The Day of Reckoning

6:30am - prisoners last meal - small bowl of cereals and clear fluids then nil by mouth in preparation for the operation which is scheduled for 5pm (seems a bit late, I hope he doesn't start early). Apprehension slowly builds over morning - so good to have Sarah around; the kids are off to my mum's for a couple of nights of grand-parent spoiling which, not surprisingly, they rather enjoy.

Admitted to Bath Clinic at 12:30, bit of hanging around then straight up to Claverton ward with the news that my op has been brought forward by 1½ hours. That's good right? (his knife might still be sharp!), but hold on - I'm not psyched-up yet. What about the bowel prep? nurse doesn't seem to think this has been written up (could be a bit messy?) - she scurries off to check. In comes Mr-T (the consultant): he's pretty matter of fact:

"All set? Sign here!

I have to say, my signature is a bit shaky - suddenly weeks of calm acceptance has all but deserted me. No sooner Mr-T has left, the anaesthetist arrives. Sarah checks that he is aware of the untested risk of suxamethonium apnoea (patient doesn't recover breathing following muscle relaxant) which I may have inherited from my father. We have written this on several forms and discussed this with the consultant weeks ago. The anaesthetist looks shocked:

"Nobody tells me anything ... but we shouldn't need that, we only use it in emergencies!"

Sarah mentions that I am a yellow chicken and am terrified of needles and that I am anxious of the operation. The anaesthetist offers me a pre-med which I feel I should decline because I'm a man - but Sarah insists and also asks for some of that local anaesthetic gel they use for kids on my cannula hand.

Efficient nurse re-appears loaded down with gel, Temazepam pre-med and a red armband (??Sux apnoea??) and plastic bottle with pointy looking squirty thing on lid - this is the infamous enema which is rapidly applied where the sun don't shine. It's one hell of a job to keep ones buttocks clenched after that, while efficient, hurried nurse applies gels and armbands. Anaesthetist re-appears to insert cannula: the acid test on ring piece control. Finally I can relax and my bowel is considered 'prepared'.

A porter arrives and I am whisked away to theatre - Sarah holding my hand right up until the lift doors. We steal a final kiss - I can't remember ever having been so terrified, but I'm still putting a brave face on it for some reason: laughing with the nurse and the porter - I should be screaming! We arrive at an anté room in front of some double doors with a big circular window allowing a glimpse of the bright lights within. Dr. Sleep appears with some more meaningless words of assurance and squirts something into my cannula and I am left wondering what the last half hour would have been like without the pre-med. Moments later I have gone.... somewhere else.

... time passes ...