Friday, January 11, 2019

"We’ve put a tube in your penis."

Ok, I think to myself. All considered, I'm pretty relaxed about things.

"I'm going to pull it out now." The gentleman speaking to me is wearing a white tunic with blue epaulettes. I gaze at him with curiosity.

“It might feel a bit odd.” He says. And he is quite right.

“It’s probably best you try and pass some water straight away – do you think you can make it to the toilet on your own?”

I tell him that of course I can, get out of bed and immediately stagger sideways and would have crashed into the wall if he hadn’t caught me. Unbeknownst to me I hadn’t walked in several days. He applauds my attempt and physically guides me to the en-suite bathroom.

“How did that feel?” He asks afterward.

“A bit weird.” I admit.

“Sorry I took your patient for his jar whilst you came to do his bloods.” He says to the nurse who’s waiting by my bed to plug a new bag into my cannula and to take my blood. When they’ve stopped grinning bashfully at each other the nurse looks at me.

“Wow, good job on your face.” She says. It’s not a bad face to be fair, I think to myself.  A few hours later I see my reflection and understand what she means. And it takes something before a nurse is taken-aback.

Over the next few days I learn to walk again. My front teeth hurt like hell, as does my throat. And it’s all a bit vague if I’m honest. I sleep a lot, eat some genuinely dreadful food and see members of my family who all have that “hey everything’s cool” look on their faces that you employ when you visit a family member in hospital and you’re worried sick.

I look at the puncture-wounds on my arms. There’s over a dozen in total. They must have tried everything before they intubated me, put me in a coma and connected me to a ventilator. It was that or “lose me” I’m later told.

My face is horrific; my right eyeball is entirely black from the trauma. I was only under for a couple of days, but it takes a while to get used to not being unconscious. It’s some time before I’m allowed home. The trio of central-casting stereotypical doctors – Absurdly-Handsome Doug Ross, Ill-Tempered Quick-Talking Brown Man and Charming John Malkovich The Seen-It-All-Before Consultant – are not in a big hurry to let me go anywhere.

I’d been at work when it happened - my head had hit the edge of a desk on the way down and bled as only head wounds do. It had frightened the life out of my colleagues, all of whom had been lucky enough not to see someone suffering an epileptic seizure before. With all the blood and everything they all thought I’d died.

But had I not been there, no-one would have called the ambulance. Had I not been in the newly-created Critical Care Hospital I was taken to there would have been no medical team to deal with the fact that I suffered a second seizure that lasted over thirty minutes (too long).

And I’d be dead.


Otherwise things have been cool.

14 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh my. You're still here. that's what counts. I'd say 'say strong' but jeez, what a thing to expect... Get well.
J x

8:00 pm  
Blogger TonyC said...

Best wishes for a speedy recovery. Hope to read more from you this year.

8:37 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

J and TonyC: Hello! I'm fine, and this will perhaps be the start of a regular blog appearance. But we will see.

9:37 pm  
Anonymous Frogdancer Jones said...

Bloody hell!
I've been reading your blog for years - you're like an old friend.
I'm so sorry this happened to you but yeah - how lucky that you were at work with people around when it happened??
Get better soon...

10:08 pm  
Blogger InvisibleWoman said...

‘Sake, Tired, scary stuff. Hope you’re feeling much, much better. Such good writing though.

10:12 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

FD and IV: HELLO! Welcome back and thanks - I'm fine, just attention-seeking as anyone with a 'web-log' is.

12:05 am  
Blogger Unknown said...

Gosh. That was a sobering read.'Glad you made it' doesn't quite seem adequate...
Lynne x

1:55 am  
Blogger Debster said...

You're the second person this week to find they've got in a state with no idea how. Unless you are Kes?

11:17 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Lynne: Hello. All is well. Thank you.

Debster: Hi. I do not know what you mean.

11:23 pm  
Anonymous Jonathan said...

Good God Tired. Just popped by to see if you're still out there and... Well I'm just glad that you came through. Be great if we hear from you more this year, but mostly, just glad to be able to read you at all.

9:13 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Jonathan: Than you for dropping-by. The idea is that this will be a little more regular than of late but I shall make no promises at this stage.

10:35 pm  
Blogger Z said...

My other half had a major seizure a couple of months ago. He still doesn't realise how terrifying it was to see. First I thought he was having a stroke, then I thought he was dead. Having had one husband die in my arms, i wasn't keen to have it happen again. So I do feel for your colleagues as well as for you.

Keep on blogging, do. At least so we know you're still alive.

9:18 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Z: Hello and thank you for dropping-by again. God that's dreadful. I'm sorry for your loss and for your scare. I've never succumbed to the temptation of youtube to see what it looks like but I imagine seeing anyone you know in that state must be awful. I've been told it's terrifying.

I may stick around (in blog-land!) but we'll see.

7:51 pm  
Anonymous looby said...

Crikey, and I was getting a bit annoyed a minute ago because we'd run out of washing powder.

That sounds utterly shite Tired Dad. Like Jonathan I'm glad I popped in (well, after the doctors got to you). Very best wishes TD. My brother has grand mal and it took decades before they found a well callibrated cocktail of drugs to control it. Hope you might be able to find something similar.

10:51 am  

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