Today I’m being treated like a princess. Right now, I’m tucked up in bed at home with a large cup of tea and scented Glasshouse candle for company, books strewn over the bed – any of which I may choose to read at my leisure, in the next few hours – but for now, just happy doing a spot of blogging.
Normally I’d view this type of activity shamefully self-indulgent, and hop promptly out of bed. I find it hard to be taken care of nowadays, to just loll about. But I’m under strict instructions to rest. Not to lift a finger. And rest tomorrow, too!
The princess treatment started this morning actually, at the hospital. I had about six different nurses fussing over me, each seeming to have a different job to do, a different form to sign. Then I had a little chat & chuckle with the surgeon and anaesthetist.
When in theatre preparing for the anaesthetic, I was a little overwhelmed with so many people attending to me. Was my ponytail ok like that on the pillow? Is the pillow comfy? Are you too cold? Let’s get you another blanket.. There was one nurse, whose only job it seemed was to stroke my hand in a motherly way. Another Doctor popping in just to say hello (I don’t know who you are, but hello!).
“So many people here just for a quick procedure,” I say. “I feel like a princess being doted on like this.”
“Well that’s because you’re special.” the anaesthetist said.
“Hmm, yeah okay..”
“You are. All of us are here just for you. You are very special.”
More gentle stroking of my hand, a quick chat with a nurse about feeling special (laughingly, we draw parallels between having a operation and your wedding day.) More checking that my pillow was ok, that I was warm enough..
Then the anaesthetic entering my vein. Ooh, that cool, familiar feeling again..
“Probably give it about thirty seconds,” he says.
“Ha! More like ten seconds….” Wow, here I go…
The next thing I know, I wake up feeling warm and deliciously drowsy. For a minute I think I’m in my own bed, and then remember.
Oh, that’s a lovely drowsy feeling indeed. Back to dreaming, please. Unfortunately I had been dreaming about beautifully-prepared kids’ lunchboxes, of all things. (Why kids’ lunchboxes?!) Not my ideal choice, but my brain feels like it’s happily floating somewhere outside my body, so lunchboxes it is…
Lots of dosing and some pain relief that comes in the form of injection into the thigh, which sends me off dreaming again. Bliss. I’d go another shot of the pain relief, but don’t want to push my luck.
Not long after, it’s time to go and I’m carefully escorted to the car by Mr.42 and a nurse.
“I’m OK,” I say. “Really, I’m fine!” But secretly, I’m enjoying every minute of being doted on, and would rather not like it to stop..
I get home to find Mr. 42 has bought me some dark chocolate and is planning on cooking one of my favourite meals tonight. I don’t want this to end!
Funnily enough though, this blog post has really taken it out of me. Maybe I’m not quite over the anaesthetic yet. I can barely keep my eyes open.