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.