Anybody Got a Pin?

With the decision made to have the suspicious lymph nodes in the right side of my neck removed, the big day (25th July) soon came around.  Once again I found myself checking into a hospital but this time with realistic optimism that this could be the final round of my cancer saga.  Though, as I ponder this statement, I cannot help but wonder will there ever be a final round - one that enables me to forget and consign the memories of the past 10 months into a black hole, never to re-emerge. 

Having enlisted the help of my good buddy and best man extraordinaire Dave to act as chauffeur on the day, I was dropped at the front doors of the hospital slightly ahead of my 07.30 reporting time. The Manor hospital in Oxford gave the feeling of a half decent hotel and I noted the squeak of my shoes as I walked across the highly polished floor to the reception desk.  

 

I am directed to a ward on the first floor where a nurse will apparently be waiting to greet me. Certainly the Balcony Cafe I pass en route looks a touch above the League of Friends Cafe I had occasionally frequented on my daily trips to the Churchill during my radiation treatment. 

An attractive slightly older nurse welcomes me with a lovely smile .  When I say older, I mean older than me, as later for some unexplained reason Sally volunteers her age as 63 along with a number of other personal details - I am really not sure how I came to find out that her father was a director at British American Tobacco for many years and that eventually he died of smoking related cancer. 

The room Sally escorts me to is huge and could easily make two good sized bedrooms. The usual standard of hospital furniture adorns the room with the exception of an electric blue PVC sofa which stands out of place, loud and proud. 

Having been asked to report at 07.30 my hopeful assumption was that I would be scheduled for a morning slot in theatre but on enquiring, Sally informs me that as my operation is the longest and most complicated I am last on Mr Winter's  list for the day. 

I curbed my urge to shout "but that makes no sense".  I rationalise internally that surely being the most complicated procedure it should mean that I be first down to theatre whilst the  surgeon's levels of concentration are pin point sharp rather than dulled by exhaustion and boredom following a series of routine operations. 

I am duly told I should be going down to theatre around 12 o'clock and so I resign myself to the prospect of killing a few hours reading my book and surfing the internet looking for new "special interest" sites. 

As 12 o'clock comes and goes my paranoia about the state of alertness of Mr Winter plays on my mind and finally, having been told by the ever helpful (but less than reassuring) Sally that the previous case has been on the table for 2 hours longer than planned, I get taken down to be prepared to go under the knife at 14.30 hrs. 

It's not long before the anaesthetic is administered and I experience that feeling of quietly and peacefully slipping into unconsciousness. Come the glorious day that I shuffle off this mortal coil I can only hope that it is with this same feeling of painless serenity. 

The operation was scheduled to take 3 hours and so on coming around in the recovery room I am told I was under the knife for only 2.5 hours, which I recall taking as a positive sign as to how well the operation went. 

As expected I'm moved to the Intensive Treatment Unit for observation overnight. 

The night was less than straightforward as my neck started to swell due to an internal bleed which eventually left me looking like the mongrel love child of Alfred Hitchcock and Desperate Dan.

The pain was brought under control by a healthy dose my old friend Morphine at 2am and in fact by the morning the pain had gone completely but the drain that had been installed as part of the operation was proving inadequate at coping with the bleed. 

Having been put on "nil by mouth", following consultation with Mr Winter, the decision was taken that I would go back to theatre to prevent my head from turning into an over ripe melon. 

 

Anybody got a pin !

So the preparation procedure is repeated except that the anaesthetist on this occasion is a little uncomfortable about putting me to sleep and then finding out that due to my swollen neck he is unable to stuff a breathing tube down my throat.  

He calmly explains that this will mean he will put the tube in through my nose and it will be whilst I'm awake - suddenly I am a little less relaxed but the spray he administered through my nose meant it was not an uncomfortable process and eventually I am feeling serene once more.

An hour or so later as I come round the feeling of being a bit-part actor in the movie Ground Hog Day washes over me. 

This time the outcome of the procedure was as desired and I am returned to ITU with my normal 3 chins - the turkey look is all the rage this year I'm told.  

 

Gobble Gobble Gobble !

 

Another night in hospital and with no further complications I am discharged the next day. 

In a couple of weeks I get the results of the biopsy on the lymph nodes but to some degree it's an irrelevance. If it shows cancer was still present then I needed the operation but if it shows all clear then, that is good news. 

As for me, I'm hoping that the results show this latest episode was all a waste of time as the lymph nodes were free from cancer as a result of the chemo and radiation treatment. Fingers crossed.