5th December 2022
Remember, things will get better. A physiotherapist told me this today, and I hope to remember it despite the medication and varying pain levels.
I arrived at the London Clinic Hospital at 7:00 AM, feeling alert but nervous about my robotic surgery to remove the primary tumour at the base of my tongue. My clean, pleasant hospital room helped keep me calm, distracting me from overthinking the operation. I reminded myself that this was the day to kick Bridget’s butt out of my body, another step towards completing my cancer journey.
I was in one of the top London hospitals for Head and Neck Robotic surgery. At the start of my cancer journey, I learned that these operations used to involve cutting the jaw in half. I felt faint and scared but grateful for technological advancements.
The operation is over. The last thing I remember is the anaesthetic, and then waking up in the ICU. I felt no pain due to the medication. My first night in ICU was sleepless. The next day, I felt exhausted and sensitive due to the high medication levels. My throat was swollen and sore, and I had to relearn how to swallow and digest food gradually on a soft diet, starting with jelly and custard.
I spent three days in ICU and one day on the normal ward. This experience was more emotional than the first operation because the area was more delicate, and I was more sensitive to the pain. Rob reminded me that this was my second operation in a month. I needed to be kind to myself, allow low moods, and ask for more medication to manage the pain. I kept repeating that the feelings were temporary, and I would get better.
Surprisingly, I kept up with my daily exercises, like walking around the hospital three times a day and light leg and arm movements. These exercises lifted my mood and helped my recovery.
Over the next two days, I managed to eat more, including jelly, Fortsip protein drinks, and homemade butternut squash soup with ginger. Swallowing was easier on the left side, where the tumour was removed. Poor sleep affected my mood, but I was making small improvements. On day four, after a nasal camera check, the doctor said my throat was healing slowly, and I could be discharged. Despite poor sleep, I was happy to go home.
The evening of my discharge was one of the worst experiences of my life. While taking my 8pm mouthwash, I started projectile vomiting blood. Rob rushed in to find blood everywhere. We panicked but quickly called 999. I stayed calm, breathing through my nose and repeating “So Hum” to myself. The ambulance arrived in 10 minutes, and the team estimated I had lost over a litre of blood. They quickly got me to St Mary’s Hospital, where the resuscitation team was waiting.
At St Mary’s, the doctors stopped the bleeding and gave me a blood transfusion. They contacted my consultant at the London Clinic to coordinate my care. I felt positive about the synergy between the NHS and the London Clinic.
I was transferred to Charing Cross Hospital’s Head and Neck specialist ward. I stayed there for at least 48 hours to ensure no further bleeding. The power of “So Hum,” Rob, the NHS ambulance services, and hospital teams saved me. We often take these services for granted, but they are our modern-day heroes. These teams are our modern day hero’s and we are blessed.
Song: Heavy Seas of Love by Damon Albarn because I want to surrender to the heavy waves.
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