Waking Up On The Other Side

The few minutes immediately following my wake-up were probably some of the worst I’d ever felt in my life. I was under the surgeon’s knife for more than 10 hours the entire duration of which I’d spent lying face-down, as the surgeon had gone in though the back of my head.

What happens when you spend 10 hours lying unconscious face-down, as I’m sure a few of you know (no names mentioned) is that all the natural moisture produced in your nose and throat starts to collect in the lungs and nasal cavity. Ordinarily you would just cough to clear your throat but when you’re unconscious, there’s really nothing you can do about it until you wake up.

When I eventually came to, I felt like I was drowning in my own mucus and completely helpless because I was still semi-anaesthetised. I regained conciousness slowly and when I was awake enough to move my arms, the first thing I did was yank out the tubes that were connected to my nose and throat in the hope that this would make me feel better, which it didn’t.

I was however, pleased to see some familiar faces when I started making sense of my surroundings. My surgeon, my sisters, and Helen were all around to tell me where I was and what was going on. I was in the intensive care unit at the hospital and seemingly hooked up to all sorts of monitoring devices, tubes, drips and some other pretty unpleasant things things that I don’t even want to mention here. I had other patients either side of me, most of whom were passed out or in a similar state of bewilderment to me. I think I won the prize for being connected to the most tubes though, I even had one coming out of the top of my head!

The next thing I remember hearing was Professor Poon telling me that the surgery was a success. He had removed as much of the tumour as it was safe to, which is to say almost all of it apart from the part where it connected to my brain, for fear of causing brain damage. We will need to observe that remaining bit over the next few months to see if any radiotherapy will be needed to control it (hopefully not).

During the hours that I was unconscious, they had already sent a tumour sample off for analysis and confirmed that it was benign!! This was probably the best single piece of news that I received, as this would have been the difference between a gradual but relatively painless recovery vs. cancer spreading to other parts of my body, chemotherapy and all of the nastiness that comes with that. Thank God that it didn’t go that way.

Playing Witness to Death

That same morning, I saw something that I will remember for the rest of my life. In my blurry state of semi-conciousness, I was woken by the sound of panic. There were people running frantically all around me. The doctors and nurses were talking very loudly, almost shouting, but I wasn’t sure what about. But then in the background I noticed a continuous monotone beep and came to the sickening realisation that it was the sound of a heart monitor flat-lining. The second shock came as I realised that it was for the guy who was lying in the bed right next to me

He wasn’t particularly old, he looked in his early fifties. A bit frail, but then again so were most of the people in intensive care. I had noticed him earlier but he looked like any other patient there - he certainly didn’t look anywhere close to death.

The nurses rushed to pull the curtain around his bed to hide what was happening but there was no mistaking the frantic silhouette of a young doctor trying to revive him with CPR, using the weight of his entire body to push down on the man’s chest in a desperate effort to try and get a heartbeat. It was like a scene from E.R., except it was real and happening right next to me. All the time, underlining all the noise and commotion, was the persistent, monotonous beep that was telling everyone that none of it was working.

After what felt like hours (but it must have just been a just a few minutes) I heard the voice of someone who I can only assume was the senior doctor on duty. His exact words, which will stay with me for the rest of my life, were:

“Paul, stop. Don’t waste your effort. It’s already the end”.

This was shortly followed by the sound of the dead man’s wife and daughter being brought in to say their final goodbyes along with all of the crying and hysteria that you would expect to come with that.

It was pretty harrowing, but it did make me reflect on my own situation afterwards: I had been fortunate in so many ways, I discovered my tumour early and completely by chance, my surgery had been smooth, I was alive and well, and at that moment I felt that I had been blessed and was deeply grateful for it.

It’s a cliché but good health is indeed a blessing and should never be taken for granted. It’s only when you lose it or when you see someone else lose theirs do you really appreciate its importance. Not just to you, but also to those around you. If you have yours be grateful for it and do whatever you can to look after it. You only have one body after all.