Before & After The Operation

7 A.M, Friday 15 January, 2021

So in a couple of hours I will be under, out of it, lacking in consciousness, under anaesthetic and completely unaware about what a nameless surgeon of unknown skills will be doing to my throat or about the cameras that will be inserted down my throat to show the inside of my body and organs.

Oh well, as my Mum used to say “What you don’t know can’t hurt you!”. Sorry Mum, not very wise words.

So as the kookaburras sing their serenade out in my backyard it is time to pack up my computer and get Georgie out of bed to once again make the trek south east to the old homeland of East Bentleigh.

Before & After the Operation

We arrived at the hospital at about 8.20 a.m, 20 minutes late but no-one was pissed off or phased. As usual I wasn’t really, really nervous but I was nervous enough to gently “wring” my hands, Georgie noticed so I can’t deny it. 

The staff were fantastic as usual and answered any questions that I could conjure up, to the best of their ability.

Georgie stayed will me until they wheeled me away which wasn’t so bad because I ended up being second in the morning’s operation queue.

I whipped off my clothes and slipped into my little standard issue hospital outfit and then watched Georgie leafing  through her Instagram posts while I lay on the gurney like a Roman senator about to indulge in a feast.

I did have a chat with a couple of the surgeons while I waited. This was a double edged sword. They were great but re-affirmed my deep fears that they only see their therapies as being valid.

By the way I discovered the unmade surgeon had a name. It is Charlie to the nurses and Charles to the patients.

Then it was time to say goodbye to Georgie.

 I made the obligatory parade through the hospital on the gurney toward the operating rooms at about 10 a.m and arrived, I felt like waving to the people in waiting rooms and passing hospital staff.

I was in the actual operating room close to 10.30 a.m after being put in holding mode for about 20 minutes. By now I felt like one of the gang and quite comfortable but still anticipating the moment between wakefulness and unconsciousness after the anaesthetic gets pumped in. Everyone was chatty and I tried to make a few wise cracks to “:prove” that I wasn’t a wimp.

That transition between being aware and not being aware happens so fast that you don’t quite notice it and then you’re out until you wake in recovery area after the operation.

For some reason I just never seem to be able to remember the names of the procedures so I’ll use layman terms. Cameras down the throat to do further visual investigations and scraping more mucous tissue from the deep back of the left side of my tongue, what they go for is hopefully to scrape off enough material to find “the primary” via pathology.

Then it was OVER. No time seemed too have passed but I could feel that my throat was a bit tender. 

I spoke to Megan who was there during the operation later in the afternoon and it looks like they didn’t find anything abnormal during the operation so it’s now up to pathology to find whatever they can. I’ll be seeing the Head and Neck team at Monash next Thursday afternoon to get their diagnosis and recommendations.

My next big hurdle will be to peacefully and diplomatically co-ordinate the findings from the RGCC CTC test and any postulated outcomes from my natural therapies with the mainstream oncologists who, based on their training and experience, believe that the only viable options are radiotherapy, chemotherapy and surgery.

So back to “now”. 

I’m in a ward that could be named “Oldmansville” 4 grey haired or bald old blokes in their 60-70s all with some sort of cancer. 

When I returned from Recovery I really didn’t feel much like talking. I was still “purring” on my own version of Cloud 9.

After about an hour I decided to make an effort and engaged in a relatively decent conversation with 62 year old Greg in the bed to my left. He has a pretty intense lung cancer and is also pursuing some sort of natural, alternative therapy.

I overheard a conversation that he was having with a doctor and when he brought this up he was politely and instantly slapped down when he inferred that the natural treatment may have contributed to the slight diminishment in his tumour. The doctor was adamant that the recent dose of chemo was 100% responsible. No proof, no evidence, no interest in what Peter might be doing as an adjunct, just simply “I know what I’m talking about!”. Now this might be true but at the same time based on the lack of scientific explanation it could be also just raw pride on the doctor’s behalf.

I’m afraid that that’s what I’m going to be up against.

So overall today hasn’t been a complete tragedy. I’m even sort of enjoying myself.

It’s 5.20 p.m now and Georgie is on her way to see me for a while. That happened and now it’s 7.45 p.m and Georgie has just left the building, just like Elvis. I had the foresight to buy a really nice piece of Barrumundi yesterday from Cannings in South Yarra. I baked it last night and ate it for dinner tonight with a simple Greek Salad that Georgie brought in for me. I had a bit of Coconut Yoghurt earlier and some MCT oil so this should get me through the night in one piece. I always take my own meals on airplanes and hospitals, works for me.

The only and possibly the biggest deprivation all day has been missing my black coffee this morning because I had to fast before the operation.

I got a bit more chit chat going in the ward earlier. I keep making jokes about cancer, nothing too insensitive, because I want to do what I can to destigmatize the word. This word has so many meaning, so many outcomes, so many remedies that it needs to be re-constructed and re-defined and disemboweled.

It’s hard work getting a flowing conversation going and I’ve done my duty. I got the party going and  now so it’s time for computers, iPads, youtube podcasts, good music through earphones.

More tomorrow morning when I am armed with a dark, steaming, aromatic black coffee.