Friday, 27 February 2015

To The Operating Theatre: Part 3

I didn’t go home that day but my sister and gran visited. My sister even made me a get-well card. My mum also showed me all the lovely messages on Facebook that my friends had left me. Throughout the visit I kept closing my eyes and insisting that I was only resting them. Unfortunately, I ended up falling asleep. I slept through dinner and tea too, so I had to just have slices of toast and cups of tea again and more packets of custard creams. That was the only thing I ate that day.

On the night the nurses still came in to top me up with painkillers and antibiotics. This time through a needle in my foot as my hand was covered up. My arms ached most of the night and had to be moved around a lot. I don’t think I got any sleep that night because I had slept through most of the day. I don’t think my mum got any sleep either, as I kept waking her to move my arms or scratch my face, which was still itching like mad! By morning time we both had tired baggy eyes.

We were looking forward to going home.

Thursday, 26 February 2015

To The Operating Theatre: Part 2

I felt less worried with my mum beside me when I was given the anaesthetic. I was given it though the needle in my right hand and an air mask covered my face (I felt like a snorkeler in the ocean). I tried to relax and drift off as the tips of my fingers and toes began to tingle. This feeling spread over me like a tidal wave and within a few seconds I was carried into a deep sleep. Whilst growing drowsy my mum stroked my forehead just like she did when I was a young infant.

7 long hours later I awoke. Initially I found it difficult to open my eyes, as I still felt really tired.  The first thing I saw was my dad sitting in the hospital armchair, near the window, reading a car magazine. To my right was my mum staring at her phone. I didn’t feel any different, except my face was extremely itchy (this was due to the anaesthetic). I was unable to bring my hand up to scratch my face so I violently shook my head from side to side to rub it on my pillow. Noticing I was awake my mum and dad rushed over to the end of my bed and asked how I was feeling. All I could say was, “Face. Itchy.” They must of thought I was mad yet they still scratched my face for me (I was probably like this for a couple of days).

This was when it dawned on me that I would not be able to do any simple tasks for myself, like scratching an itch, for a while. 

Wednesday, 25 February 2015

To The Operating Theatre: Part 1

When my mum was awake she gladly washed my face and gave me a small sip of water. We didn’t know how long it would be till my operation so we quickly got ready. Soon a nurse arrived and informed us that the doctor was on his way but first I would have to change into an ugly hospital robe (it was purple though, my favourite colour). Thankfully I managed to get my leggings off but my shirt had to be cut off (my favourite shirt)! This was because we weren’t able to pull it over my arms, which were excessively bandaged up to the very top of my arms. I watched as the nurse pulled out these huge metal scissors and began to cut my beloved top off. The remains were shreds of sweaty, yellow rags.

Not long after, the doctor was there with a trail of students following behind him, who would watch me throughout my operation. The doctor didn’t speak to us much, instead he shouted into his hand held Dictaphone and then left (he must have been in a hurry, it’s busy being a doctor).

Then a team of nurses entered the room and moved me onto a mobile hospital bed as I couldn’t hold up my own arms or walk. I found myself being wheeled down a long corridor towards the lifts. My mum held the doors open as we whizzed through the traffic.

Eventually, we reached the operating theatre waiting room (I was told it’s called a theatre so it doesn’t sound so frightening). Before I went in I had to answer a series of questions and fill out a medical form, which my mum and I had to sign. I was relieved when I was told my mum could come with me because I was beginning to get nervous and a bit scared that I might feel the operation, even though I would be asleep. To be allowed to come in with me my mum had to put on a ridiculous looking plastic poncho and hat over her clothes and hair (my hair was a frizzy mess since it hadn’t been brushed). Mum also had to wear the dreaded Crocs, which she hates.

In the actual operating room many different machines and tools surrounded me. The doctor told me they would insert pins and wires into both of my arms, which would take at least 6 hours!

