#thank you so much op!! would love to see your art improve even further!

[transfixingcharly]

July - post-op update

I had my chest surgery on July 18th, under the very capable care of Mr Fenton at the Spire hospital at Methley Park.

Even though I wasn’t a private (and paying) patient, the service and aftercare was outstanding.

On the morning of the 18th I arrived at the hospital at 7:30. I hadn’t really been nervous the night before, but anxiety had kicked in fully by the time I was taken down for my surgery at 9:45.

Amy and my Mum were both with me until that point, offering support and reminding me that I couldn’t eat the “emergency Snickers” contraband chocolate bar that I’d smuggled into my overnight bag, in spite of my best efforts to have a pre-op snack...

The surgical staff had all been to my room to introduce themselves before I was taken down for surgery, and they were wonderful.

By the time I got down to the anaesthetic room, I knew everyone by name and I understood how the operation - a double mastectomy with free-form nipple grafts - would go. A student nurse named Gemma had asked to watch my operation, and she was particularly wonderful to Amy and Mum while I was under.

The last thing I remember was my anaesthetist putting a cannula into the back of my hand - followed by two injections - and telling me to count down from ten.

I woke up back on the ward, around two thirty.

Amy told me they’d kept me in recovery for longer than usual as they’d had issues “controlling my pain”, which explained why I woke up panicking, my chest tight and aching fiercely. I had never known an ache like it, but it was fleeting as a nurse brought me some pain relief which made everything feel better. (I found out later that I’d been given Oxycodone, which was pretty great.)

I cried plenty for the first half hour of consciousness, overwhelmed by relief of the surgery’s success and shocked by the initial pain.

I was given compression bandages - more about these later - and the tightness of these surprised me too. I felt like I couldn’t breathe properly, which made me panic that I’d pass out.

It was a weird period of time.

The surgeon came to see me later that day to ensure I was feeling okay, and he loosened the bandages a little. He seemed happy with the surgery, a nurse later told me that during the operation he’d completed the sutures, but then announced that he felt he could do better, so he removed them all and started again. I couldn’t figure out if this was reassuring or not.

A few friends came to visit late afternoon: Paris, James, Sophie and Fran.

Paris ridiculed my uselessness in a very affectionate way, while James made cool pop culture references that I was only just compos mentis enough to understand. (James also provided the “thanks for the mammaries” line which I used on instagram.)

Sophie brought books and compassion, and gave my head a gentle hug in lieu of an actual bodily cuddle.

Fran arrived last, just in time to see me vomit up everything I’d eaten. The nurses reassured me that this was just the anaesthetic, and that I’d feel better soon.

It happened to be my Mum’s birthday on the day of my surgery, so Fran and Amy took her out for dinner around 8pm while I attempted to sleep again. A lovely matron was in and out of the room at this time, and she was fantastically supportive to everyone who came to see me.

I got a few hours of sleep, and managed to stomach some breakfast many hours later while I binged Great British Bake Off on Netflix. (I have my internet friend Lou to thank for my rekindled love for this show.)

Gemma - the student nurse from the day before - came to keep me company for an hour or so before she went home, and she was able to tell me all about the surgery now that I was in a fit state to understand it all.

Amy and Sophie reappeared around 10am, just in time to hear a nurse tell me that I was now allowed to go to the toilet unattended.

It turns out having chest surgery impedes your ability to move around quite considerably, so this was great news. I think everyone felt relieved, no pun intended.

I was discharged just after lunch, and Sophie and I shared an emotional moment as she watched me see my newly flat chest for the first time, out of the hospital gown and in my own clothes. I’m not even slightly ashamed to admit that I cried.

I left hospital with my drains still in - gross plastic tubes coming out of my surgical sites used to remove excess fluid - and was told that I needed to come back on the 20th to have them taken out, as long as I hadn’t bled into them too much.

Lucy and Amy were both immeasurably helpful in the hours following my journey home, and I can’t thank them - or many others - enough. (Although I’m going to try to in my next blog post…)

I spent the next few days in periods of restlessness brought on by a cocktail of codeine and exhaustion, but was conscious enough to have the drains removed on Friday.

This was an unpleasant experience, but the nurse at Methley Park who completed the procedure and redressed my surgical sites was wonderful.

Paris picked me up on Saturday afternoon and we spent a handful of careful hours meandering around Wakefield city centre. I was exhausted by the time we got home, and I slept fitfully again on the sofa as I had done during most daylight hours since my surgery. I was finally nailing the art of napping, although this probably would’ve served me better during my early years than as a 27 year old. Never too late to learn a new skill though, I guess.

On Saturday evening my parents arrived in anticipation of our trip down to London the following morning.

We weren’t sure if I’d be going until Sunday morning itself, as while my pain and physical ability had both improved, I was still constantly tired.

We made it through the trip unscathed, making sure to rest whenever I needed it, and fitting in more mid-afternoon naps around our crowded schedule.

The compression bandages proved to be the hardest part of the recovery, as while I understood the necessity of them, they pressed directly upon my bruised chest and made me horrendously warm. I knew that I needed them to reduce the swelling, but that didn’t make me like them anymore than I had to.

On Friday afternoon Amy and I trekked back from London to Methley Park, and the staples which had been securing my nipple grafts were removed.

I was given fresh dressings again and another appointment to see Mr Fenton, who would determine if I needed any further aftercare. I’m going back again next Monday to hopefully see my nipples for the first time.

I seem to be healing pretty well, and I’m able to be more active than I’d expected while still sticking within the guidelines given. No gym for a few weeks yet, but I should be able to go running soon.

There’s another post coming shortly after this evening one just to hand out some thanks, as I’ve been overwhelmed with gratitude at some points in the past few weeks.

You’re awesome, and I’m lucky to have you all.