ORD lo

2 days after my operation, and it's all good.

Actually it's not, since my leg is in a cast, and I'm having trouble moving around.

Luckily, I have crutches, but it's still not easy. Showering is a real bitch since I can't get the cast wet, so I have to elevate my leg, contorting my body in some weird position. The things I do for hygiene.

Anyway, the operation was pretty smooth sailing. So smooth I don't recall much, which is expected, or else I probably won't be able to blog about it.

I recall being put on a bed and being wheeled into the operating theatre. Where everyone was busy like bees, and I was just lying down there observing them. It was intimidating in a way, for my thoughts drifted to my leg being cut up real soon. However, it was also kind of amusing. Amusing in that all these people were busy preparing for my operation. It felt... Lordly?

I don't know, but I couldn't help but feel amused that so many people were busy slogging while I was just there lying down waiting to be attended by them. It might sound a bit warped, but I couldn't help it. I counted 11 people working. I heard someone mention that Dr Andy Wee operates 24 hours, 7 days a week. I don't know what he was alluding to, but it just sounded funny.

The anaesthetist introducted himself and his partner to me, and explained to me the nerve blocker he was going to use for me. I had thought I didn't need it, but being on the operating table like a slab of meat was sobering reminded me of my mortality and I didn't object. Which on hindsight was a bloody smart idea.

The last thing I remember was being injected in my wrist for the drip, then suddenly feeling pain in my forearm. Which I pointed out to the anaesthetist. And then there's a memory lapse.

I wake up not feeling my lower leg. It's this funny feeling where you try to move it, but it just doesn't respond. It's hard to describe, you have to try it for yourself. I tried to touch it and didn't feel anything. It was a very strange feeling, but I didn't think much of it as the anaesthetist had told me it was to be expected. Dr Andy Wee came over to tell me the operation was a success, that his original diagnosis that the posterior tibial tendon had split and a part of it was rubbing against the medial bone was incorrect. What was happening was that posterior tibial tendon had split, and was rubbing against itself. Fuck that. Anyway, he removed like 10 percent of my tendon as it was beyond repair, and even the main tendon of 80 plus percent had to be cleaned up. Which I assume to be trimming and cutting and dicing and slicing, kind of like keeping a hedge trimmed.

I hadn't gotten to asking him whether the tendon will grow back to 100 percent, partly because I fear the answer which I highly suspect to be no.

Gay.

At around 4pm the pain started to materialise. But I still hadn't regained control of my lower leg, and that was worrying. The nurses kept asking at regular intervals whether I could feel my leg or wriggle my toes, and that worried me because the way they kept asking was as if they expected a positive response and me telling them I couldn't wriggle my toes or feel my leg was not normal. I was beginning to think my nerve was damaged when around 8pm I realised I could wriggle my toes. Just slightly, but it felt like a monumental achievement.

Around 11pm I tried to sleep, to no avail. The bed was most uncomfortable, and the pain was making me sweat. My back was starting to hurt, and I wondered that it was actually possible for my back to hurt from lying down too much. Must be a sucky bed.

I started to regret that I hadn't splurged the cash for an aircon ward, but it was too late for regrets. So I tried to make the tomorrow come faster by sleeping.

It failed miserably. I remember being awake at 1a.m, thinking how shitty life was. I was sweating and there was a mosquito bugging the hell out of me. Pain, quite a bit of pain, and itchiness were my constant companion. I was seriously comtemplating whether to call the nurse for an injected painkiller and a mosquito net.

But I didn't for some reason, choosing instead to silently curse my stupidity and the hospital for not putting up mosquito nets at the windows. There was a period of time when I thought that the mosquito was imaginary, and that there was really nothing biting me and the itchiness was a figment of my imagination. But then I saw an insect, and realised that the itchiness was indeed due to a real mosquito.

Oh yes I forgot to talk of my neigbour. I had a window ward, lucky me except that it's so far from the window I couln't look out of it to see anything interesting, and the bed beside mine was empty for most part of the day. Then during the late afternoon/evening and old man came to join me.

I eavesdropped, not much else to do(though that's a poor excuse) on his conversations with his doctor and found out that his fate was much more cruel than mine. Apparently he had broke his thigh bone, got knocked down when crossing the highway en route to work. The doctor was most puzzled by why he would be crossing the highway on his way to work, and I couldn't overhear his explanation for it. Anyway, the doctor asked him when was the last time he had something to eat/drink. He said 3pm, and the doctor asked when he last drank. He said he only drinks beer or something to that effect. Lol.

I heard the doctor explaining to his daughter(I presume) of how they hadn't cleared his neck for any damage and as such they would have to put him on some spinal protection program, meaning he couldn't get up and had to lie down or something like that. Or else he might just become paralysed.

The doctor was explaining the risks of the operation to his daughter. He said it was not a minor op, as such, there would be risks involved.

1. Heavy bleeding

2. Suffocation
If memory serves, he said that due to his thigh bone breaking, his fats would go to the lungs and he could have problems breathing

3. Infection

So he told them there might be a chance he would go to ICU after the operation. Also, he stated that the operation involved joining a metal rod to his thigh bones with and screwing it into place. He said that it was not a sure fire way and he might have to come back for another operation if it didn't heal properly.

