Hospital Bed for One, Please

I spent the next two days at Rosaleen and Vincent’s trying to cram crumbs softened by soup into my mouth. Fionnuala kept bringing me fresh smoothies and Senan stared at my face for a bit, but was surprisingly not scared by all the colours. On Wednesday Fionnuala drove me back to the hospital for my appointment. We were very late because there was a rain storm that had everyone commuting to Dublin stuck on the freeway. We waited all morning for the appointment at the in-hospital clinic. My face was burning very mildly without any painkillers. Then, in one of the private rooms, the very tall woman doctor from Edmonton told me I wouldn’t be having the surgery today (even though I had been fasting). It took me a minute to realize she was trying to tell me I needed to be checked in to the hospital, and that I might have to stay for a few days. It was the only way to get me on the waiting list for the surgery. Luckily I had packed a backpack since I knew I would have to stay one night after the surgery, and Fionnuala had even bought me some new pajamas and shirts. She and I went up to the food places upstairs while I waited around for a bed.

Fionnuala had to go for an appointment around 2:00 so Rosaleen and her friend came to wait with me. I was given my own room and washroom shortly after this, which was a nice surprise. Doctors, nurses, and even a student nurse named Donna, who was the same age as me, kept coming in and out of the room to ask me questions. No one took my insurance information, but Rosaleen had called ahead when we were running late and mentioned it. We’re not sure if the knowledge that everything would be paid for helped the situation or not. But considering I had to stay overnight, I was glad to find my insurance papers in my sock drawer, where I had effectively forgotten all about them. It was the same insurance Dale had bought with SWAP, from Bon Voyage.

With a slightly collapsed cheek and crooked smile

Rosaleen and I talked all afternoon while I ate scrambled eggs and tea until Fionnuala showed up again with Dale. He told me that a postcard had arrived from Grandma just that morning. Unfortunately visiting hours were only until 8:30 so I delved into “The Cuckoo’s Calling,” JK Rowling’s new book under the pseudonym “Robert Galbraith.” I didn’t sleep well that night because of all the noise of nurses walking back and forth, and all the beeping of the computer right outside my room. I also couldn’t help but think about the accident, repeating in my head how I was just riding the bike, then how my face hit the ground, and then how I jumped back up again. It bothered me that I couldn’t remember taking off my gloves, my purse, or my hat. I’m pretty sure my over-the-shoulder purse must have flown off, but I still don’t remember any “tumbling.” It was very windy outside still, but I was most annoyed when I was woken up before eight in the morning by a few of them asking how I had slept. I had wanted to sleep for a long time since I had to fast for the surgery and didn’t know if it would even be that day, but clearly that wasn’t going to be an option.

The blonde doctor on the Max Fax Team—the Maxillo Facial team—eventually came in to set my IV. This was what I had been dreading more than anything because over time needles have become disgusting to me. She just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t get dehydrated, but it was repulsive to have something sticking out of my vein all day, and possibly for days on end. I knew this would be the worst part for me; I'd had surgery before. When she left I freaked out for a few minutes until someone else came in to take blood from my other arm and I had to pull myself together. I was disappointed to have to move out of my room and into a ward with six other women that afternoon. It smelled like lunch in the noisier room, and I felt pretty miserable. I tried listening to my iPod, but luckily one of the nurses came over at that point to say it was time to get ready for the surgery. I changed into the obligatory open-ended blue robe and compression socks, then hopped onto the big chair/stretcher to be wheeled to the theatre. One of the ladies with a bandage across her nose said, “Goodluck! You’ll be fine,” as we went and I felt bad that she had to repeat herself because I didn’t even notice the first time.

