My Misery in 'Brief'

Yesterday I woke up at 7.15 and had some Weetabix, I then went back to sleep because I was majorly tired after sleeping for around only 5 hours. I then awoke again at 8.45 and got dressed by 9, we left at 9.15 as the people down at the ward changed the time again.

We got there and it took us a while to find out where the Oakwood Ward actually was. We walked through and there were babies and toddlers screaming and chasing each other. I was miserable. I hate kids. Anyway, we got to reception and they told me that I had my own cubicle, F1, but when I got there, it was a shared one. I know this because there was a used bed opposite and an older lady reading a book in waiting for what was probably her child.

We were there for about an hour or more when the nurse (who at first I considered patronising, but then eventually warmed to) came in and asked me the kind of questions you expect to hear in hospitals; Where do you Live? Any Siblings? Any Allergies? A younger nurse next to her (who was going to check my blood pressure) saw that I was reading a book and said to the other lady, "Look, we've found a teenager who reads." They then went on to explain the friendly banter they go through as the older Nurse knows a 9 year old and he doesn't really read much.

We (in we, I mean Dad) then decided that he's rather go into the Adolescent Room (sort of like a Visitor Room) and he watched X-Men whilst Mother listened to Stephen Fry's Podcasts on her iPod and I read my new book (that I hadn't started until the hospital), Requiem For a Dream. We were in there for a few hours, just waiting.

I had to go down for 2 more X-Rays on my head after the surgeon came in and explained everything that would be happening. There were the same kind as the other ones I've had, so in total that's 4 Star Trek X-Rays (the things that go around your head) and 2 Television ones (when you have to face a screen with your head flat against it). The anaesthetist came in and explained to us everything that we might've wanted to know. Ages later, a different (less lovely) nurse came in and rubbed cream on my hand to make the veins go numb. The younger nurse that I'd seen earlier came in about an hour later and was shocked that we were still waiting. I was just scared that the numbness would've worn off by the time I had the disgustingly petrifying hand tube thing. By now Dad had moved on to Star Wars, and I was just happy to see Ewan McGregor! He's lovely... seriously.

A new nurse came in and told me they were ready for me in theatre, I thought about how much of a stupid name that was for somewhere where they cut you open. Did they name it to make stage hogs (like me) want to go there or because of some horrible practise that they might've done in the dark ages?

I changed into the horrible mental gown they gave me and was allowed to keep my socks on, she said I could wear my 'jammy bottoms, I was grateful. I threw a dressing gown on and my DCs and walked my way to my fate. Taking it like a man I was! Until they let me sit in the waiting room with my parents, then I burst out crying. To make things better, the surgeon walked in and said he's going in through the inside of my mouth, as opposed to through my cheek. All the staff made a fuss of me when the tears refused to stop flowing down my face. I then walked (slowly) to the room when they called me in.

Mother was in a state, she hates seeing me upset. She asked if I'd mind Dad going in with me and I knew that the last thing she'd want to see is her daughter being put to sleep. She would've fainted. She couldn't be there, and I knew it, no matter how much I wanted her there. I knew she felt guilty, she wanted to be by my side the whole entire way. Either way though, at least someone was there with me.

A really nice old man sat on my left, and a quiet lady sat on my right. They were both rubbing my hands so I didn't know what side the needle was going in. I stared at the light above my head and my eyes were huge with fear. Dad later said that I looked like somebody going to their execution on the guillotine. I was scared that I might see the needle. The nice old man was asking me about my pets and school. They laughed at Floss as they expected a dog with that name to be little, not half Saint Bernard, half Border Collie. I laughed at them laughing at Floss. I breathed in the oxygen after the needle slid in unpainfully but noticeably. The clock slide up the wall out of view and I was unconscious. I hated it, I felt like somebody was sucking my soul out from a small tube at the top of my head.

When I woke up, I instantly thought of Pulp. I don't know why. Then I thought I was Mother and I had a horrible sense of deja vu. I then burst out crying and the ladies noticed I was awake. I started looking around for a familiar face, but saw nothing but old people. I was so dizzy, it was horrible. The ladies asked me what was wrong, and I asked where I was. They told me as I slowly started to remember everything, but I never stopped crying. Mother and Dad appeared at my sides a moment later, and to prove how much of a mom she is, Mother pulled a tissue out of her pocket for me. Beat That Nurses!

They wheeled me back to my room and I fell asleep for a bit due to confusion and dizziness. When confused, go to sleep. Obviously, Mother stayed by me and wouldn't stop taking photos of me sleeping. A lady gave me water and a straw, the young nurse gave me chocolate milkshake (which I drank promptly through another straw). I was also given a strawberry yogurt because my mouth kept on bleeding and it would soothe it and my throat. I fell asleep every so often and told Mother that you could swallow up to a pint of your own blood without going sick. She didn't want to know, but nodded nevertheless.

Look at my hand tube! Yuck!

The nurse that I didn't like much came in to take my hand tap off and blood started pouring everywhere. It went all over my dressing gown and pretty much covered a majority of my hand. She said it was a good thing I was fine with blood, and it's sort of true... I'm not fine with my own blood!

The surgeons came in and explained what had happened. They told us it was Traumatic Bone Development, an empty cyst. They then went on to remove some of the bone, so that when it heals, the hole will be no more. I'm still shocked that they removed some of my bone. I mean, dude... What?! Anyway, I have stitches all up the part where your cheek meets you gum on the left lower jaw.

I kept spitting out blood, and then was given some painkillers. I have a packet of paracetamols, and a packet of ultra-strong ibuprofen. On top of that I have a mouthwash (with ethanol in) to take 4 times a day to make sure that the stitches are constantly clean. My cheek was swollen, but this morning it's massive. I can't really smile properly, when I do, it looks more like a snarl.

If you could be bothered to read any of this, then I want to add that I'm extremely grateful for all of the texts I (and Mother) received showing concern and wishing me well. Manny, that includes you! Even though we don't text, I'm extremely grateful for every nice thing you've ever said both on my blogs, on MySpace and on MSN. Everyone, you're awesome!

Kindest Regards,

A Swollen but Loved,

Stripes xy