When I heard the doctor, I was thinking woah shit that sucks. But I was in a lot of pain myself, so I wasn't really in a empathising mood.

Anyway I don't know if the old man kept me up with his frequent calls to the nurse or I just couldn't sleep and happened to hear his calls to the nurse.

He kept complaining that he needed to piss. The problem was that they had already attached the pipe to his bladder, meaning that his bladder was dry and he didn't need to piss. But he just kept insisting he needed to piss, and the nurse in turn tried to assure him that he didn't need to piss and the feeling he needed to piss was normal but it was just that, not a real need to piss.

He also complained about other stuff, and I heard the nurse telling him no you can't get up, your neck is not cleared you might become paralysed if you get up.

The light above his ward was on most of the time, and I suspected that contributed to my insomnia.

Which brings me to my next point. The lights and the bed. The elevation on my bed could only be adjusted by a handcrank in front of the bed, meaning I couldn't do it myself. What the hell? If I wanted to get up into a sitting position I had to call for the nurse to help me crank the bloody bed to do so. And if I wanted to lie down I had to call for the nurse as well. It probably explained why my back was feeling sore at the end of the day, or mayhaps that was just the shitty mattress.

What brilliant design. NOT

And the light switch. I had this switch thingy that called for the nurse and on the other switch was a light icon. Which didn't work. It was for the light above my bed, and somehow it just didn't work. I was lazy to enquire after it, but it still sucked. There was another overhead light between me and the bed opposite me. The switch for that was at the other end of the room. The light happened to be on a lot when I wanted to sleep.

I guess that was why I paid 10 dollars a night for the ward. Cause it sucked.

20 percent of the $50 dollars a day it was supposed to be. I came to understand why people don't like staying in hospitals.

So I managed to survive the night, and the next morning Dr Andy Wee comes in at 8.30 or was it 9.30 in a FCUK shirt, asking me how my leg was.

He asked, "So how's the ankle? Not much pain right?"

Ha ha ha.

What a kidder.

I corrected him, "Actually, quite a bit of pain."

To which he assured me that the pain would not last, probably no more pain on Monday. At that time I didn't think it possible, But mayhaps he had the right of it.

Anxious to get out of the hospital, I asked him what time I could be discharged at. He said that after seeing the physiotherapist to teach me to use my crutches, probably out by 1pm. I said ok and he went on his way.

Some doctor came along to check on me, and I asked what time the physiotherapist was coming. At around 10am, but she would be attending to all the patients, so it might take some time. I couldn't take it for much longer, cause my ankle was hurting and I was sweating buckets and feeling grimy from all the sweat from the previous day.

So anyway the physiotherapist came at around 10 plus, and proceeded to teach me how to use my crutches. Nothing remarkable, just her doing her job. She came at like 10.30? I asked her if I could discharge after seeing her and she said yea probably. So I asked my dad to come fetch me at 11.

So around 10.45 I was done and I was most pleased that I would be getting out of this hell hole in around 15 minutes.

Wrong-o.

I paged for the nurse, and the indian told me that I could only discharge at 1pm. She said that even though I was discharging in the morning, I had to undergo the discharging procedure, like doing the paperwork and getting the medicine from the pharmacy, so I could only leave at 1pm.

I was most displeased, and I struggled to contain my displeasure. Actually I didn't. I just basically WTF? I hadn't thought that my discharge would take so long to process. I wasn't getting out of a life sentence for goodness sake. I expressed my bewilderment at her, but seeing as I was incapacitated and couldn't put up much of a fight, I wasn't too assertive. I basically asked her to explain to me why it would take so long, then gave her looks that told her I didn't quite buy the crap she was spewing. I didn't threaten to take it to the higher management because I didn't think of it at that time. Come to think of it, why didn't I? Stupid

So anyway she left telling me that I could only go at 12.30 to 1. I was most distraught for any second spent lingering in that ward was dampening my spirits.

So anyway 10 minutes later at around 11 I called for a nurse again and told the indian in a most curt manner that I wanted her to start the discharge procedures now. I wanted to be out at 12.30pm, I didn't want her to tell me at 12.30 that she had just started the discharge process and I was expected to wait. I told her to start getting the medicine and whatever paperwork needed now.

Sure, I could have a free lunch at the hospital, but I would rather eat plain rice at home than have a feast at the hospital. Besides, the meals were just decent, nothing makan sutra worthy.

At 11.30 the pharmacist came along to pass me my medicine and instructions for them. Then the nurse came at the same time to pass me the bill and MC. The pharmacist talked to me first then the nurse came and I asked if I could discharge and she said yea that was all.

She left a feedback form for me to fill as well. I was thinking of how to fill it up but in my rush to get out of the hospital I couldn't be bothered to do it.

Time of discharge?

Around 11.30 to 11.45. At 11.30 I was told I could go but I still had to change.

Moral of the story?

The indian nurse was a lying bitch.

Not that I didn't expect such, but still.

I mean where is the sense in keeping me for lunch? Surely my presence was not so welcome that they felt they had to detain me? What stupid protocol is that, making patients linger longer than they have to? Not as if all the nurses were hot and servicing me personally. The faster I go the more beds they have available for the next poor fellow that comes along. It is just good sense to discharge me as soon as possible, but I guess somewhere along the way they lost it.

Most silly if you ask me.