Day Surgery

I had to have an arthroscopy recently. The short story is that while working out at the gym I used to be a member of but am no longer because of the accident I had there, I climbed off a cross trainer and slipped, badly, on the polished floor. I slipped because the floor was wet. The floor was wet because the gym managers had decided the cleaners should clean the floors during the day and not at night. I leave you to figure out why. Suffice to say the lawyers and insurance companies are all having a field day with it while I presented myself at my local hospital to have the torn cartilage which has been close to agonising ever since the accident, particularly when it catches in the knee joint, clipped away. This is my third operation in two years so I was more than usually unenthusiastic about doing this but I did have one huge advantage over my fellow patients, which was that after two rounds of surgery, I know how to prepare for a hospital experience. Hospital is a bit like taking a long haul overnight flight in economy class. 10 mins after checking in your brain cells disintegrate. So no point at all in taking War And Peace, or any book at all that challenges your head, or any work, or anything that requires you to do more than just look blankly at it. So. Magazines are the order of the day, preferably women's fashion ones, not Vanity Fair or anything vocational. Four of those go in the backpack. Next an IPod. This is really important. The great thing about checking into day surgery is that you can be anywhere in the ward and do anything - as long as you've checked in if the nurse can't find you in the poky windowless room into which they attempt to squeeze their pre op clients, she has to go and find you. So I seat myself in the pre-theatre waiting room, which is a) large, b) possessed of a large window and fabulous views over the City including the Shard, the Gherkin and Canary Wharf and the London Eye, c) has great armchairs in it and d) is totally empty, because everyone else is Too British to leave the designated pre op waiting room to sit somewhere else. I stick my earphones in, switch to music or some mindless radio station I would never be seen dead otherwise listening to - Heart FM anyone?? - and drown out the bickering from increasingly bored and depressed pre op patients who, like me, have not eaten or drunk since the previous night. Next, clothing. Comfort an absolute must, and clothes must be large. Something about surgery wakes you up feeling like you've just put on 20lb. But even if you haven't, waking up from orthopaedic surgery also involves the realisation that your limb is now padded in 10 layers of crepe bandage. No way on earth you can squeeze that into your skinny jeans. We're talking Nike sweatpants size XXL and a roomy t shirt that you are going to splosh your water/squash/egg sandwich down that they will force you to eat to ensure that you are not going to puke up as an after effect of your anaesthetic. Further forethought on my part obviates the need for an egg sandwich (they are DISGUSTING) - one of my kids is timed to arrive just as I am trollied back from Recovery, bearing a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel, a bottle of water, some sour cream and chive popcorn, an apple, and the Times crossword. And he does arrive exactly on time, just as the sourfaced food woman in day surgery arrives with her plasticated sandwich tray. Aaaah. Proper food is an absolute must after surgery. I eat the food while he does the crossword. And finally. The toxic cocktail of pre med, anaesthetic and morphine does things to your body that most people ie those who do not routinely take such drug cocktails for their weekend recreation, can find distinctly unnerving. The rule generally is, euphoria for 24 hours, followed by major downer for a further 48. My suggestion? Enjoy the euphoria. Then drink about 14 gallons of water to wash the whole nastiness of it away before you wake up the next day with an urgent desire to slash your wrists.