Appendectomy

A Short Tale of Agony
by
Johnnie Atherton

Oh! The anticipation of entering the IN side of the General Hospital.
No longer was I a simple
casualty in the OUT. The fickle finger of medical fate had indicated
quite dramatically, by prodding me continuously in the right side of my
belly, that I was destined for EXAM/OPS/SURG. Ward. My colonic wiggler
was about to burst, so the surgeon said.
"Only one thing for it, old chap. Pre-Med and in half an hour whip it
out. Hour and a half max!"
It was like being told your plugs were wet, and with a quick brush and
you would be O.K. Not like "Casualty" at all. A bit anti-climatical
really. Where was the in depth discussion concerning the intestinal
tract and it vagaries; the meaning of the hereafter, out of body
experiences, etc.?
I floated into the preparation room and received "Big Louie" in the
left arm, counted to two and a bit, then wondered why I could not for
the life of me, clearly make out the face of the nurse leaning over
me.
"You alright now, love?"
"Bhoogle blmphh"
"Yes, there's a good boy. How do you feel?"
"Yarglemum frunmplephzzzz."
"Yes, of course you do."
It seemed to have meaning to her at the time, and later became
blindingly obvious that the 'bedside manner' is being exactly what your
patient expects - in my case, a pretty nurse. Had I been in a road
accident, and awakened to the sound of pounding diesels, I no doubt
would have hugged the nearest tyre, put my thumb in my mouth and called
for mummy.
The first hours passed in a series of fits and starts, with no
recognition of time, or the world around me, except ?.
"Ugh! It's daylight!"
"Ugh! My head/belly/all over!"
"Ugh! My wife? Oh, it's. Ouch! Hello. Ugh!"
She was my first visitor and welcomed with all my spirit. The flesh
was decidedly lacking, however, and simply drooped in flaccid globs all
over a very untidy bed.
What does she do? Starts tidying up! The bed, then the cabinet, then
the floor. She opens her bag and pulls out a pair of pyjamas! PYJAMAS!!
She had to buy some for me, she said - the whispered aside indicated my
lack of moral perceptiveness in these matters. One just HAS to wear
Pyjamas in PUBLIC PLACES. I'll get my car tax in them next time it's
due. See what she has to say then.
She continued her cheerful ramblings ?.
"I see they tagged you, then."
If there is anything less calculated to cheer you up., it is to be
reminded of the demonic efficiency of a hospital. Especially their
labour saving action of applying a plastic name tag to your wrist upon
entry, so that should the surgeon fail in his Hippocratic
ministrations, you are already suitably attired and packaged, to be
easily detached from the base of the reject chute for onward
transmission to your own plot of Mother Earth.
"Yes," I mumble, but she has already passed on to other subjects. Did
I know that Mavis??? and she said, so I said - what about Joe? Do you
know he's dying? in for an operat? Oh? You asleep?
"No.. er??Am I?"
She leaves, full of pity for my condition, piqued at my
unresponsiveness, but resolved to 'build me up' when I get home.
I have tea. Four mouthfuls of soup, a solitary poached egg glaring
balefully up at me from and antiseptic, stainless steel plate, and my
blob of ice-cream. Roll on morning.
The trouble with morning is that it is OP.DAY+2, and the Winged
Facilitators of the Nether regions descend in droves. You MUST pass
wind. Hold your scar, bind yourself in bed sheets, but on all accounts,
you MUST BREAK WIND and COUGH!!
A doleful line of seven unfortunate men each clasps that part of his
anatomy most likely to burst asunder if subjected to sudden strain.
Upon the command?..
"IN?.OUT?.IN?.OUT?.COUGH!!"
Some fall backwards, with plump, white bristly legs waving frantically
in the air, like overturned wood lice. Others smile and look for
encouragement from Miss. The rest just Aaaargh and Umphhh, and try to
believe that the ward will not become festooned with their intestinal
coils upon the next command.
This minor sadism is perpetrated on a regular basis, and soon most
come to enjoy the ritual, especially when the instruction is change to
PASS WATER! They enter into the spirit of the thing.
"Look Miss! On one leg!"
"Filled and eggcup, Miss!"
"Bet I can hit that fly before you, George!"
At this point, the tea ladies take to sporting umbrellas on their
rounds, and Staff comes to take charge.
"I am so pleased the urinary tract is functioning." Why does that glint
in her eyes send ice water down my spine?
"We really must try to go properly, Mr.A. I'll give you something to
help."
In my innocence, I think of my youth, syrup of figs and castor oil.
But no, the ultimate terror is about to come, and she smiles a secret
smile whilst proffering a couple of small plastic thimble-like
thingies. Noooo!! The suppository!
After what can only be described as a spirited struggle, and being
extricated from the linen cupboard wherein I had sought sanctuary, I
was lain, semi-prone, to receive my medicine. Plastic thimbles, goo
stuff and all.
The nurse patted my rump, and said, "All done. Try to hold it for
twenty minutes please."
I lay back thinking it wasn't that bad. I'd had worse. I'd have time
to finish the last chapteeeerrrr!"
I was beside the bed. Condition GO, but HOLDING!
Where did that incompetent woman get twenty minutes from? Twenty
seconds hadn't elapsed, and here I was, waddling to the lavatory,
knowing smiles from all the beds - some inserting ear-plugs in their
ears. Oh, the humiliation, the lavatory was screened from the ward by a
shower curtain!
I stood, prepared to descend, buttocks bared. I gritted by teeth,
girded my loins, thought of England, and stuck it for five, agonising
minutes. It was more than Human flesh could bear. I crashed to the seat
and did my duty - but not in the fashion I had intended. There was an
explosion which raised me of the seat a full inch, and the twin CRACK
of plastic hitting porcelain under the pressure of fifty
atmospheres.
There was the tortured scream of melting ceramic as the pellets
ricocheted around the bowl for a full six seconds before diving into a
watery grave. Werner von Braun never had such pride on his first
'burn'.
Miss was not impressed.
"Wind is very good, dear, but you really must try to go properly
before you leave."
What next? In fact there was nothing next. The days grew longer, only
briefly illuminated at visiting times by friends and family, and other
people's friends and family. Boredom took hold, with its relentless and
insidious grip. I took to reading notices.
VISITORS ARE REMINDED TO LEAVE CHAIRS AS THEY FOUND THEM
One looked good on top of the cupboard. Eight others I stacked upside
down in the Day Room. Have you ever watched sane adults try to re-stack
non-stacking chairs?
There was a Paddington Bear in the Day Room. I stood for five minute
in front off the exterior window strangling the little sod. Passers-by
shook their heads and inaudible whispers shaped their mouths?. "..poor
devils.. still it's the only place for them."
I stuck Paddington's hat on my head and said "Boo!" to Sister from
behind the towel rack. That cost me another suppository when she had
recovered.
But this time, it worked! My only little production lay before me. It
was small, but beautifully marked. It was my first, and I was
justifiably proud. Such small victories are of great importance in the
Surgical Ward wasteland. I was an Achiever, and I was going home!