Wednesday, 26 September 2012

Facts. Fiction. Needles.

I spent last Friday at the hospital.
It was a vascular surgery that has left me limping slightly and has provided me an interesting lesson on how to keep reality from fiction separated.

Fiction:
The doctor tells you: "it's a very quick procedure, you'll be home by noon"

Reality:
The surgery in itself is very quick, but the procedure to check-in into hospital, undergo the surgery and check-out of the hospital is going to be dull, long and exhausting and will leave you in a state very close to a nervous breakdown.

Fiction:
The nurse tells you: "I shall be with you right away. Just give me two minutes."

Reality:
What she means is: "I shall be with you right away. Just give me two minutes... after I had my coffee break, chatted with a doctor and three other nurses, went out for a fag, took care of something else, had my pizza delivered for lunch and... what was it that you wanted, again? Oh right, I shall be with you right away. Just give me two minutes"

Fiction:
The doctor that looks like Stanley from Leon tells you: "it's not going to hurt"

Reality:
The doctor that looks like Norman Stansfield from Leon tells you: "Ah ah! I was kidding! What do you think, we laser your vein and it's not going to hurt!?!?"


Fiction:
The doctor tells you: "You won't have to do anything in particular after the surgery"

Reality:
Norman tells you: "Have I mentioned you the shots of heparin you'll have to inject yourself??? Ahhh...."

Only 2 medications left

Yep, after I managed to leave the hospital I had to drag myself to the pharmacy and get a nice set of 6 ready-to-inject heparin, to prevent possible thrombosis to the leg (I already got Dr. House lovely temper, we don't want to add the walking cane, do we?).

I will never ever understand people that inject themselves: drugs or botox, doesn't matter. It's the injection in itself that leaves me puzzled.
How can people stand to do such a thing to themselves. It may sounds weird, given the tattoos I carry around, but my brain seems to distinguish clearly between a tattoo ink needle and needle connected to a syringe.

And mind you, this is not even a big needle! It's quite tiny, it doesn't need to get that deep, it's not to be injected into veins or anything. Still having to "stab" myself with it is the thing I dread the most of my whole day. It takes me more time to get myself "ready" than to actually inject the heparin.

The first injection was quite easy, as my mum was over for the weekend and she took pity on my shaking hands and deep breaths. But from the second injection on, it was on me.
The first time I pinched myself with the needle, unsure of how much force to use, so I got some bruises. here and there. However I think I got better and I'm so glad that tonight is the last round of treatment!

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