Intense pain

I had arrived back in Hong Kong feeling very uncomfortable.  The pain I was feeling wasn't going away.  I had gone into the hospital in Singapore for a check up, but the drugs they were giving me weren't enough.  Sitting for four hours on the flight back had clearly exacerbated my situation.  By the next day, something wasn't right at all.  Somehow, I managed to fight through the pain and I didn't accept the situation I was in until Tuesday.  By then, it was bad.  The first doctor who saw me was shocked, he sent me straight to a surgeon.  At the surgeon, one look at me and he booked me into surgery for that night.  I was in pain at this point.  Most people may have been shocked to hear such a response from a doctor, but from me it was relief.  I was happy that there was a resolution that would coming soon. 

I managed to stumble home to collect my things to go to the hospital.  It was raining.  As I waited for the taxi, a woman with a dog walked out in front of me, took a look at me waiting and then proceeded to jump to the queue and took the next cab.  Given the day I was having, it seemed like a fitting thing to happen.  I glared at her as the cab drove past and she looked down to avoid my gaze.  It had been two terrible days and this felt like the cherry on top of the horrific sundae I'd been forced to endure.

Arriving at the hospital was another relief.  The process for me to be admitted was painfully convoluted and slow.  Between the PCR tests, the forms and the payments required, it took hours to complete.  Even after I was "admitted", I was kept in a holding ward for a few hours until I was cleared of covid.  Finally, I was taken to the ward that I would be staying in to await my surgery.  My surgery was scheduled for 10pm in the evening, so I had a few hours to wait.  I lay on the bed and waited.  I wasn't allowed to eat or drink, and the last few days had been exhausting, so I just tried to rest as much as I could.  Suddenly, a nurse appeared and told me that I was being moved up in the queue and my surgery would be at 9pm.  I had to quickly change and get ready as the nurses busily readied everything for me.

I was shifted from my ward bed to a gurney to transport me to the operating theatre.  It was a strange feeling to be back on the gurney, staring at the ceiling as I was wheeled through the wards and halls.  I immediately thought back to when I had my knee reconstruction.  I remembered the same strange feeling of the the passing scene that was so unfamiliar from this new angle.  I wished I had brought my phone with me so that I could have captured the world moving from this angle, but of course there were more important things to be dealing with at this pint.  It had been a long time since I had experienced this, and I hoped that it would be a long time before I would have to face it again.  Once I was in the theatre, the whole staff were friendly.  The nurses were angels as expected, and the surgeon and anesthetist kept me talking and chatting to keep me at ease.  The needle was put into my arm and a mask brought over my face and soon I was out.  I don't remember much, I don't remember having too many dreams other than a few flashes of colour.  I do however remember waking up as I was being wheeled back to my ward.  I was very disoriented and I twice tried to get out of the gurney, insisting that I could walk back to the ward by myself.  The nurses quickly convinced me to lay back down.  Once I got back to the ward, I was able to get up myself and shift myself over to my bad.  There, I lay back and contemplated what I had just been through.

I wasn't feeling any pain.  If anything, it was the opposite.  I was feeling amazing at this point.  The general anesthetic drugs were still coursing through my veins and I was high as a kite.  I kept looking at my hands and giggling to myself.  I was fully aware of what was happening, so I thought I might as well enjoy it for as long as I could.  Even in this drug addled stage, I knew that there would be far tougher days to come after the drugs started to wear off.

The next day was horrible.  The pain was quite bad from the get go and when the bandages and dressings needed to be changed, I went through the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced.  Even the pain killers didn't seem to do much, as I suffered through the pain as the nurses tried their best to clean my surgical wound.  As I lay on my side, there was nothing to do but grit my teeth and bear it.  The pain seemed to burn with heat.  The doctor had said that most people would cry out, such was the pain, but I decided that I wouldn't and so I refused to make a sound.  After the brutal morning, the food was brought to me.  I had no appetite.  This seemed to be a good thing given how tasteless and bland the food looked and tasted. 

The next few days was just a repetition of the process. Pain, followed by bland food, followed by rest.  The bed was comfortable at the very least, and I slowly got used to it all.  The nurses would come around, ask me to say my name in full, then give me drugs.  Then the whole process would start for the would management, then I would be back in bed.

After a few days, I was ready to leave and the doctor gave me the all clear to go.  I felt weak and depleted, but I still wanted to get out.  I would see the doctor in a few days, and he would check if I was able to manage by myself or if I would need to go back to hospital to be helped.  I had no intention of going back, so I determined that I would deal with the management myself, irrespective of the pain.