It seems that nothing has been going right today. For the first time in my life, I overslept my alarm and my eldest son was half an hour late for school. Then I cooked some rice for lunch. First the water overboiled and went all over the stovetop. Then when I topped it up, I left it for too long and it burnt. Then I had my driving lesson - reverse parking - which was completely frustrating and a total and utter disaster. It's also been a year to the day that I had an operation on my leg.
Funny how an illness can effect you. I have to say that the operation on my leg literally turned my life around. It all started in October 2007 when I noticed that the lump that had been slowly but surely burgeoning to the size of a golf ball on my leg began to hurt. So I asked my doctor mother-in-law (after I had asked my doctor father-in-law numerous times but to deaf ears) whether she would check it out. She did and suggested I get it checked out at the hospital. So I did. First an ordinary x-ray in early November. Then another in mid November. Then an MRI in late November. Then a culture sample in early December. It was the culture sample that suggested that all might not be as well as it had seemed up to that point and it should be removed as soon as possible. Added to the fact that I may have cancer, the Christmas trip to Australia that I had been looking forward to for the past six months was put on hold for God knows how long. I was in a word, I was destroyed.
Thankfully, I didn't have to wait too long for the operation, about a week and a half. It was a strange feeling being in a hospital for an "illness". I had been in a hospital for an "illness" when I was 8 and had had an epileptic attack. Other than that and giving birth to 3 children, I'd never been hospitalised. First there was the paper work which, as you may have judged from one of my previous posts on bureaucracy, I am not a great fan of. I still don't understand why that kind of stuff can't be computerised in Croatia. We're not that far behind when it comes to technology - have all the latest gadgets. But when it comes to medicine and technology, I sometimes get the feeling that we're still living in the dark ages - folders, typewriters, handwritten notes and the like are still the norm in Croatian hospitals! So I had to tell them all about my epilepsy, my three births, what my dad had died of, what my mum had suffered of, bla, bla, bla. Love it - not!
After that had passed, I had some time to myself. So what does the Knitting Songbird do when she's bored? She either knits or sings. Which is what I did. But nothing helped the time to pass faster or for me to fall asleep easier that night. After a discussion with the anaestheologist, it was decided that I would get a local anaesthetic so that everything from my spine down would be numbed but I would alive and kicking from the spine upwards. This was not a happy thought for me. Yes, it would mean that I would be able to breastfeed my little baby right after the operation no problemos. But to have to endure them slicing through me for an hour or so without being wiped out? No way. But it was for little babe's good and the babes always come first, so I conceded.
They "picked me up" from my room on the day of my operation at around 7:30 am. I was first in line which is a good thing. The surgeon's fresh, rearing and ready to go, less likely to make mistakes and all. I can tell ya, it's a strange feeling getting wheeled around on your back, looking at the ceilings rolling by and not much else. I kept thinking "If only I were looking at the sky. It wouldn't be so bad". But beggars can't be choosers so I put up with it all as best I could. Then we got to the operating room. I was lucky enough be have the procedure in the newest wing of the hospital. It looked like something out of "Grey's Anatomy" rather than "General Hospital" circa 1978 as most Croatian hospitals tend to look like. So they put me on the table. Butt naked except for my pants which is not very comforable unless it's warm and something pleasant follows. Which it wasn't and didn't. Hooked me up to the machines - blood pressure, drip, heart rate, bla, bla. Then the anaesthetic. Must have poked 5 or 6 times in my lower spine before they managed to find the proper vein, SOBs. I actually passed out in the meantime 'cause I hadn't had a bite to eat since 7 pm the previous evening. When they finally found the vein, the fun began.
Didn't feel a thing, of course. I only had the impression that my legs were like two huge zeppelins, floating over my head. A particularly bad memory about the whole disastrous event was that unfortunately, Madonna's "Erotic" was playing in the background for the whole operation. Talk about bad choice of music! The worst! But I have a very good "internal" stereo so I blocked that out with Eva Cassidy. Ah, Eva Cassidy. She always gets me through dire situations. I played "Wonderful World" time and time again in my head just so I didn't have to listen to atrocious Madonna.
The operation was over in about an hour or so. Then back to my room. Couldn't get out of my bed at all for the first two days. Now, I know this isn't very pleasant to talk about, but besides having a bed pan brought to me every hour or so, I also got my period that day. Talk about good luck! Don't know what else could have gone out of my favour...yes I do, but I won't go into that...
But a lovely experience that did happen in hospital is that someone from the "other world" came to visit me. Many of you may laugh or say that I've lost the plot but truly, a hand touched my shoulder the day after the operation as if to say "Songbird, don't worry, everything is gonna be allright". Was it my dad? My mum's friend Bill? A guardian angel? Someone else? I can't say, but I felt such peace at that moment, peace the like of I had never felt before.
And so, I stayed in hospital for five days and came home four days before Christmas. I was grateful to come home before Christmas. The doctor wanted to keep in hospital for longer but I wouldn't hear of it. Hospital holidays? No thanks. And even though I wasn't able to cook up the storm I usually cook up for Christmas and that hubby and my eldest son were in Australia (I had to force them to go because I know that our eldest son would never have gotten over the disappointment of not going) and that the house was in a mess (well, it usually is anyway, but I try to tidy it up for Christmas), it was one of the most poignant Christmases I had ever had.
I was grateful to still be among the living. I still didn't know whether the lump was benign or malignant (found that out after New Year's - it was, thank God, benign, but had it grown further and fixed itself to my muscle, might have been the other way around) but I was thankful to God that I was home and in relatively one piece.
And it was after that Christmas that I slowly, but surely, changed into the Knitting Songbird you now know. I was always a sensitive type, never violent or pushy or aggressive. Always cared about people, animals and the environment. But I cared more about stuff, was very materialistic, not very much of a "skin deep" person. My list of hobbies were shopping, shoes, scarves, handbags and fashion. Oh yes, and music and knitting. But not much else. Give me a shopping mall and I was in heaven.
Shopping malls? Actually get a bit motion sick in them. Book stores are more the norm these days. And walks around the city or parks or even the countryside when I can. Shoes? Don't remember the last time I bought a pair of those. Would rather spend my money on a trip to Austria or Italy (with the price of shoes these days, you can actually travel abroad for the price of a pair of shoes!). Scarves? All my Hermes scarves are collecting dust at the back of my wardrobe. Did take one to France with me last September. And that's it. Would rather wear one of my creations. Bags? Have a Swiss Army backpack that is my pride and joy. No Guccis or Vuittons or Chanels in sight. Fashion? Have a 2 metre pile of back issues of British Vogues that I have to give to a charity or thrift shop one of these days. They're just taking up space that could be used for my books. Fashion. I mean, what is fashion? When I think about it nowadays, I think of sweat shops, dyes polluting rivers, schizophrenic, egotistical designers who think they rule the world. Just give me a white shirt, a pair of 501s and me Converses.
In any case, the essential is invisible to the eyes. Just that not many people realise it. Until they've had an operation on their leg...
I dedicate this post to all my dear friends and family whose prayers and hopes were with me during those trying times. And to Eva, who got me through the God damn ordeal, ears intact.
Paul Hewson shooting star
Prije 7 god.
