It's one week post transplant and I have just been informed that it is likely that I have rejection and will be spending the next 3 days on very high dose 'mega roids'... I have been warned by the consultant that I am in for a rocky night.
It started horribly. I felt a catch in my throat and started coughing uncontrollably. I have never felt so panicked and in so much pain. I genuinely felt as though my wound was going to open up and my insides would come spilling out. There was no need for the call bell. It was immediately obvious to the nurses on duty that I was in distress and they were at my side swiftly. The lovely Irena stayed and held my hand to comfort me whilst another nurse rushed to get some oramorph. Once the coughing and pain had settled, I apologised profusely to the other patients on the ward for making such a fuss and waking everyone.
As warned, getting to sleep was proving difficult and the combination of all the meds was starting to mess with my head... And so the craziness begins...
Some part of my brain decided that the best thing to do to try to sleep would be to sing some lullabies. As a child, my mum would often sit on the landing outside mine and my brothers bedrooms and sing us to sleep. In my drug addled state, I believed that if I was struggling to sleep, everyone else must also be having difficulty so I should follow my Mumma's lead and sing. I went through the folk songs mum used to sing and found that I could only properly remember one, a beautiful lullaby called 'John of Dreams'. Once I'd stopped being able to remember that one, I moved onto musicals and worked my way through 'Hushabye Mountain', 'Stay Awake' from Mary Poppins and 'feed the Birds'. I'm not sure how that last one counts as a lullaby but I'll blame the drugs! Something switched and I realised that actually, I might be keeping the other patients awake and I wasn't succeeding in singing myself to sleep. Thankfully, I managed to doze off briefly.
At around 4am, I was woken for blood tests. This is when the fun really started...
Once more, I was struggling to get to sleep. I popped my iPod on with 'Pure Chillout' and closed my eyes in the hope that the music would help me to drift off. I started tapping my feet in time to the music. Then I waved them from side to side. I found that as I waved my feet, my bed began to move. I then found that I was able to steer my bed using my feet and so off I went on a little adventure.
I drove myself to the hospital lift and then down to the exit. I headed towards Belsize Park tube station, down the hill, past the lovely little boulangerie which smelled delicious as it was morning and just opening... Mmmm croissants! Into the tube station I went (still in the bed), through the barriers and down in the lift to the platform. I happily steered the bed onto the train with no stranger looks and people behaving as though this was an everyday occurrence. I knew exactly where I was heading and got off at Holloway Road. Left out of the station and across the road, I was in my favourite shop, Vivien of Holloway. Caius had arranged a private appointment. It was just me in the shop, lying in my hospital bed surrounded by wonderfully helpful (as always) Vivien of Holloway staff. They had been instructed that I could have any outfit of my choice but that I wouldn't be able to try anything on because of my condition. The lovely ladies spent ages picking up dresses and flourishing them in front of me so I could choose. I was in heaven! It then transpired that I was there to choose myself an engagement outfit! I don't remember making a choice but I left the shop with a goofy grin on my face and steered myself back to the hospital...
I woke feeling euphoric until I realised that I wasn't engaged and didn't have a new Vivien outfit, nor was I likely to be wearing any of my Vivien clothes for some time... I drifted off again and experienced a very odd hallucination...
I was at a friends house in Modbury where my cousin Richard and his fiancé, Alice, were showing off their new gold glug jug. They were saying how much better it was than Gill and Rob's one because it was gold. They were very proud of their gold glug jug. I then found myself discussing glug jugs with mum and saying how much I'd always wanted one. She told me that she had my Grandad's glug jug and that I could have it. At this point, she presented me with a ceramic tray...
The conclusion from these strange, slightly out of body experiences, is that I think I'm just a little bit odd!
Keep Smiling :)
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