the royal neurological ward part 2

My memories of my time in the ward once I had returned from surgery and the high dependency ward are confused and have been at times distressing. The best description I can give is that it was a jangle of sensations and emotions. Will I ever get the smell of boiled cotton out of my nose, or the acrid taste of the smell of the antibacterial hand gel used by the doctors and nurses out of my throat? The nights seemed incredibly dark, although the general ward light shone dimly every night, and the glow of the drip machine illumined the bed rail where I kept my oft needed, and frequently replaced cool wet cloth, which I would reach for and place on my overheated bald head, or throat.

At times I felt, or even dreamed that I was in that storm tossed rowing boat with Jesus' disciples. The rough sheets were the planks of the boat, and the blankets were a heavy weight insufficient to warm me when I felt like ice in the early hours of he morning.  I was often relieved by the quick response of a nurse to my press of the bell. Bouts of nausea and diarrhoea, thirst, and a still aching throat from the intubation. A drink of water, and a kind word, and then back to sleeping in the boat. I kept singing songs in my head, old hymns like How great Thou Art, and Sara Groves " song Add to the Beauty" and then I would fall asleep, until the next need for the nurse. I thought a lot, but not profoundly, about Jesus calming the waters, and I imagined the fishermen rowing against the might of the wind. It was a struggle, so I prayed for the people in the ward, and for the people praying for me, and my family, and friends, and was comforted and calmed.

The mornings were long in coming, and dark and cold. I knew it was morning, only because a nurse would say, Good morning , " do you know where you are?" Do you know what day it is, what month, who is the Prime Minister? Can you open your eyes? sorry I need to shine this light in your eyes."   I seemed to pass these early morning tests to their satisfaction. I did point out to them one morning that my neighbour was getting the benefit of my answers because they asked me first.

I think the morning after the surgery,The Doobster visited me quite early. He seemed pleased when I wished him good morning and greeted him by name. I also remembered some of the names of his entourage of registrars, besides Grace. Not bad for a lady with a hole in the head I told myself. The truth is I was so grateful to them all I felt the least I could do was remember their names. When the Doobster told me the tumour had come out cleanly, and that early results indicated that it was benign, but we would know for sure in 4 -5 days time, I thanked him and shook his hand. I felt puzzled though, because I thought they were sure it wasn't cancer? Clearly more tests had to be done to be sure.

The days were better than the nights, and I made an effort to get to know my room mate. I quickly realised that the neurological ward is a place of suffering for many. There are young and old, male and female, many with tumours or brain injury of some kind. My room mate had seen her share of suffering, as I found out as we bonded over our each having a husband named D who has cared for us in illness. My room mate had been through Grave's disease and encephalitis, and was in to have the shunt in her brain replaced, which I think had been done the day before my op. She was a very brave woman, and I felt really mean for being annoyed by her voice, and was glad I had not complained, or asked to be moved, but honestly, I had felt like screaming that first day.

Later that night, I had opportunity to show her some kindness. I was lying in my bed having just had a wash and bed linen change, when there was a loud crash and I was drenched with my bedside jug of water and a cup of cold tea! My neighbour had stood up, and slipped in her TEDS and landed under my bedside table! I could see nothing of what had happened but was able to ring for the nurses, who sorted us both out. The poor woman was very shaken and upset. But the nurse and I reassured her everything was fine, and after a while we both settled for the night, her to sleep and me to more stormy rowing.

I listened to Sara Groves on my PS' ipod (for goodness sake who knows how to work those things?) The song was Kingdom Comes, which includes the words " when you're laying down and dying" and I thought dramatically, that is how I feel. Knowing that someone could recognise that feeling and sing about it was actually very encouraging. I thanked God for gifting Sara Groves with the words and music of my life. There is definitely nothing like music and singing to lift you up when you're feeling low. Her song Add to the Beauty, once again affirmed for me that , quite simply, that is my goal in life. I then thought about my neighbour in the next bed, who when younger, had joined the navy, I surmised the slightly unstable childhood she had hinted at drew her to a life of order. In the navy, She was a rear gunner, and her task was to polish the shells for the cannon.  It was her pride and joy to keep them shining and beautiful. This was just another discordant jangle for me, but I know that beauty is something we all seek, and if to some extent we can create it, so much the better. I could only admire her for making the best of her life. I got through another night to a freezing morning, but this time, after the routine morning quiz, I asked to have my overhead light switched on, and managed to read my bible for a few minutes - I opened it at Psalm 17, which was very appropriate to the night I had just passed:

