Bottom's up

Ahem…. confession time
My name is Vanessa and I recently had an operation.
I had to stay in hospital for five days.
I had a Very Very Large Abscess on my derriere, my booty, my bottom, ok, my ass…
In the last six weeks I have shown my bottom to SO many people I began to get quite glib about it.
The stay in hospital was followed up with having my dressing changed three times a week by the nurses first at home then at local surgery – hmmm lovely.
I am now able to converse quite readily with my bum in the air whilst some poor nurse packs, cleans and describes my wound as “looking beautiful”…. she really did.
And I was grateful.

It was quite simply one of the strangest experiences of my life.
When I was first ordered to Hospital A&E by my GP, I waited two hours to be seen.
Not bad, could have been up to four hours wait.
My turn finally came, and my name was called.
Was it the kind, old, wise-looking doctor I had seen coming in and out? No.
Was it the pretty cool looking young hip nurse? No.
Was it the matronly nurse who looked like she’d seen it all during at least 700 years of A&E. No.
No. It was of course, a young, tall, dark and handsome Doctor with an unplaceable accent and a twinkle in his eye.
Takes me into a cubicle and asks what my problem is….
How much did I want to invent ingrowing toenail? Or suddenly…. is that tummy ache I feel?
Instead, I tried to maintain some cool, dignity and think I said, something like:
“Although, this is clearly not the look I have been aiming for this season, and it certainly isn’t feeling very glamorous…. but I have a large abscess on my bottom and my GP says to come straight here as I can no longer sit or walk without Muchos Pain.”
(medical term for handsome doctors with foreign accents)
I definitely saw a flicker of humour/empathy/HAHAHA cross his face but, bless him…. he put me out of my misery immediately by explaining:
“I won’t ask you to show me as the surgeon will make the operational decision so wait here while I go get her.”
I thanked him as he left the cubicle, when he poked his head back through the curtain and said,
“I won’t ask you to take a seat.”
How very intuitive that I would rather stand…

The operational guru in charge admitted me to the ward. Reggie was with me by this point and I handled it all really maturely by crying and saying I didn’t want to stay in hospital and wanted to go home.
It didn’t help that my bay had a resident Crazy Lady. And by that I mean the Crazy Lady types that are easy to spot as they throw their zimmer frames around and ask all the patients which shopping centre we were in. After a couple of days I became quite fond of her and was brave enough to chat but it was a tad intimidating on day one.
Anyway, I waited a couple of a days for my op. Torturing myself over the thought of a general anaesthetic. Last summer, I past the age my Mum was when she died. It’s been kind of a new era having outlived her.
I convinced myself that the irony would be, I would survive potential hereditary cancer this long and then die having an abscess removed from my bum.
I told the anaesthetist.
I told the Nurses
I told the pre-op people...
I cried all the way to theatre telling them how my mum had died and I didn’t want to….
Right before they put the mask over my face I even confessed to something I may or may not have done a thousand years ago at a rave, but could have caused an undetected heart problem??!!

When coming round in recovery… I thanked the nurses 4 thousand times…. I cuddled the lady who I think just came to change my water jug. I thanked the person in the lift, I thanked the nurse who gave me the morphine (wow…. good shit man)

I was SO happy to be on this planet.
I clearly learn my lessons in not the most traditional ways.

I am more than grateful to still be here, will do what I can to dodge the cancer that wiped out my mum. And I will try my best to enjoy every day – or at least remember a shit day is still an advantage.

And I am very grateful two months on, to sit down on Both Buttocks.