Advisory:
Themes of surgical procedure with graphic images.
Language is used from the offset and throughout.
This tale goes back at least thirty years. At some point back then, I was told by a medic of some sort that I had a sebaceous cyst on the right had side of my back about half way down my spine a bit to the side. And that was it. It was there. It was no problem. If there are any changes, get back to us.
About five years' ago, I think, I noted that the cyst was perhaps a little bit bigger, maybe the size of a peanut. And I thought no more.
Earlier this year, I noted that it had grown to about half the size of a ping pong ball and thought that maybe I should ask the doctor what was going on. However, life intervened and I put it all to one side. Then, in April, Danny asked me about the lump on my back. These days, very few people get to see my naked back so it's unsurprising that it took some time before anyone made a direct comment. I took the comment seriously and told myself that I should get a medical opinion only to allow life to intervene once more.
My birthday season arrived and, at this point, I could feel the pressure of the swelling had begun to make itself known. I could feel that the swelling was, by now, about the size of half a grapefruit. While I was in London, I felt uncomfortable lying down. Not painfully uncomfortable but enough to make the feeling of pressure an inconvenience.
So, birthday celebrations out of the way, I finally made sure I got to see a medical person. Dr Jaine was concerned. She was not surprised that I was feeling discomfort. In fact her response seemed to suggest that I should be feeling an awful lot more. The first strategy was to put me on a two week course of strong antibiotics - one four times a day. Not surprisingly, that level of intervention left me feeling quite tired and drained.
It took a while but, eventually, as well as feeling tired and drained, I started to have a sense that the swelling was subsiding.
After a fortnight, at the beginning of June, I returned to see Dr Jaine feeling that the cyst had reduced in size and that more antibiotics might do the trick. She was having none of it and despatched me to the Surgical Assessment Unit at Aintree to have the cyst cut out and the infected matter drained from the site. What I hadn't understood in advance was that this was a trauma centre and so any sense of a list of patients to be seen was entirely at the mercy of the fate of poor souls around the region who might need urgent and immediate attention.
This next phase was spread over three days. My experiences with Ross stood me in good stead and so I was there with water and electronic communications/entertainment. I really don't understand why any sensible person would arrive in a hospital setting with absolutely no means of self-support. Fifty years' ago, my parents made a habit of taking a paper and some fruit with them.
So, I sat in the waiting room of the Surgical Assessment Unit and, after a couple of hours, I entered the stage where I began to lose hope. I did think of trying for a voluntary discharge but there were no paper towels.
As time extended, I made my pitch as a voice of reason. I let it be known that I understood that, if someone jumped ahead of me in the queue for surgical intervention, then it was because their need was much greater than mine. I also showed that I was clear that all of the staff were trying to juggle impossible demands in an intolerable situation. However, I did also let it be known that, as a full time carer, I couldn't simply hang around on the off chance.
So, at 4pm on the second day, I was given a deal - either stay and see what happens or come back the following day at 7:30am and be first on that day's list. I opted for the early start and went home.
I've never had an operation before and certainly nothing that has needed a general anaesthetic. The staff were rather amused by my evident excitement and enthusiastic involvement. A bit like boarding an aircraft, I made my way through the various stages of the process answering the same questions time after time to confirm my identity and establish the chain of evidence should it be needed. Eventually, I arrived in the operating theatre and the anaesthetists did their thing and I just went. Blank.
I woke up.
Not that sort of fuzzy out of focus and gradually into sharp contrast that they use in cinema. Rather it was BANG Hello! I'm here. Hya! Can I sit up. All done? Fine. What happens now? We do four hourly observations and, if you seem reasonably OK, we let you go home. Would you like a cup of tea? Oh, yes, are there biscuits as well? Lunch? Absolutely. Two courses. I should say so. Do I have to stay in bed? Right, I'll just get my clothes on then. Can I go for a walk round to check if I'm wobbly at all? Right, so these are your dressings. Contact the wound clinic in a couple of days for an assessment. Change the dressing tomorrow and take the packing out. The nurse said that it was quite a nasty one to clean out so you may feel some pain for a couple of days. Just take some paracetamol. You should be OK.
Ross took the packing out and took the documentary photographs.
He cleaned me up with some TCP and put a new dressing on.
The first night was uncomfortable. It wasn't quite like the horse's head in The Godfather the following morning but I did need a change of bedding and night attire.
And the first three days the dressing was absolutely sodden with blood and puss and mucus.
And then it all calmed down. Pain has been minimal. I stopped the analgesics after a couple of days and have felt no regular need of them since. I've kept active with light housework and gardening.
Now, it's just a case of time to heal. Ross has bee re-dressing the wound on a daily basis after I've showered. He sees no signs of any complications. I'll be going to Treatment Room for wound monitoring this coming week.
My whole system feels cleaner and less stressed.
I guess I had not realised how much effort my body was expending over all those months dealing with the infection within the cyst.
And, for the meteorologists who are reading this, we finally had rain (quite torrential rain too) after the longest hot, dry, sunny spell in June that I can remember. We also had thunder and lightning. Apparently, one of the Liver Birds was struck - although that's just part of being a metal bird perched high on a waterfront, I guess.