Waking up from heavily-induced sedation is an odd sensation. One’s mind is saying one thing, one’s body is not able to respond as the mind requests and there seems to be many out-of-control events happening all around.
My daughter mentioned something about purple hair… “Mum, I think you should dye your hair purple once you’re out of here.” She’s not sure now why she suggested this (was it to scare me into waking me up?) but I agreed and actually looked forward to it. …
“And we could run a marathon, too…” Now that I didn’t agree to as I may be physically active but running has never been a passion.
My son’s advice was to rest and take it easy and let nature run its course with the able help of the doctors and nurses. I don’t consider myself an impatient person but now I was awake I just wanted to get out of wherever I was and go home. I recall the handsome young doctor mentioned previously coming to me and asking if I knew where I was. I actually had little idea – probably said “St George’s” (the hospital where I had the operation). Another time I think I also said “ICU” but had no idea which hospital. My mind clearly was rather ‘addled’! Somewhere in the course of things I also learned that my son & daughter-in-law had been to our house and done some gardening – removed some old grasses and re-planted an area I had looked forward to transforming. I desperately wanted to see this and my “dreams” now included my “new” garden.
Other milestones I looked forward to were the removal, one-by-one, of the various tubes and drains entering and exiting my body. As each one was removed I was given a token explanation and my reaction each time was that I was one step closer to going home and seeing my garden!
Once the tubes were removed from my mouth I needed a drink. Coffee sounded good but was not an option – in fact, there was no option as I was carrying 8kgs of excess fluid which needed to go! So, because my mouth was dry I was offered small portions of ice. My son and hubby got a small bucket of this from a machine and could now place one or two pieces in my mouth at a time. Brad said “Just say ‘ice’ and we’ll pop some in your mouth.” My favourite word over the next few days anytime someone was close at hand was “Ice…ice!” Oh, that tasted like nectar, just to crush my teeth on something cold and wet! Unfortunately, my yearning for “Ice…ice” was curtailed as I had to limit my liquid intake in order to expel the excess 8kgs from my body.
And then there was the addition of solid food into my diet – oh, mashed potato has never tasted so good! The diced pork that followed got stuck in my teeth and my angelic, ever-patient nurse did her best to clean my teeth for me – I couldn’t even control my hand to brush my own!
Time moves very slowly when one can’t even read, especially through the night hours… but more about that next time…