Operation Day
I was told to report to the Athens Medical Centre, Psychikon clinic reception at 7 am. I was there at 6.40. Earlier on I had bid my family farewell not knowing whether I would see them again but hoping that I would.
The taxi sped through the quiet roads and got me there in record time. I climbed the few marble steps to the glass entrance doors and walked in the clinic. A man was sitting behind reception and looked terribly alarmed as I was approaching. I realised he was not the receptionist but the night guard so I did not pose any difficult questions to him. I sat on the backless leather sofa and observed the cleaner in her pretty pink-orange uniform as she was mopping the floors. She did an excellent job and that put my mind at ease.
Slowly people began arriving - kitchen staff, laboratory staff, administrative staff. A lady with her sister and husband came and sat near me. I overheard her asking about my doctor. She was also having the lap band surgery today.
My aunt Maria arrived and kissed me hello. My mom had arranged for her to stand by me as she had to stay home and look after my daughter. Maria and I don't look eye to eye for many different reasons.
I booked myself in and went to have my first tests. An electrocardiogram (ECG) and a full blood count plus INR (a special test that shows you how fast your blood is clotting).
We went downstairs for a chest X-ray and after that I was shown into my room. It was a 3-bed room and I was amazed at how tiny it was. There were no privacy affording curtains separating the beds. The WC/shower room was small but adequate. My bed was by the large window overlooking at the high rise blocks of flats across the street. There were some plants on a planter running the full length of the window drawing one's eye to the world outside.
The lady occupying the first bed had done a lap band revision surgery the day before. She had suffered slippage last October and had not lost any weight since but had suffered with vomiting and malaise. 'I didn't want to tell you as I didn't want to worry you,' she told me. Then she gave me some advice based on her experience.
The anaesthetist came to see me. He was a pleasant fellow who checked my medical history and gave the all clear to proceed. A nurse brought me a blue paper gown to wear and told me to remove everything removable (glasses, watch, jewellery, contact lenses, false teeth etc) and stay just in my knickers and gown.
I waited for hours for my turn to come. My consultant had ordered a triplex scan of the veins in the legs to check their condition as there was a doubt that I had a blood clot from the time I had been treated in the UK. The scan was very thorough (in contrast with the ones I had in Britain which were very quick and superficial) and the radiographer pronounced my veins clear but told me I had to look after my valves.
Upstairs, back in my room, the waiting continued. My mother arrived with the money and made the payment. Then, wishing me good luck, she hurried to return home.
Another anaesthetist came to see me. He promised me it would not be long now. Finally around 12.45 the stretcher came to pick me up. I climbed on it and got transferred to the theatres.
They wheeled me into a tiny room that looked like a closet. I objected to its size. 'I thought the waiting area was small,' I murmured, 'but this takes the biscuit!' Then I realised I was being wheeled backwards and found myself in a larger room under a set of big circular lights. I was asked to transfer to the operating table. Someone put a cap on my hair whilst someone else drew my arms outwards and secured them to two supports. The anaesthetist cannulated my left arm (a cannula is the flexible tube with the little taps that goes into your vein so they can feed it with a drip and use it to administer injections without having to pierce you again.) Some ECG pads were stuck on my chest and a pulse clip was attached to one of my fingers. The see-through oxygen mask was placed over my mouth and nose and I was instructed to take 5 deep breaths before breating normally.
'Have a good rest!' the anaesthetist said as he injected his blend of drugs inside my vein. The ceiling shook and the ceiling tiles began merging. 'I don't like this feeling,' I commented.
Later on I heard someone asking me to take a deep breath. I felt nauseous and panicky. They must have tried to move me to a stretcher and I must have cried out with pain. 'Stop screaming!' they kept telling me, 'you are scaring the other patients!' I wish I could have communicated to them how much my back hurt but my voice took a bit of time coming back to me. My vision did not return till I was back in my bed. I was thirsty, my tonsils were sore and I felt that I had a cut on my upper lip corner. My aunt was nowhere to be seen. She had spent the entire morning being sociable with people in other wards and forgetting about her niece in need.
I felt so hot! Was it just the sun shining in through the window or did I have a fever? It was 3 pm now. I had to contain myself with the wet gauge till they brought me some chamomile tea. My stomach had been empty for so many hours (last meal had been at 8 pm Friday night) but I didn't feel hungry. The nurse came to lift me up and I felt slightly wobbly on my legs but I managed to get to the toilet unaided. My knickers were soiled with Betadine and blood so I had to have them removed. A nurse cleaned me up using wet wipes.
I wanted to sleep so badly but the new occupant of the far bed was a gypsy girl and her entire family had come to support her. She had lap band plus tummy tuck in one go (2000 euro more than what I had paid). She was in great pain but the nurses could not do anything further to help her and kept telling her to be patient. The entire family possessed polyphonic mobile phones that kept ringing, playing gypsy tunes. It was havoc.
Despite the difficult night, I was grateful I wasn't in as bad state as this girl was. The morning arrived and I had some more chamomile tea and the doctor came to check up on me.
My mom arrived to take me home. I opted to stay downstairs in the basement flat to avoid temptations and to get the rest I so badly needed. My mother had thoughtfully stocked my fridge with yoghurt, juice and custard pudding.
