TheBanyanTree: It's all good

[PJMoney]

>From the window of our room on the hotel's 7th floor I could see that
the hospital complex was only a couple of blocks away.  Of course the
complex itself spreads over several blocks and the part I had to get to
was on the far side but I wondered if maybe we could walk through the
middle of it to get where I had to go early the following morning.  It
looked likely and walking would be so much easier than manoeuvring the
family sized hire car down the hotel's exceedingly narrow car park ramp
and then looking for a parking spot at the hospital.  Since I had to go
out anyway to buy Bonox and jelly and since it was too early for the
shops to be open I figured an initial exploratory walk could be a
fruitful use of time.

And so it proved to be.  About ten minutes away we found an entrance at
the old section of the Prince of Wales.  From there a long corridor
passed straight through several buildings and finished at a bank of
lifts that gave access to the front of the new section, right next door
to Royal Womens'.  Thank God.  I really wasn't looking forward to having
to go by car.

We headed back down the corridor and turned towards the shops.  It was
Sunday morning, 8.30 am, and a whole bunch of them were open for
business, including the Coles supermarket where we eventually found what
I needed.  Then it was back to the hotel room to swallow purgatives and
wait for them to work.

Next day, at 7 am, we presented ourselves at reception, completed some
paperwork and were directed to the gynaecological oncology ward where I
was told to shower, dress in a hospital gown and get into bed.  There
was a hat to put on and thick white stockings.  My legs were wrapped in
a complicated pumping apparatus designed to prevent deep vein thrombosis
and then the anaesthetist came.  He was suitably reproving of my
dreadful smoking history, listened to my chest, mentioned that should
the procedure take longer than expected there would be a loading on his
bill and asked for assurance that our distant address would not
encourage us to think that we could get away without paying.  Then the
bed sides were pulled up and off I was taken to the anaesthetic bay
where he put a cannula into a vein in the back of my hand and injected
something that produced a strange metallic taste in my mouth before it
knocked me out.

The next thing I remember is being questioned about how much pain I was
feeling.  On a scale of 0 to 10 where would I put it?  Not unbearable
but definitely there - I'd say 4.  The same question was put over and
over and I was starting to get irritated by it when I realised, with
gratitude, that the answer was 0.

Some time later I noticed that there was a crowd of people around my
bed.  The surgeon was doing his round.  He said to me, "It was benign." 

I had been reconciled to the idea that it would be malignant.  I
couldn't see that, in a woman my age, ovaries have any good reason to be
doing anything other than involute and atrophy.  So I was happily
surprised by his news.  

And now I know what it feels like to be given my life back again.  Next
thing is to figure out what to do with it.

Janice