1. Hear the right, O LORD, attend unto my cry, give ear unto my prayer, that goeth not out of feigned lips.
2. Let my sentence come forth from thy presence; let thine eyes behold the things that are equal.
3. Thou has proved mine heart; thou hast visited me in the night; thou has tried me, and shalt find nothing; I am purposed that my mouth shall not transgress.
4. Concerning the works of men, by the word of thy lips I have kept me from the paths of the destroyer.
5. Hold up my goings in thy paths, that my footsteps slip not.
6. I have called upon thee, for thou wilt hear me, O God: incline thine ear unto me, and hear my speech.
7. Shew thy marvellous lovingkindness, O thou that savest by thy right hand them which put their trust in thee from those that rise up against them.
8. Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings,
9. From the wicked that oppress me, from my deadly enemies, who compass me about.
10. They are inclosed in their own fat: with their mouth they speak proudly.
11. They have now compassed us in our steps: they have set their eyes bowing down to the earth;
12. Like as a lion that is greedy of his prey, and as it were a young lion lurking in secret places.
13. Arise, O LORD, disappoint him, cast him down: deliver my soul from the wicked, which is thy sword:
14. From men which are thy hand, O LORD, from men of the world, which have their portion in this life, and whose belly thou fillest with thy hid treasure: they are full of children, and leave the rest of their substance to their babes.
15. As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness.

The day got busier, with a visit from the doctors, but still no test results on the tumour. They urged me to eat and drink. I had been put on a minced diet because of not being able to swallow. Need I say more? I had eaten only jelly and a bit of yoghurt. Sometime in the day the physiotherapist came to assess me. It was decided that I could move around with a forearm walker - which was good, because then I could get to the bathroom, if a nurse was with me. At some stage I was assessed again because the nurses dobbed me in for crashing into things (like walls) and my peripheral vision was iffy to say the least. Nevertheless, once I was moving around, things got a lot better and as the days passed, the nurses had me taking showers, and sitting in the chair to eat my meals. Although the order for minced food was changed to a full ward diet, the kitchen did not get the message. Also someone in the kitchen was choosing my meals for me, so I had no say in the matter, and was given the same meal for lunch and dinner. The nurses were very patient with my complaints, thank goodness, because I was very irritable and a bit emotional. Each time I lifted the cover to find more minced food my overwhelming desire was to throw the tray across the room and watch with satisfaction as the green peas and mash would slide down the wall. Oh self control! I think the nurses heard the tears in my voice, and would kindly chase down the food trolley to bring me something more appetising. The problem was only sorted out by the lunch time just before I was discharged. Nevertheless, I survived.

My neighbour was also assessed by the physio after her fall, and it was decided that she would be moved down to the rehab ward. I had the room to myself for a short while, but the ward is a busy one with new patients all the time. The next few days are a blur of increasing activity for me, and I started to eat a bit more, and my stomach settled a little, but not much. The nights became easier too. One of the registrars visited me quite late one night to tell me not to worry about the peripheral vision problem, it should improve as the swelling goes down. Still no results on the tumour, but I resolved to put it out of my mind.

A few more days passed and nights, and I was definitely stronger, and enjoyed the family visits with more energy. In the preceding days I had had the drain removed from my brain , and the tight bandage taken off. A line in my ankle was removed, as was one in my hand. Every morning I had blood taken, and every day heparin injections into my stomach. All these events were painful, but none so much as having the central line removed, from the area below my collar bone. Later that night after the central line was removed, in the dark. I felt a trickle of fluid on my neck, and was horrified to find it felt sticky like blood. I pressed the bell and the gentle male nurse from Thailand came in asking what he could help me with. I was right: it was blood, and therefore he had to gown and glove up, clean me , disinfect the area and stop the bleeding. He explained that it was very important to do this as the line area leads to my heart, and "we have to prevent infection". This resulted in another long dark night of prayer.

Having the intravenous line removed made showering and moving around much easier, and also I could now wear my own pyjamas, instead of the hospital gowns, and I could be warmer! The days passed and I continued to improve, and then it was the next Wednesday  a a week since my surgery.