You last heard from me, in one of Southmead Hospital’s operating theatres. Prior to the use of any any scapels or blades, I was being pumped full of medication, keep me calm and pain free.

In reality, I was behaving much like a horse that had consumed an entire jar of pills, from James Herriott’s tranqualiser curboard.

Slicing and dicing

• I was promised that during surgery, despite being wide-awake, I would not feel any pain. I’ll give the staff credit – they stuck to their word.
• The waves of nauesea were nasty and apparently a result of tranqualisers and antibiotics, which I kept apparently being given, via some tube on my arm.
• The pain control and calming techniques, I was receiving were pretty much what women experience during a caesairian section. On hindsight, a tad embarrassing, as they seem to shout and protest a lot less than I did. Even worse, is when you see a cow on TV, cut open with offal and organs hanging out, stood on all four legs, not giving a shit. All because it was injected with a tiny needle numbing the animal.
• There is a screen in between my face and everwhere else in the room. I don’t know the full purpose of this screen – I have heard it’s to prevent me from spotting any gore and freaking out. One slight problem…
• The screen seperating my face from the surgeon and his work area – my body – is transparent. Clearly visible was a pool of claret on the floor, along with red pebble-dashing all over the surgeon (and even the screen).
• I couldn’t help but be amused, when a student entered the theatre. He was very keen to learn. By this point, I was being stitched up. He had two choices – observe some excellent needle-work, or mop up a pool of blood. He ended up doing the latter. In fact, I don’t think he was offered needle-work, or any alternative to mopping, for that matter.

The rest of that day, and indeed the entire week, was a long and drawn out affair.

I was subject to some real pain on the evening of the surgery and felt as if I was climbing the walls, like the girl on the horrible film, The Exorcist.

The pain felt as if somebody had taken a huge nail and repeatedly smashed it into my bones with a steel hammer. Then I remembered that is exactly what had happened earlier that day!

The pain was eventually eased, with medication. I may have only been in really bad pain for little over an hour; but, as anyone ever unfortunate enough to find themselves in real agony will testify, minutes really do feel like hours.