Tag: hospital

Now that it’s 2012, and I have a little spare time before I go back to work, I thought this would be a suitable opportunity to reflect on the past year and summarise what I’ve been up to.

Family

Ellie’s operation

Ellie gave us a bit of a scare earlier this year.  What started off as just a niggling pain in the chest turned out to be gall stones, which was at times crippling and meant she had to avoid anything even remotely fatty for several months.  She found that change of diet difficult, what with not being able to eat cheese or chocolate.  Still, the operation went very smoothly and she was back on her feet and eating naughty things soon afterwards.  My biggest confession here is that I’m still ever so slightly jealous at how quickly she healed after her operation, compared to me and my hernia (which is mostly fine now, incidentally).

Peter leaving home

This year my littlest brother flew the nest, finding a lovely little church in Uffeculme to go and be a trainee youth worker at.  I went to his induction service, which was a great way to support him as he began his new ministry, and an opportunity to meet (albeit in passing) others like him and also the vicar he’s working with, who seems very nice.  Unfortunately, despite booking a date in with him, we didn’t get to actually visit Peter on-site this year (more on that later), so hopefully we’ll reschedule that for early 2012.  It does leave Mum and Dad’s house somewhat empty though; apparently their food bill has roughly halved now that Peter’s moved out…

Read Peter’s blog.

France holiday

Apart from a weekend in Weymouth, we as a family have never had a holiday until this year.  Ellie and I have been married for 4 years, and that was all we had managed.  This year we took advantage of Ellie’s Dad’s holiday home in France, and had a lovely week with them.  We had a fantastic day on the beach, generally enjoyed chilling and not doing too much, and although it was short it was much appreciated.  The travel was an adventure – driving on the wrong side of the road isn’t actually too hard at all, although the weather on our return journey made the ferry crossing quite uncomfortable (not that Samuel seemed at all bothered by that).

Samuel’s visit to hospital

Not to be left out, Samuel also necessitated a trip to the hospital, following a very high temperature that caused him to have a brief seizure.  That was a huge worry for us at the time, but thankfully it wasn’t anything to worry about in the end.  Apparently these things happen with young children, because their bodies aren’t able to deal with the heat as well.  No lasting damage, I’m pleased to say.

Grandma’s funeral

Ellie’s Grandma sadly passed away this year.  It wasn’t entirely unexpected, as she was very old and increasingly unwell, but it was still something unpleasant we all had to go through.  She had been growing increasingly senile, making conversation difficult, and although we’d managed to persuade her to move out of her bungalow and into a flat where she’d have people to help, she actually only lived there for a matter of weeks due to prolonged visits to various hospitals.  It was one thing after another, what with falls, blood pressure, infections, and so on.  In the end she had a fall while in hospital that led to a bleed on the brain which, in addition to everything else she was going through, was just too much.  Thankfully we happened to be visiting Ellie’s Mum at the time, so we were on hand to support her through it.  A useful bit of planning on God’s part, methinks.

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Some while back, at some point after Samuel was born, Ellie started getting pains in her chest.  It wasn’t too much of a concern to begin with because it didn’t always last long and didn’t stop her doing things, but gradually it became more and more of an issue, and eventually led to an ambulance being called out because she was in so much pain.  She was whisked off to Yeovil hospital where, after a fairly lengthy stay, she was sent home and told not to eat anything with any fat in it.  She had gall stones, and needed her gall bladder removing.

So today, finally, she had her operation.  She had to be at the hospital at 7:30am, which is a silly time in the morning, even more so because that meant we had to get up at 5:30am to be ready in time to leave the house at 6:30.  The journey in was pretty straightforward, little traffic to speak of, and we didn’t talk about the operation at all.  It was only when we got there and waited in the drop-off car park that we spoke properly about the op, and prayed together that it would all go okay.

And that was it.  I dropped her off and came home.  I wasn’t able to sit with her, or wait for her, or comfort her, or be around when she came round from the anaesthetic.  I felt quite helpless.

