I was put in a two bed ward on the afternoon of 13 June with a lovely older woman, Beryl who would have a procedure later that day. We kept each other company and chatted about books we had each read. Beryl was very nervous, and then upset when she had been taken down for her procedure only to be sent back to the ward because her medications had been mixed up, so they could not do the procedure. Chatting to Beryl kept me occupied and distracted. As did an earlier MRI which would enable the surgical team to map my brain for the surgery. It seems they needed a lot of help to find my brain.
It is a little known fact that my favourite poet is Alexander Pope. The afternoon/evening before my really cool brain surgery, brought me an extra gift from God, in the form of Grace. She introduced herself as one of the registrars on my Team of neurosurgeons. Her task was to do the pre-op assessment. She shone a torch in my eyes, and had me scanning and tracking, like pro. I smiled as I told her that so much of my previous work had been to do the same to children with disabilities. She added some new tricks, like, using a cotton bud inside my mouth. Apparently it should not have been more ticklish towards the back right. "it's a little unusual" she said in unconscious echo of her predecessors in my "cancer team". But to reassure me, she said, that she had been doing some studying, and now had a little knowledge - which she knew to be a "dangerous thing." I was very impressed that she also knew who she was quoting. I think she may have been a little impressed hat an old lady like me knew some Alexander Pope!
Over the next few days, with her regular visits, and those of her young companions in the Team, I came to appreciate, even more, the commitment the young people in the medical profession have to healing, treating illness and finding cures. My dance with breast cancer has been somewhat out of step with the suggestions "out there" that there is a conspiracy in the medical professions to keep cures from us, and that "alternative medicine" really has the answers. If there is any conspiracy, I would say it lies more at the door of" alternative medicine", which my research shows me increasingly is steeped - or stewed maybe, in the occult. That system, also carries with it that somewhere in my past, I have "done something wrong", or eaten the wrong food, or drunk the wrong drink. To me this kind of thinking, amounts to bondage, whereas I have this assurance: Romans 8 vs 38.-For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
The nurses and surgical team were wonderful, and I will never forget them. The team was very multicultural. The elegant and serene anaesthetist Ranjitt, came to see me after Grace's visit, and asked me all the important questions and assured me that I would be constantly monitored by this fantastic new gizmo they stick on your forehead that monitors how much aesthetic you're getting, and how much you need. Early on the morning of the 15th, the ward nurses woke me for my second antiseptic shower, and snapped me into a hospital gown and lickety split, I was in the anaesthesia room. A young German student anaesthetist was there to assist and learn from Ranjitt, but the most joyful surprise was the huge Zimbabwean male anaesthetic nurse who set up my lines. We had a cheering chat about Africa. Soon I was aware that Grace had arrived as well as the Doobster and a group of eager registrars, chomping at the bit to cut my head open. I remember asking Grace as I reached for her hand, " do you know what Grace is?" "No" she said, slightly suspiciously. "A gift freely given," I told her, and I think she thanked me, as Ranjitt pressed the monitor gizmo directly into my forehead. Then I slept through my own episode of Grey's Anatomy.
The next thing I remember is waking up in a very dark room, and being spoken to gently by a male nurse from Thailand.He called me by name, and told me I was in the high dependency ward, and he would be looking after me. I had long chatty conversations with him - he was very patient, and over the next few days continued to be so. He cared for me so very well, and I felt very safe, but I did not understand why it was so dark. I felt as though my head was in a vice. In fact I had a very tight bandage around my head. There was also a drain being kept in place by the bandage. Fluid felt like it was filling up my my ears, and the nurse assured me it wasn't my brain leaking away, just saline, with which they had rinsed the surgery site. Oh joy. After a while the nurse was urging me to eat some jelly, which he fed me because I had to take a tablet or two and I needed food in my stomach. A female nurse came in at some stage and I was given a gentle and soothing bed bath.
Then I remember going back to the ward. I saw DH and I think my work colleagues visited me. I remember Beryl kindly giving me a goodnight kiss on the cheek, because she was sorry my parents had not been able to get to Tasmania because of visa delays and also the ash cloud. It seemed to be a very long dark night. My head was hurting, but the nurses were keeping the pain meds flowing with the saline drip. My catheter wasn't working and was eventually removed. Then for the next few nights I kept the nurses on the hop with bedpans.
Early in the morning I was woken by two nurses who again gave me a refreshing bed bath. I don't remember much about the day, except Beryl was discharged. There was a new woman in the room. and with my aching head I realised I needed to pray for extra strength to be a good neighbour. Australian strine literally twanged around my head each time she spoke. To my dismay, I sounded just the same each time I spoke. It was a very unpleasant time, and my serenity was stretched to the limit.
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