Owie.
Well, here I go again...
Last Friday started out pretty much like any other. I biked to work, ready for a hectic day. I had a bunch of work to do, taking time out to go for a run at lunch time and then off to Bar Bodega at night to play a gig with the Motown band.
Friday was, to be sure, a day when Things Would Be Done. So why should I find myself, 7 days later, tucked in bed feeling sorry for myself?
At 9.30am on Friday, I began to feel a familiar feeling - familiar, and not very welcome. My chest began to ache, signalling the onset of another spontaneous pneumothorax. This time round, I had the common sense to call an ambulance straight away. Not one hour later, I was in hospital having a tube inserted into my side while Megan and my parents stood guard. Having had no food for 5 hours and on a constant diet of painkillers, my visage became olive-green and sweat broke out on my forehead. All the time, I was thinking "Oh, not today! I'm going to miss the gig!"
I'd been looking forward to this gig for WEEKS - I was really confident that we were on form and would have torn it up for the large number of people I'd invited. Instead, I was being prepped for surgery.
Megan, bless her heart, found the courage to leave me to play the gig, and they apparently did a great job. My surgery didn't go ahead on Friday, and instead my air tube fell out by itself on Saturday morning, so I had a relaxing weekend surrounded by friends and family.
Monday morning, I was off food and fluids while getting ready for the operation. 5 hours later, I wake up with a drain tube, epidural, IV drip and OH GOD A CATHETER. The next couple of days were a medley of disorientation, pain and exhaustion as I couldn't sleep more than 30 minutes at a time.
At last, on Wednesday I had my first respite. They were please enough with the x-ray to unplug me from the drain tube, the epidural and THANK GOD THE CATHETER. Now, drugged up to the
eyeballs, still sore and exhausted...I have a couple of weeks off to recover. I'm feeling grateful that I have so many caring friends and family and that my work is being particularly nice to me.
I'm also feeling happy to be alive.
Last Friday started out pretty much like any other. I biked to work, ready for a hectic day. I had a bunch of work to do, taking time out to go for a run at lunch time and then off to Bar Bodega at night to play a gig with the Motown band.
Friday was, to be sure, a day when Things Would Be Done. So why should I find myself, 7 days later, tucked in bed feeling sorry for myself?
At 9.30am on Friday, I began to feel a familiar feeling - familiar, and not very welcome. My chest began to ache, signalling the onset of another spontaneous pneumothorax. This time round, I had the common sense to call an ambulance straight away. Not one hour later, I was in hospital having a tube inserted into my side while Megan and my parents stood guard. Having had no food for 5 hours and on a constant diet of painkillers, my visage became olive-green and sweat broke out on my forehead. All the time, I was thinking "Oh, not today! I'm going to miss the gig!"
I'd been looking forward to this gig for WEEKS - I was really confident that we were on form and would have torn it up for the large number of people I'd invited. Instead, I was being prepped for surgery.
Megan, bless her heart, found the courage to leave me to play the gig, and they apparently did a great job. My surgery didn't go ahead on Friday, and instead my air tube fell out by itself on Saturday morning, so I had a relaxing weekend surrounded by friends and family.
Monday morning, I was off food and fluids while getting ready for the operation. 5 hours later, I wake up with a drain tube, epidural, IV drip and OH GOD A CATHETER. The next couple of days were a medley of disorientation, pain and exhaustion as I couldn't sleep more than 30 minutes at a time.
At last, on Wednesday I had my first respite. They were please enough with the x-ray to unplug me from the drain tube, the epidural and THANK GOD THE CATHETER. Now, drugged up to the
eyeballs, still sore and exhausted...I have a couple of weeks off to recover. I'm feeling grateful that I have so many caring friends and family and that my work is being particularly nice to me.
I'm also feeling happy to be alive.