"The rumours of my death have been greatly exagerated...

Well...erm it's a long one and it's quite TMI too, so do feel free to skip to the loo my darling...

I got all the Valium and Emla I needed due to my canny ways and handbag lining ;).I really am the wussy lord of wussville.

The anaesthetists(aside from their row in theatre over line placement!), surgical staff, Haematologists and nursing care in the Sheffield Royal Hallamshire were exemplary. The food wasn't bad either, no, really. I didn't have the splitting headache and partial (albeit temporary) paralysis and breathing difficulties of last time after a GA. I was intubated which was fine although it scratched the back of my throat and caused a mucosal bleed despite my Factor VIII levels reaching the heady heights of 91% after treatment (ie normal) and a healthy R:co F. I was quite relaxed about coughing up blood in recovery but lots of people ran around, I do forget that most people aren't used to the regular torrents of bleeding us bleeders. I was like 'it's just like a crisp injury' and then realised this sort of talk sounds absolutely bonkers to anyone outside of the severe bleeding disorders community.I mean like a crisp can catch the back of your throat and make you bleed right? Like crispy based pizza/French bread injuries have landed me with uncontrollable mucosal mouth bleeds and a trip to hospital. Like a kitchen disco injury after a little energetic 'Vogueing' to Madonna landing on a twisted knee vogue movement indicates several days bed rest and several days Factor VIII IV's. Yes? Oh the sleep injury was the best though, a 5 inch square abdominal haematoma from accidently rolling on my hairbrush in my sleep.Why the fuck was I in bed with a hairbrush anyway? I digress.

The op was managed laporoscopically which is FANTASTIC as I only have 4 small abdominal scars and a jugular stab(there was scar tissue from Feb procedure so the central line didn't happen) I ended up with a Picc line in my arm. Both my jugulars are scarred up, the other side from the port-a-cath op. The Picc had to come out on day 3 due to a rather impressive infection THE PUS!!!! I'm not entirely suprised the dressing wasn't entirely water-tight and ship shape and I had 30minute blood pressure done on the arm for the first 18 hrs post op -ow and *weary*, and then 2 hourly back on the ward.

My liver and gallbladder were reluctant to let go of one another so I ended up delaying lunch for some poor sods and my kindly and long suffering liver kicking out apx a pint and a half (blood not Stella, allegedly). Apparently I have rather impressive adhesions internally, which is a bit bemusing as I've never had abdominal surgery before. Does anyone know why one gets spontaneous adhesions?

Apparently "You did well"(I'm not entirely sure they weren't being sarcastic) by sitting up and insisting on a commode in recovery, and asking what my R:CoF and Factor VIII levels were - I could tell they thought I was entirely mad, they kept telling me I wouldn't remember things in recovery, I did so ner :P, control freaks DO! They brought a bed pan and I stared at it, then them, then it, it was a silent stand-off momentarilly. What do you want me to do, my right arm is being squeezed to blessed oblivion, I am 19 stone and my left arm is utterly fucked from arthropathy (damage from joint bleeds), I may aswell piss the bed, but do you know what? I have my pride. So I hung on till High Dependency Unit where they reluctantly brought a commode. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. By 9am the following day I had managed to sit in a chair and change my lovely flattering dvt stockings and have a pretty thorough bed-bath, well more a chair wash.And use the commode unassisted 9 times. Go my bladder!

I took paracetamol, the morphine pump and DF118's like they was seriously going out of fashion. I am no martyr to pain.

The Haemophilia Staff were so exemplary I just can't express my gratitude though I did try by writing 2 thank you cards and buying luxury Belgian biscuits and chocolates. Words and confectionary seriously can't express the gratitude of getting me through and totally re-assuring me like had never happened in my first 32yrs as a patient on this planet. I saw my Haematologist 5 times on the day of surgery, jeez, you'd think I was a worry to them or summat!

Steve/networm (whom I broke up with on the 10th of August 2007 after a 13 week relationship) would have been a star in this tome, for dropping me off at hospital on Thursday arvo, had he not thrown my door keys at me and texted me his suicide note on my return from the High Dependency Unit. That is what we call SPESHUL, and that my dears underlines and full-stops any friendship(he's still alive btw).He can't seem to decide whether to blame his heartbreak off me/Bev and her bump and grind dancing or Amitriptyline, no I'm serious. How about 'Steve you're a bit of a fucktard drama queen'. Enough already.