Recovery had begun but it was not how I had expected it to be...
The taxi sped through the quiet roads and got me there in record time. I climbed the few marble steps to the glass entrance doors and walked in the clinic. A man was sitting behind reception and looked terribly alarmed as I was approaching. I realised he was not the receptionist but the night guard so I did not pose any difficult questions to him. I sat on the backless leather sofa and observed the cleaner in her pretty pink-orange uniform as she was mopping the floors. She did an excellent job and that put my mind at ease.
Slowly people began arriving - kitchen staff, laboratory staff, administrative staff. A lady with her sister and husband came and sat near me. I overheard her asking about my doctor. She was also having the lap band surgery today.
My aunt Maria arrived and kissed me hello. My mom had arranged for her to stand by me as she had to stay home and look after my daughter. Maria and I don't look eye to eye for many different reasons.
I booked myself in and went to have my first tests. An electrocardiogram (ECG) and a full blood count plus INR (a special test that shows you how fast your blood is clotting).
We went downstairs for a chest X-ray and after that I was shown into my room. It was a 3-bed room and I was amazed at how tiny it was. There were no privacy affording curtains separating the beds. The WC/shower room was small but adequate. My bed was by the large window overlooking at the high rise blocks of flats across the street. There were some plants on a planter running the full length of the window drawing one's eye to the world outside.
The lady occupying the first bed had done a lap band revision surgery the day before. She had suffered slippage last October and had not lost any weight since but had suffered with vomiting and malaise. 'I didn't want to tell you as I didn't want to worry you,' she told me. Then she gave me some advice based on her experience.
The anaesthetist came to see me. He was a pleasant fellow who checked my medical history and gave the all clear to proceed. A nurse brought me a blue paper gown to wear and told me to remove everything removable (glasses, watch, jewellery, contact lenses, false teeth etc) and stay just in my knickers and gown.
I waited for hours for my turn to come. My consultant had ordered a triplex scan of the veins in the legs to check their condition as there was a doubt that I had a blood clot from the time I had been treated in the UK. The scan was very thorough (in contrast with the ones I had in Britain which were very quick and superficial) and the radiographer pronounced my veins clear but told me I had to look after my valves.
Upstairs, back in my room, the waiting continued. My mother arrived with the money and made the payment. Then, wishing me good luck, she hurried to return home.
Another anaesthetist came to see me. He promised me it would not be long now. Finally around 12.45 the stretcher came to pick me up. I climbed on it and got transferred to the theatres.
They wheeled me into a tiny room that looked like a closet. I objected to its size. 'I thought the waiting area was small,' I murmured, 'but this takes the biscuit!' Then I realised I was being wheeled backwards and found myself in a larger room under a set of big circular lights. I was asked to transfer to the operating table. Someone put a cap on my hair whilst someone else drew my arms outwards and secured them to two supports. The anaesthetist cannulated my left arm (a cannula is the flexible tube with the little taps that goes into your vein so they can feed it with a drip and use it to administer injections without having to pierce you again.) Some ECG pads were stuck on my chest and a pulse clip was attached to one of my fingers. The see-through oxygen mask was placed over my mouth and nose and I was instructed to take 5 deep breaths before breating normally.
'Have a good rest!' the anaesthetist said as he injected his blend of drugs inside my vein. The ceiling shook and the ceiling tiles began merging. 'I don't like this feeling,' I commented.
Later on I heard someone asking me to take a deep breath. I felt nauseous and panicky. They must have tried to move me to a stretcher and I must have cried out with pain. 'Stop screaming!' they kept telling me, 'you are scaring the other patients!' I wish I could have communicated to them how much my back hurt but my voice took a bit of time coming back to me. My vision did not return till I was back in my bed. I was thirsty, my tonsils were sore and I felt that I had a cut on my upper lip corner. My aunt was nowhere to be seen. She had spent the entire morning being sociable with people in other wards and forgetting about her niece in need.
I felt so hot! Was it just the sun shining in through the window or did I have a fever? It was 3 pm now. I had to contain myself with the wet gauge till they brought me some chamomile tea. My stomach had been empty for so many hours (last meal had been at 8 pm Friday night) but I didn't feel hungry. The nurse came to lift me up and I felt slightly wobbly on my legs but I managed to get to the toilet unaided. My knickers were soiled with Betadine and blood so I had to have them removed. A nurse cleaned me up using wet wipes.
I wanted to sleep so badly but the new occupant of the far bed was a gypsy girl and her entire family had come to support her. She had lap band plus tummy tuck in one go (2000 euro more than what I had paid). She was in great pain but the nurses could not do anything further to help her and kept telling her to be patient. The entire family possessed polyphonic mobile phones that kept ringing, playing gypsy tunes. It was havoc.
Despite the difficult night, I was grateful I wasn't in as bad state as this girl was. The morning arrived and I had some more chamomile tea and the doctor came to check up on me.
My mom arrived to take me home. I opted to stay downstairs in the basement flat to avoid temptations and to get the rest I so badly needed. My mother had thoughtfully stocked my fridge with yoghurt, juice and custard pudding.
Recovery had begun but it was not how I had expected it to be...
posted by Tania at 9:15 AM
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