There's a hole in my foot, dear Liza

Since I started blogging here last year I have made a few references to the medical condition from which I suffer (i.e. Morton's Neuroma) and I had every intention of posting regular blogages (hehe) of how my condition was progressing...especially during the pre and post-operative period. Well the road to Hell is paved with stuff like that. It didn't happen. So here is the latest news in summary form...

I had lots of pain, couldn't walk comfortably, had an operation, surgeon removed nasty nerve with lumps on, surgeon sewed me up, did bugger all for a fortnight, still have difficulty walking, getting better. 'Nuff sed.

That was the abridged version. Like it?

For those who want more, here it is with a faithful representation...

As time drew closer to the operation it seemed my neuroma sensed it had only a short time to make my life a misery and it set about making the most of its last few weeks in my foot. The pain grew daily and I was able to do less and less. At the end of most days, even a simple thing such as climbing the stairs in my house was a daunting and excruciating experience. Along with the pain and inconvenience, flying in the face of common sense and logic and my own convictions, I began to fear the operation and the worst case scenarios played over and over in my head. I had no reason to be scared but I totally freaked out...all the time.

I attended the pre-admissions clinic as required by the hospital. During this appointment the nurse raised some questions about my suitability for anaesthesia due to my propensity towards dizziness, palpitations, etc and set off in a panic to find the anaesthetist to address these issues. Oh and there was no consent form and both of these issues could be quite likely to prevent the surgery from going ahead. Long story short: the anaesthetist told me I was just a fatty and that I'd be ok to be put under and I drove to another hospital to sign the consent form.

So the day of the operation arrives and all my tension and fears left me right up until I was all gowned up and sitting just adjacent to the recovery room while two nurses discussed my pre-op meds. Then all those irrational fears hit me again. This was not helped a few minutes later when the drip in my arm malfunctioned and the anaesthetist and nurse argued about whose fault it was...until the anaesthetist discovered it was an equipment malfunction which "would have been pretty serious if she [me] was in surgery".

Then they all did their jobs.

I woke in the recovery room and was only in slight pain from that point on. The rest of the afternoon passed without incident and Steve came and got me and brought me home.

Here endeth part one. I'll tell you about the recovery in the next instalment.