I had to wait ages in the next ward with another guy who had a broken arm. Eventually I couldn’t wait any longer and had to ask if I could use the toilet first. One of the surgeons showed me to the staff toilet and joked, ‘I bet you were like, “Should I say something, should I not….”’ When I got back to the waiting ward they were ready to wheel me to the theatre, but we made a stop in the anaesthetics room first. Everyone kept asking how I had hurt myself, and not a single person was surprised when I said, “the Luas Line.” It was shocking. They also almost all called me "Nicola," but I'm pretty used to that by now and don't mind! It's like my Irish name. The Irish doctor went to put another IV needle in my other hand, and I asked, “Can’t we use this one?” and raised my other arm. He laughed and nodded, then sent some saline into the IV to clean out the blood, followed by what he said would precede the anaesthetics. He said, “This will make you a little light-headed; that’s normal.” It took a minute for the ceiling to wobble a little. Next thing I knew I was in a room full of people laying on the green stretchers.

“Is it before or after?” I asked.

I think it took the nurse a minute to realize what I meant, “After, dear.”

So tired, but doing well!

I realized after a while of being woken from very solid sleeps that the doctor had tricked me so I wouldn’t know it was time to go under. They wheeled me back to the Anne Young ward and I slept on and off until I asked the nurse what time it was. My phone was locked up, and knowing that visiting hours were at “half seven” I convinced myself that no one was coming when she said it was quarter after seven. But Fionnuala, Dale, and Rosaleen all arrived shortly afterwards. Dale made me laugh so hard I actually snorted, and I don’t even remember what it was about. But I also had my hair piled on top of my head like Pebbles and tied with a surgical glove, which was not how I had left it. That night I was still woken up quite a bit for the nurses to check my pulse and my eyes. They also made me sleep upright. In the morning I got up to go to the washroom and went to clean some blood from my hair, where they had made the incision into my scalp without cutting a single hair, and ended up having a streak of warm blood come rolling down my face. I had to get a nurse to help me clean it up since it kept coming. After some antibiotics in the IV early that morning, they eventually took it out, served me some porridge for breakfast that I wasn’t interested in eating, and sent me downstairs by myself for an x-ray. I waited for ages, but then the x-ray took no time and I went back upstairs to collect my belongings.

A nurse collected myself, a guy in a wheelchair, and two guys with nose bandages to bring us to the discharge lounge. Another nurse joined us in the elevator and when he spotted us he joked, “Was it a two-for-one deal?”

Back in Dalkey with my cheek in place

I waited for a long time in the discharge lounge, where Dale and Fionnuala joined me while I waited for my papers from the blonde doctor. Fionnuala sorted out my bill for the ambulance, then we headed to Dalkey. Even right after the surgery my cheek looked better, but with the arnica I’ve been taking regularly for bruising it’s mostly yellow now with a slightly black eye. It’s a little more difficult to eat again, and I still don’t have much sensation on the left side of my face apart from tingling. The doctors said that in rare cases this is a permanent loss. Fingers crossed that that’s not the case. I couldn’t sleep at first on the night after the surgery, but it was nice to be thinking about the events of the day before instead of Sunday. I did have a solid nap in the middle of watching Friends for a good hour. So when I do sleep, it’s very sound. Yesterday I felt very weak, but today I feel much more normal. I Skyped with Mum as well, but the sound was working poorly so I had typed as she talked and it was a little amusing. 

I will be back to see the doctor on Wednesday for a check-up, and to fill out forms to send to the insurance company, but I’m off work until the 25th. Unfortunately Dale and I already missed our Galway weekend, and we were planning to go to Scotland with Sydnee on the 24th for a week. The insurance won’t cover lost wages, and I’m not sure how much work covers yet, but with Dale losing his maternity-cover job in March we may not be able to go to Scotland at all. Hopefully we won’t have to go home, but things are uncertain with finances at the moment.

I have had a number of check-ins and offers of help from work and friends, which has been very nice, and Rosaleen and Fionnuala in particular have been a huge help. Yesterday was Fionnuala’s birthday, and she still came home with a gift for me! Overall I’ve heard, “You poor t’ing” so many times I feel like I should be in more pain just to deserve it!