YOU SHALL GO TO THE (Surgery) BALL!

After the excitement of finally making it onto a ward, my serotonin was absolutely booming when all my lovely teammates and visitors started arriving. Timed perfectly with being told “Oh by the way- you can eat and drink, because they're actually not going to operate on you till tomorrow now.” As though it was some throw away comment! I tried not to dwell on the fact that I'd just starved and dehydrated myself for nearly 24 hours for NOTHING, or the looming major surgery. Or the fact my cubicle neighbour clearly hated me. (More on that later… You're noticing a theme here aren't you?!)

Right now, all that mattered was the wonderful people around my bedside and as much Marks and Spencer's watermelon as possible that I could physically fit in my mouth.

I felt like some kind of Disney Princess! All these lovely people bringing me things, interspersed with nurses checking my blood pressure and giving me drugs, which was probably more Grey's Anatomy than Disney. Then a funky East London lady with an iPad came around my curtain.

“What would you like for dinner?” She asked.

“Have you got any avocado?” was the first thing that came out of my mouth. She looked at me with despair.

“This is the NHS so, no!”

That might have been a tall order I'll admit.

“Ok- no worries. Anything vegetarian that doesn't involve cheese?”

“Vegan hotpot?”

“That'll be great!” I hoped. But I didn't hold out much hope, knowing how famously BAD hospital food was meant to be. Still, this beats being nil by mouth and licking wet sponges on a stick.

As far as cubicle neighbours go, they were all of the same demographic apart from me: Older lady in her 50s or 60s, in there for some kind of intestinal related issue, a gastric band or a smashed shin. One seemed like such a timid soul, the other had a huge victim mentality even though she chose to be here, and then there was the ‘ringleader’ in the bed opposite me, who made it known she didn't like the amount of visitors and fuss I was getting, while she wasn't getting any. It felt almost like a high school dynamic. Jan opposite never actually spoke to me, she just stared at me, rolled her eyes then spoke about me loudly as though I wasn't there. To be fair, they were all probably thinking “What's the deal with the girl in the BMW T-shirt with the huge cast and even bigger entourage?!” But it was proper awkward! Even worse than being sat across a table with someone you don't know on a train. I just resorted to always keeping my curtains closed to block out any negativity.

Besides, I had Hero Paul and Super Steph with me in my corner who stayed as late into the evening as possible, while I shovelled down vegan hotpot that tasted of nothing. Steph even brought me a survival kit of pyjamas, deodorant, sweets, makeup remover wipes and all the girly bits I might need post-surgery. Oh shit- surgery! I’d forgotten about that! And if I was on ‘the list’ for tomorrow morning, I'd need to be going nil by mouth again soon right? But no one could tell me anything. Apart from Jan, who liked to tell the world how important she was.

As I snuggled down for my first night in a proper bed and hopefully a decent night's sleep, it became apparent that wasn't going to happen. Hospitals are noisy, beepy, bright, shouty places 90% of the time. And every few hours I was being woken up to have my blood pressure checked or given more pain relief.

“Excuse me” I whispered to the nurse, “would you be able to tell me if I'm on the surgery list for tomorrow?”

No one knew! But at 12:40 AM it was eventually confirmed that yes, I would be being operated on tomorrow. You shall go to the major surgery ball Sophie! A ball I never wanted to go to. I stopped sipping my water from that moment on, as apparently you mustn't eat or drink anything for hours before surgery as the general anaesthetic would cause you to throw up, then you’d choke and die. What a savage ultimatum.

None of this seemed real until the next morning when I was reluctantly changed out of my BMW T-shirt and into a hospital gown, removed all my jewellery and was required to sign a form that the surgeon presented me with. That was after he reeled off all the potential horrific things that might happen to me or that could go wrong. And to top it all- off you'll ‘never be the same again’ and ‘you could die’.

“Great. Where do I sign!?” Said no one ever. I had a little cry then Paul and Steph arrived back to give me a pep talk and somehow make me feel lighter about the situation. My slot got pushed back as they'd had a couple of kids get rushed in requiring surgery. SAVE THE KIDS!! Was all I kept thinking. Damn- I was finding this hard enough as an adult. It broke my heart to think how terrifying this must be for a child!

“OK Sophie, we're going to take you down now.” Said the nurses as they unhooked the brakes on my wheelie bed and started pushing me. Steph and Paul walked with me, one each side, along the corridors, in the lifts, around the corners. I felt safe as long as they were with me. I was quite chipper too! Making funny remarks about the driving skills of the young guy pushing me and declaring “Well this is encouraging!” As I motioned to the notice board full of Thank You cards from past patients who clearly hadn't died.

“Might you be sending was one too?" He smiled.

“That depends… Let's see how good you fix my leg first!” I quipped.

I was feeling remarkably OK until Paul and Steph were told they couldn't come any further. They wished me luck, told me I'd be fine, hugged me, then it was just me. Me and the nurse. We went down again in a lift and the temperature dropped dramatically to a fridge-like chill. They warned me it would be cold down there and they weren't lying. Tears started streaming down my face and I was parked up in a tiny room, just before the operating room. I was met by a whole team of anaesthetists, all wearing the same coloured maroon scrubs. They introduced themselves one by one and I immediately forgot all their names. Even the one who was really handsome.

I apologised for crying and they did a great job of trying to distract me. Asking me how I did this, what do I do for a living and what is my book about. More of them piled in the tiny cold room, shuffling around my bed as they could hardly all fit. Even a guy who looked like an off-duty astronaut with all this kit on him. He said he was a radiologist. As he entered the room though, I caught a glimpse of what was beyond the door. The operating room. I saw the metal operating table and these huge flying saucer looking lights above. Shit. Now I'm really scared.

“Do you know why you're here Sophie?” One asked.

“I’ve broken my femur.”

“And do you know what we're going to do to you today?”

“Errm hopefully fix it!” -Are these trick questions or what?! But they were all so deadpan all gathered round me, and I started to believe I was getting abducted by aliens. Either that or I was in a movie. I'd certainly only ever seen this kind of environment in films and even then, I'd look away or hide behind a cushion.

“Can I meet my surgeon?” I asked.

“He's right there.” Said the handsome one, as an older guy moved from the head of the bed so I could see him. I lifted my hand up to shake his and asked him to do his very best and ‘make it as good as my good leg!’ He looked late 40s, maybe 50. Experienced! Good. I like you! I thought to myself. After he explained to me how exactly they were going to put me to sleep, all the information immediately evaporated from my brain and I blurted out-

“Wait! Have all of you lot had a break? Are you refreshed?!”

“Yes, we've all had a break. We're all ready.”

“OK wait- just one more thing!” I fired, as they were about to count me down from 10…

“My mum is going to be in there with us, just sat on your shoulder, making sure you do a good job. Watching everything, OK? She's my guardian Angel now. And this is her first major guardian Angel assignment.”

Some of them looked absolutely TERRIFIED. And that's the last thing I remember. The last thing I said. The last thing I saw.

This was it.