Timeline of ACL Surgery Day
Below is an account of my ACL surgery, purely from my perspective. It starts from my check-in to Fitzwilliam Hospital, and concludes with me checking out.
12noon to 1.20pm:
Booked into private room, yay private insurance as an inpatient. Was provided and changed into patient gown, faux-underpants with very loose weave (airy I’d say), gowns are of the type with bum on show.
Nurse Sophie steps out to be replaced by Serena to fill in a digital paperworks and applied the all important ID wrist tag.
Lady with strong accent asked for my food order, cheeky glints in her eyes, Ukrainian maybe? “Can I order any of the starter, mains and desert?” “Yes but most people don’t eat after surgery?” “So I should order less?” “No you can order” “So i can order anything?” “Yes but no one eats them, you can order anything” merry-go-round detected, I ordered everything. “OK, you order what you want” Cheeky so-and-so.
Pam the Physiotherapist introduced herself, proceeded brief me on what to expect during recovery. Shortly, in came Pam bearing a set of crutches, she was keen ensure I was setup and confident of its use before the pain meds post-op. On past injuries, I’d always used crutches to bear weights of the injured leg. Pam set me right - it's main purpose is for balance, not weight. Yes, share the load while it’s painful, but for the best recovery current best practice is to ensure a natural walking gait. On stair - “Good to heaven, bad to hell” is actually about which leg to lead with when up or down the stairs.
Lastly, in came Dr Prakash the anaesthetist and Doctor Subramaniam, both introducing themselves, briefed me about their respective procedures - all of which was a blur, but I trust the gents to perform well. Funny thing to observe Dr S pulling out a big marker to draw a big arrow on the intended leg of operation. “We can’t proceed without this mark, Mr Chong” (we don’t want to cut the wrong leg now do we?)”
Hah, Wifey and I joked about the same thing.
I was perplexed by this - good leg was given a nice stocking to wear. Note to self: need better defined calves. These are of course part of the thrombosis prevention protocol, post-surgery I would later be instructed to jab myself with blood thinners for 12 days (with needles, boo).
Can’t get over the stocking look, why did it go out of fashion for men? All I need now is a tutu to complete the look.
1.20PM
Wifey went home just before Op time, and I was walked over by Op theater director (OPD) to the Anaesthetist room. Hospitals are always a maze to me, and going anywhere new exaggerates the perceived distance of travel. Nevertheless, sprinkles with copious ID verifications (protocol to prevent operating on the wrong patient, I think), and also between application of ECG, BP, O2 saturation devices on, I learned that my OPD was a ex-RAF personnel that had to go private after the cost-cutting measures (moving the forces to use civilian hospital).
As the prep in the AR goes, having a tourniquet on left thigh (careful around the jewels) was quit the discomfort, but lucky it was left loose while I’m conscious. Dr Prakash the Anaesthetist (a mouthful word by the way) applied a Cannula needle on left wrist.
Anaesthetist pumped antibiotics, and presumably the a complex mixture of proprietary sedation liquids thru the cannula, I was then given a mask to breath thru’, presumably another cocktail of oxygen and laughing gas for good measure. I lost consciousness after 4 deep breath, remembering the air tasted strange, and I'm off to the races.
4.20PM
Surprised I had the presence of mind to check time.
I do remember asking “what is this place called?’”, “this is the recovery ward.”
Woke up very irritated, as though my concentration (while performing duties of utmost importance) was interrupted, and a keen-ness of “getting back to it”. This was different than my last surgery, was I in a different state of mind, or on a different kind of drug?
Later I would find this confused state confirmed from my hospital chart.
There’s not much detail I can offer beyond the memory of being given water, registering pain, being reminded that I was operated on and given morphine.
Post-op is a very cold place. Not emotionally, the staffs are brilliant- attentive and comforting. It’s our own bodies, sedation and lying on your arse for 2 hours will do that to anyone’s metabolism. Despite the thick duvet and early autumn sunshine, I remember how cold I felt, and how dry my mouth was (still is, thanks Opiods).
Titus was there, Titus is the nurse that attended me, and helped me from my confused senses. I would later asked for his name again, so all was well.
5.27 PM
Timestamp of selfie on being wheeled back to private room. No surgery can take that stupid selfie grin away.
It was all a blur, but Pam the Physio was back in very soon - and in a haze I was fitted with a hinged brace. Pam must’ve mentioned more but really it was all a messy list of actions… nurses taking blood pressure, someone injecting into my tummy, and dinner’s ready, Catering asking what I want for lunch and dinner (deja-vu or hadn’t I answered this before)….Dr Subranamiam visited, then Titus checking in on me.
As I recollect myself after thanking Titus again for some help, and asking his name for they umpteenth time, to which he breaks a smile and shakes his head as he exits “you’ve asked me before, Wei”… that’s now a running joke. Refocusing on myself…. oh yes, they have left me in my gown, with plastic sheets beneath me (presumably in case I poo myself mid-op) and a jumbled mess of duvet over me, all very uncomfortable, not very tidy and I have localised heat zones amongst cold ones.
Pre-op felt recent, yet it’s seems quite a distance ago.
8.17PM
Timestamp of hot Chocolate nurse Jade gave me.
No longer sure of myself, I’d decided to just learn of Nurse Jade’s name from her tag. Jade’s experienced, and very comforting, she is very good, comforting and oozes emphaty. Yet of course I appreciated her more because she brought me hot chocolate and extra Border butterbread biscuits after I barfed all my salmon & potato meal, plus tomato soup. Whatever it sounds like in Ukrainian, I can hear “I told you so” resonating from a very judgemental Ukrainian canteen. Argh as they cleared both barf and dinner tray I realised she conveniently left out the carrot cake.
What’s really appreciated was Jade’s watchful patience supporting my first attempt at getting out of bed to change, I was so fearful of the pain, tentative at the crutches, subconsciously leaning onto any external support. Yet she knew better than to offer too much. She let me do it myself, and that is correct and important - she did help me with closing the bathroom door tho. As I changed out of the bum-fest gown to comfy baggy shorts and tees, I felt renewed and confident of my recovery.
10.30AM
It’s been a story of blood measurements, pain meds, sleep, phone messages and repeat until time to go home. This was after the Physio had seen me again to verify my discharge, Nurses Amina with the laxatives (too much opiods means constipation - they left that out of House MD) and a good bag of meds from Nurse S (can’t remember).
Oh, my punishment for not keeping my Salmon dinner in? No bread and wrong juice for my full English breakfast.