Samuel managed to stay awake all the way home, but only just, and went straight off to sleep when we got home.  Which was brilliant, because it meant I had time to go through the shower and everything else I didn’t have time for first thing.  He woke up eventually and we went to Tesco, and when we got back I phoned the hospital to find out what the situation was.  I spoke to the lady who was in charge of bed allocation, so she didn’t know exactly where Ellie was, but she said she’d give me the phone number for the ward where she’d be put after the op.  I went to fetch a pen, started writing down the number, and then my mobile rang – it was the ward I’d just been given the number for, telling me that Ellie was out of theatre and was doing well.  Talk about good timing!

I gave her a quick ring on her mobile, because the ward nurse had told me I was allowed to.  Ellie was compus mentus, which was encouraging, but she was understandably groggy so I didn’t keep her long.  Apparently she’d be let out later in the afternoon and they’d give me a ring when she was ready.

So Samuel and I played some more, and went to the park, and came back again.  And then I put Disney’s Lion King on, because I don’t think Samuel’s seen it before.  Not that he’s got enough of an attention span to watch it all the way through, but he did spend the first 20 minutes or so laid on his tummy underneath the coffee table with his eyes glued to the TV!

Finally, as I was giving Samuel dinner, Ellie let me know that she was being discharged and that she’d like me to pick her up from the hospital.  And so I bundled a load of stuff into the car and made the journey to Yeovil again.  I managed to find Ellie eventually, in a little ward in the women’s wing (I was almost surprised to be let in, maybe I just misunderstood the name…).  Curiously, there weren’t many staff around at the time.  In fact, because Ellie had already discharged herself and was just waiting for collection, I didn’t have to check with anyone that we were leaving, we just left.  It almost felt like I was stealing her away, as if we were sneaking out without permission.  It also felt odd that I hadn’t seen or talked to any medical professional the whole day – Ellie could have been looked after by gerbils for all I know.

Thankfully Ellie was in pretty good shape, all things considered.  She’d had the operation fairly early in the morning, and it had been relatively straightforward (it had taken about an hour in theatre, plus several hours recovery), and she seemed a lot more ‘with it’ than I had expected.  I’d forgotten to bring her squash though, which she’d asked for, but I don’t think she had the energy at the time to tell me off.  We talked about her experience most of the journey back, and when we got home my Dad had arrived and was getting dinner ready.

So all’s well.  God has looked after us all, answered our prayers, and will undoubtedly continue to work his little miracles as Ellie’s body heals itself from the ordeal.  We’re also really thankful for all the various family members who are looking after Samuel for the next couple of weeks, which means Ellie doesn’t have to and I don’t have to take time off work.  It’s amazing how things pull together!

Feel free to send chocolate, she can eat that now.

Five months.  That’s how long I’ve been incapacitated so far on account of my own body.  To start with it was just a pain around my belly button that wouldn’t go away.  That turned out to be an umbilical hernia.  I lived with that for a few months before I had an operation to put it right.  Then followed a lengthy period of recovery from the operation, a period that seemed to go on far longer than I was expecting.  As it turns out, I’m still not fixed after all that.

To explain, let me share with you a little of the detail of what they actually did when they operated on me (I’ll try to keep it brief for those who don’t like watching Casualty).  The problem was a small tear or hole in my abdominal tissue, just under my belly button, which was allowing the fatty tissue underneath to poke through and get slightly strangulated, causing some considerable pain.  I was under doctor’s orders not to lift anything, not to do anything strenuous, and basically to take it easy and do a little as possible until it was fixed.  The operation involved a general anaesthetic, a small incision above my belly button so they could get to the hernia, a few stitches to close up the hole, a few more stitches to close up the hole they’d made, and a hefty dose of painkillers to see me through the ordeal.  Simple.  Except that more than two months down the line I’m still in just as much pain and discomfort as I was two weeks after the operation.

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The body is an incredible invention.  I’ve often marvelled at its beauty, its intricacy, its delicacy, its toughness, and above all its ability to heal itself.  It’s that last one that I’ve been wondering at most recently, in light of the little umbilical hernia I managed to get and the corrective surgery that followed.  Perhaps I put my body’s healing abilities on a pedestal, or maybe I was just impatient, but I found myself surprised that well over a month after the surgery I’m still having problems with it.

