Last time I wrote about the first day in hospital before the operation.
This time, the day of the surgery itself.
I was born with a malformation of the internal organs and had major kidney surgery at seventeen, so I kept telling myself that hospitals and operations were nothing new to me — and yet, sure enough, I could not sleep the night before.
A kind nurse said she would bring me something if I could not sleep, but I thought, well, I am about to be put under anyway — and went into the day short of sleep.
The operation I had long ago was in paediatric surgery, and I remember the anaesthetic gas coming in melon, strawberry and vanilla — smells, or flavours?
And I remember falling asleep before I could enjoy the taste.
This time I was wondering what I would dream under the anaesthetic. Might it be a conversation with God? That sort of thing.
For everything that has happened.
For the life that is here, now.
For every person who has appeared in my life —
my heartfelt thanks.
Family and friends came from the morning and the preparations went steadily ahead, and once again it was a lively business.
Honestly — right down to me in the paper pants.
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I think everything that has happened in my life is a memory and an experience worth having, so I told my family to photograph whatever state I was in afterwards, and left them in charge of the reporting.
We all walked to the operating theatre together in a straggling procession.
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That they actually did it — that my family are that positive too — is my salvation, and the reason this cheerful record exists at all.
I went in, greeted the anaesthetic team, and having been seen off so noisily by everyone, someone said “you are well loved in this life, aren’t you” — and I felt thoroughly happy.
My doctor even offered to put on any music I liked and asked me to request something,
so I chose Continue by Shimo. It is the song that has cheered my life on.
“The lyrics of this one are good — it has been the anthem of my life. All I have to do now is sleep, so today it is for you, doctor. Over to you. Goodnight.”
Having said my piece properly, three deep breaths took me into a long, deep conversation with God.
The operation took about two and a half hours. Apparently I slept on afterwards, with everyone watching over me.
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 And then I woke up clear-headed. No pain at all, and not groggy — wide awake, in fact. |
It was a full mastectomy, and on the day I could not yet look at myself; I knew only that my chest was strapped and that there was a tube. That night I slept steadily, with painkillers.
There are flowers you can only see from the long way round.
And the walls you have climbed become a strong shield behind you.
Those are the words I said to myself then.
Did I talk with God? Did I dream? I will put that in a later piece.
Thank you for reading to the end.
Even in the same part of the body, I think treatment and its course differ from person to person. If the record of my experience is of even a little use to someone, that makes me glad.