A few days ago I was given all of this in preparation for my section. Early hours of this morning I decided to read through the leaflets and look at what medication I was given. One of the tablets, that I take on the morning of the operation, was described to me as a vital importance. Here I am thinking I get to take some wild and uncommon drug that I’d never taken before. It’s Metoclopramide. Boyf has a wide stock of this drug, he used to take it during chemotherapy weeks. Basically it’s a quick working anti sickness pill – apparently a heaven sent for hangovers (I took the oppertunity to steal a box in preparation for the day I eventually have an alcoholic beverage – from my experience with my god daughter, I will NEED these). The other goodies are Ranitidine tablets and Octenisan cleansing wash.
Having read the three booklets I was given I began to get a little scared. It’s a major operation! Whilst I’m grateful for the extensive planning and hard work preparing me for the op, making sure baby is healthy and I have a team behind me who know the ins and outs, whilst I’m glad I don’t have to destroy my noonie bits squeezing out a baby, or endure hours of labour – I’m still uneasy. I mean it’s not natural. It’s not how we are made to give birth so it is a little strange.
(The idea of having a caffeta and weeing into a bag makes me feel a little rotten too!)
Then I thought about boyf’s first op (and second, if he has the option and chooses to take it), an awake craniotomy. Whilst he lacks speech and mobility on his right side, this does not mean he has an unsound mind. It does not mean he is unaware of what is going on.
Imagine being knocked out, and when you wake up the operation isn’t over, infact the 4hr journey has only just begun. Once awake, your skull cut open and brain exposed to the world, they begin the procedure to remove the mass of tumour that has grown inside your head; causing feelings of paranoia, insanity, skitzophrenic moods, lack of mobility and speech. The reason you have to be awake during this process is so that they can talk to the patient, abling the surgeons to notice an improvement in the areas the tumour is affecting. Everything we do comes from our brains, so when a tumour the size of a Rubix cube is sat on areas affecting mood, personality, speech and mobility (of the right side), it’s quite easy for someone to notice a difference as the procedure goes on and the tumour is removed.
So I ask myself, what the hell am I scared of? What am I worried about? I could never tell boyf how nervous I am, whilst I know he would be sympathetic and reassuring in the form of a big cuddle, he would rightly be thinking “man the fuck up woman”.
So that’s what I’m going to do, man up.