Surgery Update For Those Who Give A Crap

I went to the new QE, Queen Elizabeth of course, Hospital on August 3rd for an ear grommet. I figured it would be local anesthesia but turns out it's actually general. I was told to be there at seven thirty in the morning. When I got there I was stuck in a waiting hall with a load of other people having minor surgery that day. I got called in around 8:00am and was shown to bed number 33. And there Paul and I waited until 11:30am!! We talked, read and I snoozed for an hour. Finally they marked a big black X on my left ear, slapped an identification band on my wrist, taped my wedding ring to my finger and wheeled me into theater. I got a cannula put in my wrist and an oxygen mask placed over my mouth. Then my wrist started to ache. Then my body got all relaxed and then...lights out.

I came to in the recovery room after sleeping off the drugs for half an hour. I felt fine. Actually really fine. They wheeled me back to Paul who planted a big kiss on my dry lips. Then they brought me a ham sandwich and a cuppa. I was famished after having fasted for almost 18 hours, so that thin little sandwich tasted like the best thing in the world.

They like to see you chill out for an hour or two after surgery and keep an eye on you. I was doing great and didn't need any pain medication. So we left around 3:30pm to scoop up Chachi from Eve's house.

All in all it was a big success! And it was free! My hearing is slowly returning to normal as the swelling goes down. It's fantastic to be hearing things again! I was dreading being put under again. It's really creepy, knowing they turned you over, threw a tube down your throat and God knows what else, all while you were passed out with some dumb look on your face. But it's totallty worth it to be normal again.

What next...scurvy?!?

For some reason my weak Oregonian immune system has trouble fighting off English illnesses. I seem to acquire a new one each time I move here. The first trip saw me swollen, unhappy and in pain with shingles. Which has left me with a nasty scar on my nose that Charlie likes to point at. He's also real handy when you have a zit.

I fell victim to "Glue Ear" a year ago. I'm sure you have all heard me moaning on and on about it for the last year. But it really is a most annoying condition. I was at my worst last Christmas time. I remember sitting in the dining room with Paul and our friend Marcus not being able to participate in the conversation whatsoever. I could not understand a thing that Marcus said. This situation was made worse by his deep voice, Brummie accent and the copious amounts of Christmas cheer they were consuming. I quietly retired to the living room to watch TV turned up to the max.

I've been on an NHS waiting list for 6 months now for an operation to get grommets inserted which will help the fluid drain and therefore restore my hearing. And just yesterday I finally got my long awaited for letter in the mail! I have a pre-admission session on July 26th and my surgery on August 3. They have included the visiting hours and a warning about no longer allowing flowers to be brought onto the wards. Does this mean I have to stay in the hospital over night?? I hope not, we all know I've spent more than enough time on shared hospital wards.

I'm nervous about the operation but very excited to get back to normal. This condition has impacted my life in so many negative ways and put a halt to any socializing for months. But it's not all bad. Here are a few good things about being deaf:
~I can't hear Paul snoring at night.
~My ears don't pop on car journeys over hills.
~If I'm asked to do something I don't wanna do I just pretend I didn't hear the request.
~It's a great excuse for not answering the door/phone to someone I don't wanna see/talk to.

Yay deaf! I'll keep y'all posted on these upcoming events.

A sudden, often repetitive, spasmodic contraction of the thoracic cavity.

Oh for fucks sake. I'm sick again. Same cold, but now with more mucus! I've got one of those really nasty coughs that comes from deep down in your chest and when you start hacking people back away from you. Which can be handy on the bus.

So I've been taking it easy on the couch, trying not to touch anything in case I make anyone else sick. I think it's all these British germs, that are new to my fragile American immune system, which have made me sick. I will be back in good form very soon because I have a supply of liquid antibiotics in the fridge. Yay! Tastes like chalk!

Which leads me nicely into...

What Tickles My Pickle About England is the NHS! The National Health Service is the publicly funded health care system in Britain and it cares not where your sick ass is from or how you got so damn sick in the first place. Get this, I'm lying in bed (again) feeling like a cat turd that's been run over (again) and don't want to talk on the phone. So Paul calls the "doctors surgery" for me and explains whats going on. They write me out a prescription, I go pick it up, I take it to the pharmacy and I get some drugs, which cost me next to nothing! I even got them to give me a new inhaler cause my other one is expired! What could be easier? No questions asked, no insurance to haggle with, no co-pays and no over priced drugs. Brilliant. I shall fear no illness again!

Personal Note to my sister Malia: It's like crack and it's here too: Britain's Next Top Model, but with lots more sass and ass.