Week commencing 6/3/17 – recovery begins?

So after a weekend of almost 8 hours of surgery,  I was feeling pretty rough.  I was nil by mouth so very dry but assured by the nurses I wasn’t dehydrated thanks to the saline drip I had up.  I also had a catheter in plus a venflon in my hand for paracetamol or any additional drugs required.    I wasn’t using the morphine as I know morphine slowed the gut.  My consultant came to see me and said the repair had gone well but couldn’t really explain what had happened.  I know that area of my gut is rather friable and I secretly put it down to the damage the endometriosis had caused.  The nurse looking after me that day,  let’s call her Nasty Nora was as her name suggests, cold and lacking in any empathy.  She said, when I complained of feeling unwell ‘ well what exactly is wrong with you ‘,  when I mentioned  that surgeries ( which she obviously knew all about), she told me to use the morphine.  I explained my concerns about it slowing the gut and I got another row.  If anyone should not be a nurse it’s her,  at least that’s my experience of her.   Lyns and Chris came up plus Stephen of course and I felt really uncomfortable. I had started to produce copious amounts of bile  – I had a nasogastric tube in ( horrible)  and attached to this a bag which resembled a hindenburg airship – bursting at the seams with green liquid.  They emptied that then proceeded to aspirate the tube using a sanction pump which released litres of more green fluid.  This frightened me.  The smell.  The colour.   Where was it all coming from?  I can’t remember ever experiencing this before in other operations.  I felt dreadful and wished I could take a pill and wake up next month.  To round off a horrible day, Nasty Nora told Stephen to leave despite us having had permission for him to stay outside visiting.  I was in a side room bothering no one but she would not relent – heartless and completely lacking in empathy,  she was the first nurse in my 30 years of Ill health that made me cry.  Stephen left,  gutted, to a soulless hotel room that was to be home for the week.   I had a little cry as for all our arguments,  my heart broke for Stephen, always there and always loyal.  One of the health assistants came in,  I’ll call him BFG – big friendly giant – and he consoled me and told me to have a word with the Sister in the morning as discretion can be showed regarding visiting.   I felt very sad and didn’t  even have the energy to talk to everyone online.  I pressed the morphine button just to make me sleep in the hope tomorrow would be better.

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