May - Surgery again

14 May. Back in the UK. I go to a Pilates class and manage fine. The wound in the armpit has healed well. It is just a pity that Mr P will have to open it up again for the next operation.

18 May. I see Mr P and he expresses himself satisfied with the way the breast wound has now healed and confirm he will carry out the next operation on 27th.
27 May. Much more civilised. No food or drink since about 7.30 this morning. I arrive at the private hospital at 11.00am and we are shown to a very nice room. I am admitted. I answer all the questions I have answered before – several times over. It seems this is one area where the private sector is just the same as the NHS. They cannot get their data lined up.
This time I add to my allergies – Nickel, tetracycline, steri-strips, metronidozole and ciprofloxacin. I wonder how long this list will grow by the time we are finished.

I am visited by Mr P, various nurses and orderlies - all men, catering staff, a nice lady anaesthetist, a man with an electric drill, and a lady who thought I was her sister. Mr P is amused when I hand him a scientific paper on the use of topical silver dressings in wound infections.


I am told I am about seventh on the list so won’t be going to theatre until 5.00pm. I am allowed some water – lucky me. I am thirsty and starving hungry.

5.00pm comes and goes as does 6.00 pm. I call my partner and let him know I will not be compos mentis until late in the evening so he may as well wait until next morning to come and see me. Finally at just before 7.00pm the male nurse and a porter come and wheel me to theatre. I am so hungry I am light headed.



The nice lady anaesthetist I had met earlier has gone home and a new one has taken her place. He isn’t as skilled at getting a canula into my tricky veins and I have several sets of swabs and tapes on my hands and arms from failed attempts by the time he and the interestingly tattooed male theatre nurse finally get a line in and administer the anaesthetic. As I drift off I wonder about the theatre nurse – was he a military nurse? – How did he end up at a high-end private hospital? Funny the things you think of.

I wake up to see another nurse. Once again a man…interesting that all the nurses I have had in the private hospital have been men. I don’t mind but I can imagine some women wouldn’t like it. Soon I am back on the ward, IV line and vacuum wound drain in place. Now this is a horrid thing. I have a tube coming out of a small incision below the main incision, which is draining serous fluid into a clear plastic vacuum bulb. The bulb is also attached to a bag, which will be used to measure how much fluid is draining. I am stuck with this thing until there is less than 40 mls draining in a 24-hour period. Still when I get back to the ward I am not too concerned. All I want is water and food. To my delight my partner has made the journey back to the hospital to see me. We have some time together while I rest. The nurses attach some inflatable cuffs to my legs, which regularly put out a gentle pressure to keep things moving and prevent blood clots. They are strangely soporific and I fall asleep quite quickly after eating my post op sandwich.



This time I sleep well and wake up feeling surprisingly good….apart from the dreaded drain. Mr P visits and tells me I can go home but the drain has to stay in until the 40 ml mark is reached. The local district nurses will visit each day to check everything out.

Mr P will call me on Friday to let me know what the lab results are on the 6 additional lymph nodes he has removed. The physiotherapist arrives to take me through a series of exercises to get mobility back in the arm.

I walk out of the hospital with the cumbersome drain and tubes concealed in a pillowcase.