I am gutted.....a few hundred grams of my best friend is missing! That’s a whole lot of goodness gone. Even though it was infected.
J looked resplendent in her pink plaid pyjamas perched up in Ward 20 at Public hospital, her image incongruent with the previous days harrowing experience. After being injected with something nuclear , she was then wheeled unceremoniously (no fanfare) into a room to await her fate. Small talking till she ran out of words she then awoke to a gap in her bra. No body bandage, no hallucinatory drugs , no bosom.
Like the true soldier she is, she wore her pain on the inside and presented her usual bright sunny disposition that draws people like moths to the flame, like sailors to the sirens, like bees to the honeypot...you get the idea.
Wheeled back to her ward and deposited into “Anita’s” position she was lucky she didn’t get anything else removed or added on as she was in the plastic surgery area. Once that wrong had been righted she then had to face her next battle....the food.
Metabolic mush played havoc with her tender constitution giving her more nausea than being sucked into a centrifugal force like water in a revolving bucket. Several anti nausea pills later and she was almost ready to face her cottage pie as opposed to salmonella on a stick aka chicken satay. What don’t they know about bland there and the recuperative stomach? AND the bowls they give you to catch the stuff are small and unstable as one other patient conveniently demonstrated in the night.
If the op doesn’t get you the post op care will.