Operation | The Journey of My Left Foot (whilst remembering my son)

Monday 17th June

It was way back, on 16th April that I first visited the dermatology department of my local hospital. On that day I had a dodgy looking mole on my right lower back removed under local anaesthetic. The results came back as inconclusive, so erring on the side of caution, the surgeon decided I should have a wider local excision. So here I am: not the most awesome way to start your week, but needs must when the professionals make that decision based upon your best interests.

I was first in at 9am; introduced to two nurses, asked whether I minded a student being present, whether I was taking warfarin and if I had pacemaker. The surgeon then arrived and began to put me at ease. I signed the consent forms, and we were good to go.

Having stripped off and climbed aboard the gurney, I could not see what was happening, but I could certainly feel the many sharp jabs of local anaesthetic, (the surgeon had to inject more halfway through as I could feel a little bit too much for my liking!) I was cut open, the scar tissue and surrounds dug out, deep stitches and surface stitches applied, and finally a dressing gently positioned over the area.

And breathe . . . . And so to the recovery room for a welcome, wobbly-held, cup of tea.

Had a long chat with the ‘nice’ Macmillan nurse, about my left foot ~ I need to be taking it slow, with little bits of exercise and short walks, to help reduce the swelling, and also massaging in Bio Oil or Vaseline, to break down the fibrous collagen in the wound site (really doesn’t feel pleasant doing that at all!) Then she spoke about the possible sequence of events, going to Exeter for the lymph node biopsy procedure. Not pleasant either, but really is the best, and only course of action to take.

Am now in bed, heart is racing from the anaesthetic and tummy wobbly because it was uncomfortable, but thankful another procedure has been given a tick in the box.

Onwards and upwards towards a steady and comfortable recuperation.

It’s Friday 17th May, and the alarm goes off at 4:10am. We are out of the house and on the way to Plymouth a little after five. The sunrise is beautiful; colouring the sky in pink, yellow and orange.

Due to the lack of traffic on the roads, we arrive at the hospital car park at 6:35am, far too early! The appointment was set at seven thirty. Twiddles thumbs.

Upon arrival I didn’t know what to expect. I half imagined we’d be back on the road soon, after a quick chat. But it became clear that surgery was going ahead, and I was first in the queue. I spoke with nurses, the skin graft registrar, a fabulously jolly anaesthetist, and of course the wonderful plastic surgeon.

He really wasn’t happy that the Macmillan nurse had told me my results over the phone, and had also confused me with the order of events. My surgeon had wanted to speak to me himself about the melanoma. He asked how I felt, and there was genuine care and concern in his eyes.

He explained that the plan was to cut away a lot more tissue around the original wound site, slice a sliver of skin from my thigh, and magically affix it into place. I would then have a plaster cast set around my leg.

I went down to theatre soon after, monitors were placed here and there, bleeping that all was normal, an oxygen mask went over my face, and a thin needle introduced the anaesthesia into my system. I remember the eight, bright lights above me. zzzzzzzzz

Coming round, I couldn’t feel a thing, but I could see a fat, bandaged leg poking out from the covers. The nurses and doctors in recovery were amazing, so attentive, cheerful and professional. I was treated like a star!

About an hour and a half after coming round, I was discharged, and we began the drive home. Just before we left though, the anaesthetist popped her head around the curtain to see how I was doing, and to make sure everything was OK. She made a shape with her thumb and forefinger, to show the size of the new wound ~ it appears to be mahoosive!!

I spend a dopey afternoon in bed, taking the super strong painkillers at regular intervals. I now know I have to time it right to make a trip to the loo, ha ha.