Tuesday, 24 February 2015

The Day Of The Accident: Part 8

After waiting downstairs in a spare room I was assigned a room on the children’s Treetops ward, which was on the second floor. The room smelt like a first aid kit and the walls were painted a ghastly green colour. My mum stayed with me the entire time, even through the night. Before I went to sleep I asked if I could have any dinner. I was starving! The last time I had eaten was at around 3pm when I had my snack with my sister. Now she was at home eating pizza with dad, getting her bag ready to stay at gran’s, while I stayed in hospital.

Having missed dinner there wasn’t any food on offer but there was a small cafeteria where you could make tea, toast and get biscuits. So, we had no choice but to feast on cups of tea, toast and custard creams. After midnight I wasn’t allowed to eat anything as I was having my operation first thing in the morning. I was their main priority since I had an open wound and this meant it had a risk of infection.

I didn’t get much sleep that night because every hour I was routinely awakened by nurses coming in to take my pulse and blood pressure and to give me antibiotics and painkillers (I was very drugged up). I must have finally gotten some sleep as I woke the following day to a blinding light seeping through a crack in the curtains and birds chirping outside. Before waking my mum up, who was still fast asleep, I watched the sun continue to fully rise from my hospital bed.

Monday, 23 February 2015

The Day Of The Accident: Part 7

With the change of destination my mum had to notify my dad that he would have to drive to the other hospital. Throughout the journey my sister was more in shock than me and my mum was almost sick from the lightening speed of the ambulance. The friendly paramedic tried to lighten the mood by showing her the different lights such as the trauma lights. Full sirens blasting, lights flashing we sped on!

Eventually, we reached the hospital and I was whizzed through to A&E. On the way there I had used up a whole tank of gas! Feeling quite woozy and disorientated I had needles stabbed in various places up and down my arm until a vein was found in my hand (I was feeling rather a lot like a pin cushion). Through that I was given much-needed painkillers and antibiotics. Then the doctors thoroughly assessed my arms and wrapped them up, after taking some gruesome photos.

Next I was being transferred onto a hospital bed and taken away to have an X ray. I only just had a chance to thank the paramedics for straightening my arm and bringing me to hospital.

In the X ray room it was extremely dark but my eyes quickly adjusted. My arms were pulled around this way and that to get a clear X ray, which left me feeing very seasick.

All I could think was, “How? My arm is broken! How am I going to trampoline? Or run? Or go to gymnastics?” (I didn’t know my right arm was broken, just that it hurt like hell).

It wasn’t long until it was confirmed that my right elbow was broken in two places as well as my left forearm, also broken in two places. I would need an operation on both my arms to rearrange my bones and a mass of tendons, which had gotten tangled, and to insert pins and wires to keep the bones in place. It was well past 9pm, which meant that I would have to wait to have my operation the next day in case there were any complications during surgery.

So I was carted off in my metal bed up to the ward to try and get a good night sleep!

Sunday, 22 February 2015

The Day Of The Accident: Part 6

At this stage I felt like I was in a crazy dream that was disturbingly realistic (my dream like state was most likely due to the gas I was given).

Outside, the ambulance was there and I was lifted, on the bed, into the back. My mum and sister joined me and sat on a couple of pull out chairs. Typing furiously my mum texted my dad to meet them at the local hospital.

To make the ride more comfortable for me, my arms were covered with inflated bags to cushion them and I would be given morphine through an injection. However, the paramedics struggled to find a vein to inject the morphine in, so I ended going without. The reason why my veins appeared non-existent was because I have thin veins like my mum.

Then another problem occurred. The driver didn’t know where they were going to go. Apparently because I had an open fracture it would be better to go to a different, further away hospital rather than the planned, closer hospital. In the end it was agreed on that the further away hospital would be able to tend to my injuries better. With that decided we were off. Lights on and sirens blaring we raced at top speed to the hospital.

In spite of lying uncomfortably on my back, it was exciting riding in an ambulance.