I agreed to go for the surgery, after I discussed the options with my partner. Not that you have much time before you have to give an answer. You sit there face the facts and here you are say what you would like. And what’s happening if I choose the surgery? He came with a paper, quickly recited the words and left me there.
“Consent Form – Patient Agreement to Investigation or Treatment “
Risk factor: infection, bleeding, nerve damage, stiffing, failed procedure, cast complications…and I couldn’t read the rest . The funny thing is that you actually have to sign this paper before you are going to be treated. Which really looks, that if anything will go wrong, that’s not their fault. The “Responsible Health professional”s name was also included in the form - I actually never met him. The “Statement of patient” – I understand that you cannot give me a guarantee that a particular person will perform the procedure. The person will, however, have appropriate experience. – I’m not even sure what this means. “Appropriate experience” – this doesn’t sound something I would trust.
But in that situation you don’t really think. Your rational mind will switch off and you will go ahead with something your instincts suggest. What would happen if you weren’t overwhelmed with all those scary feelings and you would start to ponder? Would you really go for something were is actually no guarantee for anything. Well the Health business is a risky business but it’s all built on our vulnerable nature. We hope the best so doesn’t matter if there is only 1% warranty for a successful treatment, we would still risk our life. How should I trust the medic when I don’t even know who it is? Or the anaesthetist? I could fall asleep and I might never wake up. And the best there is no guarantee and I have to sign it.
Another question came up, something else to settle. Am I going to stay in the hospital until the surgery or I would like to go home and be called in when they are ready for me? I hate hospitals, so I would prefer to go home. The thought of being with strangers together in a crowded room, listening to their yelling would make me feel even worse. But on the other hand if you “occupy” a place in the ward, that would mean your are going to be one of the top priorities. The hospital can’t afford to keep patience for long, due to the huge “traffic” and the lack of the beds.
Anyway Dr Patel got my autograph and we agreed that I will go home and someone will call me when there will be place available in the “Theatre” as they call the operation room. He informed me that the waiting list is long; however he will try to push my case forward. Not that this makes any difference for me, but why should I care? I mean obviously a child, someone old or very ill would have top priority, but in this case you are able to see just your own piteous state. I wasn’t even sure when this person will call me, what should I prepare… You actually don’t receive the relevant information’s at once, you get some here and there and when you are clever enough to ask questions.
Finally we got to that point when a porter took me to the plaster room and I got a pink one. The guy tried to cheer me up with this girly colour. He also said that I have to count with at least 12 weeks in plaster. Whhhhhhaaaaaaaatttt? The doctor told me this can be 4 to 6 weeks if I undergo the surgery. I didn’t even get the chance to complain, because the nurse placed me outside the room for another porter to take me back to the emergency room. I had to wait another half an hour for someone to get me. How I’m going to manage to work like this for 12 weeks? I wasn’t even sure that I can bear all the hassle for 6 weeks. Of course at that time I didn’t know that I won’t be able to work in this state. After a good while a nurse arrived, took me back to the A&E and I received my first crutches. And off you go!!!!!