I wasn’t surprised to be awoken before the craic of dawn with a pleasant ‘Dobry Rano’ (Good morning) and then a full harangue of Czech. ‘Twas another pleasant matron who arrived with the blood pressure machine. She nodded towards my phone which I placed in front of her and she spoke slowly. Here’s what was translated, with my accompanying thoughts:

“Good morning little angel.”

Ah, how nice. I AM an angel, aren’t I?

“You must be naked and wear this camisole”

Oooh a cami? How fun!

“Today you will have your operation so you must use the lavatory at a rapid pace.”

Does this mean pee like a racehorse?

“They will come for you and you will have a nice sleep”.

God, remember the last time they ‘came’ for me. Santa Barbara, 2010, Psychiatric Ward, Unit 111 (Read all about it here:  https://orladoherty.com/a-pint-of-heineken-and-a-shot-of-lithium-please-part-one/)

I nodded and smiled and then spoke into my phone:

“I’m really grateful for all your help. Do I leave my knickers on?”

“Ne, ne, ne” (no, no no), came the response with a giggle, removing the blood pressure cuff. I have excellent blood pressure, something I brag about. Lying back, I felt parched having stopped eating and drinking the night before at 10 pm. I’m sure that if I was allowed to have a glass of water, I wouldn’t feel thirsty. It’s all psychological, isn’t it? We always want what we can’t have.

So, I removed my favourite new jammies and put on the ‘camisole’ which was a typical hospital gown, crisply folded, with blue and white flecks and long sleeves. I removed the large granny knickers I’d bought especially for this stay. No-one wants to see my bottom hanging out through the gap in the back of my camisole. Quick trip to the loo as fast as I could and back in bed to wait. Impatiently.

Mam was dead right to stay at home in bed that morning. She knows me well.  Annabelle arrived around 8-ish and had to deal with my edginess for about an hour. It went something like this.

“Morning gorgeous. Nice gown”.

“It’s a camisole actually”.

“Oh, how fancy”.

I knew I was grumpy and was about to take it out on my poor unsuspecting partner.

“Did you have coffee this morning, Annabelle?”

“Yes, gorgeous I did”.

“Was it nice?”

“It was lovely.”

“That’s nice. I can’t have coffee.”

“I know that. You’re having surgery today.”

“But why can’t I have coffee?”

“Orla.”

“What? It’s not as if it’ll affect the anaesthetic, will it?”

“No, but it could cause you to pee or poo on the operating table.”

“Oh, I’ve already done all that. Rapidly.”

“Rapidly?”

“As fast as I could today. The nurse told me so”.

Silence.

I continued.

“Did you have breakfast?”

“Just a yoghurt. I’m not hungry today.”

“Was it nice?”

“ORLA”

I lay back and closed my eyes, sensing poor Annabelle’s trauma at my childish behaviour. She already has two at home. She doesn’t need a third. Opening my eyes, I caught her sniggering to herself.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re such a baby.”

“I’m allowed to be a baby. What if he’s had some of that whiskey and he’s hungover, and his hand slips and cuts into my voice-box rendering me speechless forever?”

Annabelle continued laughing.

“Nothing will ever render you speechless.”

“Or what if he accidently cuts my spinal cord, rending me paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of my life?”

“Well, at least you won’t be speechless.”

Hmmph.

I closed my eyes again. Time was going too slow for me. Why aren’t they coming for me?

At that moment, the nurse arrived and I listened to the two of them babble away together, handing me a tiny pill to take. Must be to calm me down.

“The nurse is saying this will relax you” Annabelle handed me a cup of water, “but you must only drink a little drop, enough to wash it down”.

Bringing the tiny plastic cup to my lips, I savoured the taste of the water on my dry tongue, the coolness of it slowly edging its way down my throat. I controlled the pace of it slipping past my tonsils and into my oesophagus. What if I can never swallow again? I suddenly became aware of every part of my neck, my pharynx, my larynx, how they move together and apart in perfect automatic order. All these things we take for granted every second of every day. My manic brain launched into a tirade of negative thinking.  All of these things could be taken away from me in an instant. Damn, I should’ve eaten that chocolate my mam brought. What if I can never eat again? What if I need a feeding tube? What if I…

My diatribe was interrupted when a handsome porter appeared at the foot of my bed. Oh God Oh God it’s time. He had a beard, well kept, a warm smile, but then he opened his mouth and my stress levels increased.

“What’s he saying Annabelle?”, the little relaxing pill hadn’t kicked in yet.

“He’s going to take you down to the operating theatre, gorgeous”. Annabelle’s voice was shaking slightly. It hadn’t occurred to me that she was probably nervous too.

“Can you come with me? At least until they put me under?”

She had a chat with him and from what I gathered it was okay for her to come with me as my translator. PERFECT!

