MORPHINE

I came to in the recovery ward at about 10pm. The first thing I could comprehend was the nurse telling me “you did so well, you did so well”. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. But I remember thinking that what I wanted to tell her was that I actually hadn’t done anything all, apart from lying on an operating table soaking up the happy juices while the professionals did their thing. But I also remember thinking how kind she was. It takes a special kind of someone to be kind. 

Those feel good thoughts diminished rather quickly. “Fuck”, I thought. I was in a world of pain. As best as I could, I took a quick glance around. I couldn’t see much, apart from two drains resting on my stomach. Why did my arms feel damp? Oh, I realised. The compression bandages were soaked in blood. “I need morphine” was the only thing I could manage to whisper before I drifted off again. 

Finally, I was in my room. Again alone, again by choice. I specifically requested no visitors. My family respectfully adhered to. If there is one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that people need and want different things at different times. I wanted to be alone. I don’t like people fussing over me, and I also wanted the freedom to be able to feel and look like death without the concerns of my nearest and dearest sitting next to me. 

What I needed, was to be in a pain relief induced sleep. What I didn’t need, were nurses giving me needles every 25 minutes. I also needed earplugs. The kind that block out the noise of the compression machines contracting on my legs every 34 seconds. And god damn it, I missed out on the wine service!

The next few days were a blur. Every time I wanted to instinctively move I had to remind myself that I had approximately 300 sutures holding me all together. Easy does it kiddo. You’re fragile, but guess what, it’s done! You’re now free to leave the past in the past. Or so I thought at the time. 

I finally got my sleep. A few weeks worth to be exact. Endone induced, but regardless, it was glorious. Sleep for me has always been about rejuvenation. An overactive mind gets the rest that it so desperately seeks. 

Recovery was going really well. I’m not going to lie, this was way easier than I anticipated. I was bed bound, but I was secretly smug that I was ahead of my class and the surgeon was overly complementary of my physical progress. 

I woke up one morning to some pain in my arm. I looked down and my entire upper leg was bruised and swollen. What was going on? 

My recovery was about to head south. That’s what was going on.