A Big Decision, The Longest Wait and a Rough Awakening.
October, 2012.
I had a big decision to make.
A decision that, as it turns out, would completely alter the course of my life.
The Sit Down
Not that I want to be dramatic or anything but it can’t really be overstated just how massive a change I was going to be facing.
I had not long returned from a weekend event hosted by the British Heart Foundation when our house phone began to ring.
It was my cardiologist on the line, asking that we sit down and have a discussion about changing tactics on how to fight the infection that had been raging inside my chest for months.
The antibiotics, clearly, were not working as well as everyone had hoped and an invasive approach seemed, now, to be the best option.
Prior to the weekend, I had been resistant to that idea. It had been barely a year since my latest open heart surgery and I was in no great rush to jump back onto the operating table.
However, having just spent a few days with people who had been in similar situations to the one in which I found myself and especially after speaking with somebody who had struggled with the exact same infection, my mind was far more clear on what needed be done.
So, when the time to meet with my doctors arrived, there was little convincing to be done. I agreed that surgery was now the best way forwards for me.
It is amusing to imagine that one of them had worked diligently on a list of notes to convince me to go for the surgery, only to find a weekend away had done the job for him.
I can picture an angrily torn up page of very solid arguments being thrown into a bin.
An Uneventful Buildup
I don’t remember much of what happened in the time between that meeting and the surgery. Aside from the fact that they had been able to organise it for just a few weeks away, (which I guess shows how concerned they were), nothing noteworthy occurred.
Knowing my own mind, I can imagine that I was incredibly relaxed, not letting the looming visit to the theatre affect my mood in even the slightest.
In fact, I’m willing to bet that living with me during that time was a delightful experience.
(Sarcasm can be difficult to get across in writing, so for clarity, that was it).
Eventually, the time came for us to make our way down to Glasgow. We packed our things and prepared for the week (maybe week and a half) that I would spend in the hospital recovering.
As major as open heart surgery is, they may end up keeping you in hospital for a surprisingly short amount of time, depending on the procedure being performed. Once the wound is properly healed and as long as there are no signs of complications, there tends to be little reason to keep you around. Of course, regular check ups are a must but nobody wants to be stuck in a hospital bed for longer than necessary.
With this in mind, we had packed cautiously for a couple of weeks, whilst being optimistic that it would only be half that time.
Countdown
We arrived early afternoon on the 18th of November and first went to the hotel room that had been provided for my parents and sister. A few nervous hours were spent unpacking and sitting around watching TV before it was time to head into the hospital. (The hospital and hotel are actually two sides of one large building).
When we reached the ward, they gave us all of the usual information about what to expect, the risks involved and the plans for the procedure. They were going to remove the infected device near my heart and replace it with a tissue donor. Most of what they told me was similar to that which I had heard prior to my surgery the previous year. The fact that it was so recent that I could remember the pre-op talk was just a little depressing.
With that done, it was time to get settled in. I ate dinner early in the evening and began my fast, ready for surgery the following day. It seems unlikely that any of us slept particularly well that night but honestly, it’s a little hard to remember.
I do remember waking up the next morning being rolled along the corridor in my bed by a couple of nurses, with my parents by my side. When we arrived at the theatre, they prepared the anaesthetic and I gave my mum and dad a quick hug. I’d be seeing them again in a few seconds, but it was going to be far longer for them.
The anaesthetic started to make its way through my veins and I slowly counted back.
20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7…
‘Tis But A Scratch
I awoke a few moments later.
As the world slowly came into focus, I noticed my parents’ blurry faces hovering above me. Quickly, it became clear that there was something in my mouth and even in my medication addled state I was able to figure out that it was my breathing tube.
Some people spoke to me. I don’t know if I couldn’t understand at the time or just don’t remember but I have no recollection of what they said.
A few moments later, I was waking up again, this time with a mask over my face rather than a tube down my throat. Even with my mouth now free, speech was still beyond my capabilities. My whole body felt tired. I had been through this just a year earlier but… waking up the last time had felt easier.
Perhaps it was my memory of it that had eased with time.
My parents were still with me, along with several nurses and a doctor. The doctor slowly explained that there had been some complications during the surgery and they had kept me in an induced coma for several days to allow my body to recover, which was why I was feeling so weak.
He then asked if I remembered what I had been told when they had attempted to wake me up the previous day. All I could do was shake my head in response.
He sat down next to my bed and, with a soft voice, told me;
“I’m sorry Mr Saunders, we’ve had to amputate your right leg above the knee”.
All Caught Up
And that, my friends, is it for the “Before Amputation” section of my blog. We’ve finally caught up to where “Post Amputation” begins.
Thank you all for reading and staying with me up to this point. The BA posts may be finished now but I still have plenty to write about. From what happened after my amputation, to answering questions about being an amputee, to even sharing some of the made up versions of how I lost my leg. Stick around, there’s more on the way.
Stay safe out there folks, and, as always, be excellent to each other.
Obligatory Blog Quote
My left foot, always been better than the right one.
Stewie Griffin
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