Before I knew it, I was strapped in across my chest and legs, and being whisked towards the elevators, the comfort of Annabelle’s presence keeping me calm. “Take a picture”, I chuckled as we were in the lift, the awkward silence building between me, the handsome porter, and Annabelle. She surprised me by whipping out her phone without hesitation.

Within 60 seconds I was being wheeled into the operating theatre, swift direction from the handsome porter letting Annabelle follow through the wide swinging doors, where everything suddenly appeared stark white, bright, and silver.

“Who are you?” a nurse spoke in English to Annabelle

“I’m here to translate for her”, she also spoke in English.

“Okay, you can come as far as here” she pointed to a large rectangular hole in the wall where my bed was aligned in parallel. On the opposite side of the hole was a narrow, steel, cold-looking trolley which had my name on it. Not literally. But I knew this was the moment. I gathered that Annabelle was telling them about the loop recorder in my chest which caused huge consternation as three masked women wearing blue paper hats began prodding me to find it. In her finest Czech, Annabelle explained to them that the surgeon knew about it, that it wasn’t a problem, and they shouldn’t worry. Still, that moment of prodding with three voices spewing words I could not understand, elevated my nerves once again.

“They want you to slide over onto the metal bed”, Annabelle held my hand.

I think the pill was kicking in as no words came out right away. I managed a nervous smile and a squeeze of her warm hand which was in contrast to the sterile feeling beneath my now bare bottom.

“It’s fucking freezing”, I said.  

Were they to be the last words I’d speak?

Apparently.

I don’t remember much after that other than being aware of the oxygen mask going over my face and the cold sensation of something running through my veins, blinding lights overhead in little circles, and then “have a nice sleep”.

ORLA ORLA IT’S TIME TO WAKE UP

My eyes were glazed over and I saw the fuzzy face of a nurse, acutely aware of a sharp and heavy lump on the right side of my neck.

YOU CAN WAKE UP NOW. YOUR OPERATION IS OVER. YOU ARE GOOD

My eyes darted around the room, the oxygen mask affixed firmly over my nose and mouth. I was still in the theatre. But I felt warm and dreamy. I closed my eyes again and felt my bed moving. Doors slamming, beeps beeping, Czech voices czeching (I’ve just made up that verb). I felt drunk. Drugged. Unable to lift my head. That tight swelling on my neck was throbbing a bit more.

I don’t remember arriving into my room. I opened my eyes and saw Annabelle smiling at me. Below is an account of what happened, according to Annabelle. I have no recollection of it. But she has the videos to prove it.

Me crying, slurring: “I’m alive! It’s you. Look it’s you!”

Annabelle, laughing, not slurring: “You ARE Alive. It’s over. You did so well.”

A handsome doctor walks in and begins talking to Annabelle in Czech.

Me laughing, slurring: “Look at his hair. Oh my god, it is SO shiny. It’s silver. He’s a silver fox. Doctor, you have beautiful hair. I love it. Do you know how beautiful your hair is?”

Annabelle apparently assures the doctor I’m fine and he leaves. She turns to me laughing, saying our daughter had texted to see how I was. For the record, our daughter is a professional musician performing in clubs and cafes around town. I like to assist her with harmony, despite not having a note in my head.

“Oh, can we make her a video, I want to sing for her.”

At which point, I launch into Christmas carols at the top of my croaky voice, providing both the harmony and the main part all by myself.

I have not yet watched the video, the mortification.

I burst into tears again, then laughter while Annabelle rubbed my head and conversed with nurses and doctors who kept bopping in and out.

“Did you tell him I loved his hair?”

“Yes, I told him.”

“It’s so silver and shiny. I’ve never seen anything like it, Annabelle. It’s so full. It’s gorgeous”.

I had no idea I had a hair fetish.

At this point, I remember the pain starting to kick in. Daggers across my shoulder blades and up into the back of my neck. I moaned and cried about it. Apparently, they had to adjust one of my vertebras that was off-kilter, so had strapped me in an awkward position forcing my neck and shoulders backwards.

But I had no pain down my arm. No tingling in my hand. I imagined a magician coming in wearing tails and a top-hat, tapping his magic stick on my arm and Abracadabra!, a new hand. It was really quite remarkable. But the pain in my shoulder blades and neck was almost too much to bear, so the nurse slapped up a bag of something that went straight into my canula.

“You’re not Charlie Cullen are you?” Again, I have no recollection of this. For those who haven’t watched the Good Nurse on Netflix, this will not make any sense to you at all and I don’t want to spoil it for you.

“Is that Charlie Cullen, Annabelle? Keep an eye on her!” I was vacillating between delirium, mania and sadness.  

Part three and the finale of my story will tell you about the unfortunate incident that took place soon after my second bag of medicated fluid was transported quickly through my system. Published early next week.

Thank you for reading. I hope you were entertained for a few minutes!

(I have since found out that Annabelle did not tell that doctor how much I loved his hair).