Back on the Surgical ward (oh yes I get around) I got a dear old lady in a wheelchair in the opposite bed, who was clearly quite quite insane following me to the loo, I mean, every time I went to the loo. She would wheel back and forth outside as I tried to discreetly 'toilet' while she irritatingly played with my drip pump(it wouldn't fit in the loo with me) and ask me inane questions. I really don't take kindly to company in the bathroom department and by the time she had threaded her dressing gown chord through the door handle and was hanging onto it with her MOUTH I called for Sister. She threw herself on the floor (Andy and Lou scene anyone?!?!?!) and the nurses were only 'allowed' (by her) to pull her out of the bathroom while she knelt on a pillow. My my, have you never heard of Barbara Woodhouse, let them get the upper hand and it's a slippery slope. I was reassuringly moved to Haematology ward the next lunch time - (phew!) and spent a chipper few days with Glenis a wonderful Sheffielder(leukaemia) and Karin a wonderful Black Forester with an unusual and rare disease characterised by amiloidosis and low albumin? We had a hoot and discussed shopping in Berlin and Matalan too :).

Eventually our clan was broken up and we all moved to separate bays, within 24hrs I witnessed a 20 year old girl die (twice), sweet Faye in the pinkest pyjamas. I've seen human death twice (ok technically 3 times now) and I can tell you this much it's fucking traumatic. Hats off to all those in the medical profession. Those that keep their heads when all abouts are losing theirs and then turn up for the next shift and run the risk of it all happening again. (It was hypovolemic shock brought on by intestinal bleeding, due to the type of leukaemia/chemo she had). Her mum, sis and boyf came to the bay the next day to see us all. I didn't know what to say, "I'm so sorry" doesn't really cut it, does it? Are words really the most powerful drugs known to mankind? Her dad just stood at the nurses station and sobbed. He works in the Hallamshire.I can't even begin to imagine the pain a parent must go through losing a child. The reverse is devastating enough.

Eventually my Docs let me know that the constipation and gastro-intestinal bleeding I've been experiencing since spring is NOT due to gallbladder disease. I was shipped off to the see the Colorectal surgeon who is operating on me on the 6th November. He thinks I have a prolapsed bowel or something else that needs surgery *cue scared mode*. I have no idea why? Apart from I'm fat, it's bound to be cos I'm fat, your arm aches-it's cos your fat, your hamster dies- yo FATTY! Just goes to show pelvic floor exercises which I've regularly practised all my sexual life aren't up to that-fucking-much! Cue a depressed couple of days. The two highest morbidity risks with von Willebrands type 3 in GI bleeding or brain haemorrhage. *slump*

Oh I put 3.5 kilos on in a week but that turned out to be poo and after several sachets of Movicol and 6 senna and a home made enema(I have 10mls syringes/Emal/saline-can travel!) I now weigh what I did pre-admission!

I'm at my parents for a couple of days, my pre-op assessment back in Sheffield on Wednesday, I'll be celebrating my 36th birthday both Friday and Saturday (much like the queen). Not Queen though.

My friends are rocks (and pretty moss ridden aesthetically pleasing ones at that)thanks to all the good wishes, texts, messages and visits. Especially the fleshy ones, mum and dad, Doug, Kerry and Mark, Mark, and dear dear gillywoo for the fully loaded mp3 player, beware as I enter this new millenium!

I managed to read the whole of Mitch Albom's - One More Day, about a broken suicidal chap who loses his job and family and takes his own life only to spend one more day with his mother-righting wrongs. One more day - how would you use it?

Richard Dawkins-The God Delusion I managed to get from page 37-48 - I blame the dihydrocodeine.

John Irving - The Cider House Rules - another 10 pages - see below excuse

Paul Darrow - You're Him Aren't You - 51 blessedly good pages, in fact I re-read every scrap of detail repeatedly. Sadly it's come a cropper - the tea lady spilled tea on it whilst I slept, which rather begs the question do I look like I like cold tea ON AVON??!??!?!?!?! *snarl* and then it got soaked in the trying to save the life of sweet Faye, which is totally forgivable, even though I am a fan. I shall just have to procure another copy to keep in an airtight vault :).

Marge Piercy-Gone To Soldiers - it's a novel about WWII from a womans perspective /factory lines/food lines and behind enemy lines. If you've never read Piercy start with Woman On The Edge Of Time a dichotomy of sad and uplifting, with a haunting, spiritual edge, a utopian fantasy. Its stays.

Blessings xxxx

ps my words for going under this time were "yum, mmmm, thank you". I think I'm an aneasthetic whore!