Well, dear reader, the blasted needle- I was right-is out. I got to Intercare Day Hospital nice and early at 6:30am, wondering if I’d stay there for hours starving and dehydrated only for the surgery itself to happen at 1pm or some very late hour like that.
The admitting nurse was a lovely talkative Xhosa lady. She took my BP and went to get the folder to ask the usual, “Do you have diabetes? Do you have any dental implants?” questions. She noticed my age and exclaimed, “What?? But your face doesn’t match your age! You look so young!” When you’ve been told all your life that you’re not great looking, having someone tell you you at least don’t look haggard and sad, and tells you your fingers are dainty and tiny, feels cool. * insert shy laugh*
She read the consent form and asked, “Foreign body removal, screening and gastroscopy?” What happened? Did you have an accident and something went into your body?
I explained that I had surgery, and a surgeon left a needle inside me! She was shocked! She said she would love to see me after surgery because this was new to her! And unimaginable. I told her she was definitely free to come again, and as I planned to ask for the needle, she would see it with her own eyes!
I didn’t wait too long. But it was long enough to feel very cold. One thin covering and blanket is not enough for our cold winter. I’d taken my electric hot water bottle with me and it started getting cold. After an hour and a half of waiting, I plugged it into the wall, started charging my phone and took a walk to the toilet.
I returned and found two nurses waiting for me. “Are you Tha—-?” You know me, I immediately then felt apologetic! (As if I’d been told what time they’d come!) I rushed to unplug everything and take my slippers and leggings back off again, climbed onto the bed…And was wheeled to the waiting area.
No hot water bottle. No heat. No glasses. Radio too soft for me to hear the news. I was blind, cold and miserable. When the nurse was done confirming I was the correct patient, she wished me well as she left. That’s when it hit. Surgery is risky. I knew it, I tried to ignore the thought. But when a nurse says it so seriously, it reminds you how fragile life is. Back in the day, the surgeons used to tell me all the things that can go wrong, “And of course, there is the small chance that you could sue, though I’ve never lost a patient,” they’d end. Nowadays, they don’t, so you block off the risks of infection, bleeding..death…It also became more real when I saw them wheel a huge X ray machine in. “They’re going to use that to find the needle…”
Then, it was time! Radiologist first came to talk to me and find out if I had any implants, then it was show time. The surgeon never actually talked to me. He was on a computer the whole time. It was the anesthetist who told me what she was doing, what she was about to do. When she told me I was going to become drowsy, I asked her to please ask the surgeon to keep the needle for me.
And she did.
I woke up properly in the ward to two shocked nurses. Two lovely Coloured nurses this time. “I had to come and see this! I didn’t believe it when I first heard that you said you had a needle inside you! I have never seen such a thing!”
The other agreed, “What was the assistant doing? And if there was no assistant, why didn’t the theatre nurse count? We always count everything and make sure it’s all out! And even if the patient has been sewn up, we have reopened when we saw we had left a swab in them. But a needle!!?? How did they leave a NEEDLE inside you? They could have killed you! You must sue!”
They could have killed me.
Life is so precious! The surgeon came later, told me he hoped the pain from the needle would now be gone. He said that I should be pain-free in two weeks and if not, to let him know. I hope there is no reason to!
As for the gastroenterologist who told me that chronic gastritis doesn’t exist!🙄My gastroscopy found antral gastritis. Given I’ve had gastritis (diagnosed) since 2015, I’d say that’s quite CHRONIC, wouldn’t you? For that, I must keep taking the PPI I’m on already. Yeah, it obviously hasn’t cured me, just like the heavy dose I was on in 2021 didn’t.
And so, after hearing how wonderful the food is, how yummy the sandwiches are from the nurses and anesthetist, I couldn’t eat any. They didn’t have gluten-free anything. By 13:30pm, I was waiting and dressed again.
And here I am. Home and in extreme pain. No, not where they operated, but my throat.
And so, life continues. I had to shift the last assessment my son was to have, and the feedback session for him and his sister that the psychologist had booked.
Let’s see what the future holds!
I emailed my 2001 surgeon today to find out about that TB appendix thing for the rheumatologist. I don’t know what the antral gastritis will mean for treatment. At least it’s not my entire stomach, just the lower portion, but there’s still gastritis, which she didn’t want. We shall see!
They said I should write a book 