What worries me most about having surgery is the state your body finds itself after the fact. This time round is no different.
I don't what to think what they got up to while I was in there, out cold. I really don't want to know - and at the end of the day, they brought me back safe and well and not suffering too badly after the removal of my gall bladder - but it's all the little things that have me thinking of all the things they must have been doing.
Going into surgery, all was fine. I was on my nice comfortable hospital bed. The anaesthesia nurse, a groovy, well-lined dude in his late fifties, kept me entertained. I was kept warm and oxygenated.
Then I was moved into the operating room. It was cold. I was placed on the operating table. The anaesthetist placed the cannula in my left hand and told me the anaesthetic was going to hurt. It really did. I tried to fight it for a few seconds - then I was out.
And then, about two hours later, I woke up in the recovery room.
A bit later, they wheeled me back to my room.
But it's only now that I'm finding the ravages done to my body while I was out.
The bruise on my right wrist was covered with a dressing. No idea what went in there. There are also all sorts of strange tape markings.
My right arm has streaks down it where there was obviously a blood pressure cuff.
Of course, there are three dressings on my stomach where they stuck in the instruments to remove my old stone ridden gallbladder. They are, of course, very tender - and it's too be expected.
But it's still all these little marks and bruises I'm finding all over myself which have me perplexed. Just what did they get up to in there?
It's not worth thinking about.
On the good side of things, two days on and I'm doing well. I've given the opiates the flick, just using six-hourly Panadol to keep the grumblies at bay. I've spent a lot of the day in bed, getting up regularly to potter about Blarney's house, make a cup of tea or make some toast, the wander back to bed to read or watch some Netflix.
I'll go home tomorrow night. Barney will have the job of both taking me home and catching the cat, who hates going into his travel cage, and will probably need to be crash tackled to get him in there. He's doing okay. I wish we could let him out of my room here, but I can't catch him. I'm not allowed to pick him up - he's too heavy. I'm not allowed to lift anything over five kilograms for the next six weeks.
The most telling thing about today was I went for a walk with Blarney - we walked about 200 metres to the shops to get a coffee. I had a sit down, a read, and then walked back.
And I was done in.
I wouldn't say I over did it, but I needed a nap when I got home.
Goes to show just how much all of this takes out of you.
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