Saturday night came and went and I really had no idea what was going on.  Eating and drinking was not an option, nurses and doctors came and went every two hours taking observations, topping up drugs whilst I laid listless in the bed wondering what happens next.

Suddenly it was Sunday morning and Kingy was back at my bedside – apparently, I have no recollection of this and the next bit are his memories not mine.  Kingy said that my eyes kept rolling into the back of my head, I was very pale, in pain, breathless at times and he shouted for a nurse a couple of times as he thought ‘I had gone’.  Sunday came and went and whilst it was touch and go a few times my heart was beating, the blood was pumping around and I was here to tell the tale / write the blog.

Next, it was Monday morning and I was bursting for a wee.  Interestingly, I had every drain and tube possible but no catheter and I need to go.  This process gave a glimpse into what it will actually be to an old lady in hospital.  Precariously I got out of bed, tucked my drains into their dinky bags (I toyed with keeping one of them but honestly what would I do with it other than satisfy my inner magpie).  Clad in a jammy top, fetching pants and compression socks I made my way to the loo only to hear Oh Mrs King, Mrs King shall we get you a dressing gown – errr no ta, I get to hot so will be fine as I am.  This happened a couple of times but once they knew I was fine with it the staff left me to my own devices and I got on with the business of finding out everything about everyone working on and recovering on the ward – oh, and getting better.

Needless to say, the staff are fabulous and work tirelessly to create an environment that is comfortable and reassuring and do a sterling job of taking care of us patients.  From senior medical practitioners to the lovely ladies who bring the tea trolley around, make the beds, clean the floors, everyone is so helpful and friendly.

I decided to make friends with my fellow inmates.  Opposite there was Marget which turns out should have been Margaret so I changed her name to Marrrrrgeeeeet with a French accent (obviously) and we laughed about that many times.  Marget was soon well enough to go home and was replaced with Judy – I am not going to talk about their medical conditions but she was very poorly but so friendly, I left her in hospital unfortunately.  There were two other ladies, Chris and Amanda who were in the same time as me and we struck up a lovely friendship which was also supportive – pleased to report that all ladies were doing well and went home before me.

There was only lady that I want to tell you about.  Last November she was sat on a sunbed somewhere lovely and hot with her legs crossed at the ankle when a friend noticed a dark mark on the bottom of her right foot.  On returning home, turns out this was skin cancer, who knew skin cancer can grow on the soles of your feet – but ask yourself, when did you last put sunscreen on the bottom of your feet?

Anyhoo, she had the cancer removed but a few months later another spot was found further up the leg as a result of not ensuring the correct margins were achieved during the initial investigation, this then progressed into the pelvis and she was waiting for a hysterectomy and a blood transfusion – please people do check yourself.

The days passed, I got in and out of bed at every opportunity, I was ‘doing well’, I could manage to drink water but still not able to eat.  My tongue was asleep and felt huge in my mouth, my neck, right hand side of my face and ear were (and are still) numb – that feeling when you have been to the dentist.  On day four (Tuesday) I realised that my actual mouth was also frozen on the right hand, that my lips did not meet, that I dribbled when I drank, talked and slept – not pretty, I made a mental note to ask the doctor the next day.

During the early hours of the next morning (day five) I deteriorated quite fast, personally I thought I had picked up Covid or Sepsis – do not know why but I could not think of anything else.  My blood pressure had shot up to 174 from the 140 the night before, I could literally hear my heart thumping, I was sweating, I felt like I was going to feint, it was not great.  Turns out that this kind of reaction is fairly common place after major surgery and following eight ECG’s and some more pain relief I was good again.  A little word with patients about what to expect would not go amiss but thankfully I was sorted.

Later that morning I went to the loo and had a wash and took a long hard look in the mirror, I am not known for this kind of vanity but suddenly, there looking back at me was a new me.  My mouth was indeed crooked, my smile was on the piss, there would be no puckering up, my eyes were hollow in my face, I had clearly lost weight (every cloud) but the reflection spoke volumes about the havoc Tony had wreaked on my and for a moment, just a moment, I felt incredibly sad.  I also had a big scar on my neck which some how I felt proud of.  But the crooked smile!

I gave myself a stiff talking too and reminded myself that I was lucky to be alive and like my brother said ‘a crooked smile will not kill you but cancer will’ – but, I did not like the crooked smile and decided to reserve judgement until I saw the doctor.

Of the three ‘better’ (better than shock, bleed, death) things that could have happened during surgery I had come away with two.  The three things were relating to nerve damage occurring during the neck dissection: a dormant tongue (mine was going to come back and it has), the right hand side of the face freezing/dropping – me, I got that and it will not improve and a painful right shoulder which I also have but my friend Liz will try and fix that with physio.

I packed up my things and prepared to go home grateful to be alive, thankful that this stage was over but livid with Tony for leaving me with a permanent reminder of the power he still had over me.

So here I am, kicking Tony’s ass and yet when I look in the mirror the scars and the crooked smile will forever be a reminder – but I have decided that they are a reminder of beating Tony and not letting him win.

I was looking forward to recovering and getting stronger at home, little did I know how overwhelming this would be.

Please check yourself, here are some links:

https://coppafeel.org/ https://prostatecanceruk.org/

https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/bowel-cancer-screening/ https://www.cancerresearchuk.org/about-cancer/skin-cancer/

“I think scars are like battle wounds – beautiful, in a way. They show what you’ve been through and how strong you are for coming out of it”.

Demi Lovato

#bootupandstompit