The surgery itself went very well.  Not that I remember very much of it, of course.  Apparently when I came to after the operation I turned down a cup of tea three times before accepting, and had some garibaldi biscuits, none of which I have any memory of whatsoever (and yes, I still feel cheated because of that).  After the op I spent a lot of time lying down, resting, not doing very much, giving my body all the time it needed to get itself straight again.  Well, I say “all the time it needed”, in fact I was back at work the following week, because I’d convinced myself that sitting at a desk didn’t constitute effort.

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Good news folks, I’m on the road to recovery following my hernia operation.  I won’t bore you with the details… oh, who am I kidding, this is a blog after all.

Friday didn’t feel ominous or troubled at all.  There were no dark clouds, no rumblings of thunder, no vultures perched on the lampposts.  It was just an ordinary summer’s day, with blue sky and wispy white clouds and birds singing in the trees.  And, quite honestly, I wasn’t worried one bit.  Ever since I had been given the diagnosis I had remained calm and philosophical about the whole thing.  People had reassured me that it wasn’t scary or dangerous and they were sure I’d be fine.  I could have told them that.  It wasn’t until the night before that I had wondered why people seemed so intent on reassuring me, that perhaps I had been too blasé about the whole thing and actually there was something to fear after all.  But no, I pushed those thoughts aside, took a deep breath of clean morning air, and walked confidently – if slowly – into the hospital.

I was met with a look of surprise when I announced myself at reception.  ”Hello,” I said, “I’m here for an operation.”  I had so wanted to walk up to reception and declare at the top of my lungs “They’re going to take me apart!”  But I muffed it at the last minute.  How boring.  ”Okay,” the receptionist replied and, looking round me said “and… are they with you too?”  Yes.  My support crew.  My groupies.  My dedicated followers.  Or, to be more precise, my wife (who would be coming in with me), my son (who wouldn’t be), my chauffeur (because I wasn’t allowed to drive myself home), and my hanger-on (whose job it was to entertain Samuel).  From the receptionist’s expression, clearly I was the first person ever to have day-surgery who came with such an entourage.  I felt at the same time guilty and proud.

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No, that’s not a spelling mistake, I didn’t mean “holy”.  Nor did I mean “wholly” (not least because that would make the sentence incomplete).  I do actually mean holey, as in having a hole.  Yes, dear readers, I have a hernia.

There’s a hole in my abdomen, dear Liza, dear Liza,
There’s a hole in my abdomen, dear Liza, a hole.

For the uninitiated, a hernia is basically a hole in the muscle wall where the tissues and/or organs contained within are allowed to poke through and become strangulated.  It’s unclear as to when or how I sustained this impairment, but I first noticed it about a month ago as a pain underneath my belly button that didn’t go away on its own.  I paid a visit to my GP, who identified it as an umbilical hernia, and sent me packing to Bath Royal United Hospital for confirmation from a surgeon.  Thankfully I was still able to drive.  Otherwise it would have been a very long walk.

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(Written 15th Jan 2010, post-dated to 13th December 2009)

The big day has finally come!  My wife and I are now proud owners of a little baby boy, whom we have called Samuel Joseph Dawkins.  He was born just before 8am, weighing in at 8lb 7oz (and no, don’t even think of asking for that in so-called “real money”).

It all started at 11:15pm last night (well, technically it *all* started 40 weeks ago, but that’s another story…) when Ellie’s waters broke.  She wasn’t getting any contractions at that point, so we phoned the maternity ward at Paulton (which is our nearest delivery centre) for some advice on what to do next.  They said to come in for a quick check-up, to make absolutely sure that it was the waters that had broken and not something else; it was fully expected that we would come home afterwards though, as labour usually lasts many hours, especially for the first child.  Nonetheless, we packed the car with everything we would need for every situation, following our carefully crafted lists to the letter, before setting off for Paulton, which is a good 30 minute drive.

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