Blog 54 i...Well...

Blog 54...i...Well...

Well, I survived the trauma of my sacroiliac injection; actually when I say trauma it wasn’t as bad as I had been worrying about after all. The twelve year old doctor morphed into an extremely professional, respect demanding and highly proficient surgeon once he had donned his cap and gown! All worries that he looked like he wasn’t old enough to cut cake let alone inject my rear end soon dissipated once I was lying propped up on the surgical bed [yes propped, as I said last week; no chance of lying completely flat on my face…in fact if I was sunbathing on a beach somewhere I would have had to have dug two holes in which to rest my ample bosom…] In fact he was now more like a George Clooney in E.R. than the young man from The In-Betweeners!

I decided to go with the ‘Hubby’s’ choice of black bra and black knickers; large ones… although who was I trying to kid? Even the largest in the range would not have covered all the orange peel that is my cellulite. ‘Hubby’ thought it would be more suited to a mature lady and possibly seem demure. Which of course now poses the problem…OMG my ‘Hubby’ finds my sexy black numbers ‘demure?’ Hmmm need to instruct him in some bedroom etiquette to make sure that he is aware that whichever colour I am wearing he needs to say; ”Wow that looks sexy!” as he is more likely to be appreciated for that comment in favour of “Wow you look so demure baby…”

So, having been admitted in the early hours of the morning and led to what was referred to as a ‘Pod’…which caused instant palpitations as I really thought I was going into an enclosed area and as I may or may not have mentioned I suffer terribly from claustrophobia…which has hindered me greatly during the MRI Scans, Ct Scans and Nuclear Bone Scans procedures…suffice to say I have been known to press the alarm button and grab the attending radiographer by the uniform whilst profusely sweating and mumbling something stupid like; ‘I can’t do this!’ [I must fill you in on this at some point in my blogging as it may help to relieve other claustrophobics in the future: only from the point of view that at least you’d know you were not the only person to have uncontrollable attacks of panic and possibly make a fool of yourself!]

The pod was of course a very modern, clean and well organised cubicle where I was to don the gown, sit in a fabulous reclining chair and watch morning television as if I hadn’t a care in the world. Oh, and there was a newspaper for ‘Hubby’, so he was happy. Slowly I began to panic about what to expect: possibly due to the fact that at first I had been led to the wrong pod in place of a rather slim and attractive young woman: of course ‘Hubby’ found this hilarious and remarked that I could have mistakenly be given some form of cosmetic surgery…just my luck to go in for an injection and come out with breast enlargements! Yes, sitting there feeling vulnerable I really just wanted to run away; I get this feeling often these days where I really just want to stay at home in my little house and be cosy and safe from the outside world. Instead I had to remain there; I know, it was for my own good.

Under the impression that when ‘Hubby’ said; “There, all tied up,” when fiddling with the back of my gown I was shocked to discover that he had actually only tied the top ribbon and left the back of the gown gaping…on walking to the toilet I had totally exposed myself, worse still when I flushed the toilet, surplus water jumped out of the bowl and soaked the side of my gown leaving me to look like I was incontinent: there was no hand-drier only paper towels of which a 1,000 fell out of the container and all over the floor and I tried desperately to dab at the gown in an attempt to soak this water up…which actually did nothing but cause a hot flush brought on by bending over and my hair to fall out of the pony tail hairband, which believe it or not just disappeared: where the hell did that go? I returned to the pod looking slightly worse for wear in time for ‘Hubby’ to be searching for a pen: his eyes averted from the process long enough to claim; “What the hell happened to you? Have they done you already?”

Eventually I was led into the theatre by a very kind male nurse and introduced to all the nursing staff before being helped onto the bed. At which point of course I totally exposed myself once more in the effort of trying to lie on my stomach whilst retaining my dignity; fortunately the nurse covered me with a blanket and so there I lay waiting…looking around from side to side and unable of course to see behind me I was mesmerized by all the equipment and the size of the x-ray machine. It felt a bit like something out of Doctor Who which of course caused another flush of panic, blood pressure monitor beeping and my heart racing. Sometimes my nerves get the better of me.

My 'George Clooney' explained the procedure and suggested that I would be better slightly raised with something to grasp…good God what was going to happen? Armed with my cuddly dressing gown and pillow I waited for the prick…ha ha yes I know all the jokes about pricks thank you…I had two…yes funny ha ha: I did actually wonder if the doctors and nurses have a bet on as to who will titter first at the comment; “You’ll just feel a little prick;” no doubt none of the patients will ever let on that it’s good old fashioned toilet humour but guess what? It gets me every time! So I felt two pricks that were the anaesthetics and the machine set off towards me! This was the x-ray that allowed the doctor to pinpoint exactly where the next two injections were going. Amazing! Looking at the large t.v. screen I saw my hip joint and it was exactly the same as the pictures on the internet! Throughout the procedure the doctor, the nurses and the radiographer were fantastic.  With the procedure done and dusted I just needed to remain led down for a few minutes whilst things were checked and further information discussed which really was not a good idea; you see as well as nerves and panic attacks I also have suffered for years from IBS which is aggravated by nerves and this leads to a sudden and dreadfully embarrassing amount of flatulence which is uncontrollable. I had clenched my buttocks as tight as I could…good job no needles were near by or they could well have disappeared…but on the instruction of ‘you may sit up’ and with the help of the nurse I moved very suddenly and I think you can guess what happened next…I lost all dignity, I was certainly not demure nor sexy. Hopefully the procedure will be a success and I will not have to face this poor, young doctor again. As I was wheeled away from the theatre I turned to say goodbye and say thank you and saw something small lying on the table. Good God had I had an accident as well? No, thankfully it was the hairband…how on earth did that get there?!

Resting at home has been wonderful. That first day I slept like a baby for the first time in years as my back felt numb. The ‘Intelligent one’ and the ‘Cutie-pie’ were left in charge of me with strict instructions to leave me sleeping. At some point in the afternoon I was aware of someone leaning over me…I suddenly woke up to be face to face with the ‘Cutie-pie’ who was just checking that I was still breathing…the fact that he could have given me a heart attack didn’t occur to him! This reminded me of the time when they were both just 4 and 8 years of age and I had woken up feeling really poorly. Whilst making their breakfast  I actually fainted and fell on the kitchen floor…completely out cold…I then heard their little voices calling me and before I was fully recovered I heard; “ Is she dead?” then I heard; “ Where’s the biscuits?” and just as I was about to open my eyes, with the room still spinning I felt my eye lids being lifted wide open by the ‘Cutie-pie’ and the ‘Intelligent one’ blew into them whilst holding my nostrils closed…heaven only knows what they were thinking ! Was this their idea of the kiss of life?

On the second day of rest the ‘Cutie-pie’ brought me a tray up to bed with coffee, toast, jam and biscuits; laughing away to himself he informed me that the ‘Intelligent one' was in charge of making the lunch but he was currently trying to decide which was the can opener amongst the pizza cutter, bottle opener, screwdriver and knife sharpener…” Enjoy your breakfast mum, as I don’t think you’ll be getting much for lunch…unless he can switch the micro-wave on…”

So, I am resting, following the doctor's orders and wondering if by the end of the 4 to 7 days period I will be feeling better; will I be pain free?  Well the red stiletto shoes are still in their box…

 Blog 54 j...coming soon...next Wednesday...
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