before the operation. Mum? Did I mention being anaemic? Yes? Should an anaemic woman, no matter how fat, live on lettuce for four weeks? Do you think? No? Can we drop the subject of fasting now?
And yes, I did snap at H this evening, and yes, I am sulking.