Blood bath

The pain began to surge to 8.5 or a possible 9 on the pain scale. I was aware that there was a lot of blood. This time, it wasn't caused by tumours so what the hell was it? Also, after all  the stress and a hysterectomy, I was doomed to suffer in the same way as before the operation. Life really wasn't fair.

I was reluctant to wake Roberto. The man loves his sleep much more than I do. However, he sleeps like a cat and will wake up at the slightest sound so it was a matter of time before I heard, 'What's up, Liz?'

I explained the intense pains and more worryingly the bleeding. He pressed the help button for the nurses to see what was wrong. It seemed like a lifetime and the pain was rapidly becoming worse by the second. He was concerned that I was moving around a lot as always but at this point, nothing could settle me and certainly getting comfortable was out of the question. We needed to get proactive and at least make sure that the bleeding wasn't causing too much discomfort. Bless him, he changed my sanitary towels for me. He offered. I was reluctant for obvious reasons but there was no other option. All this with a tube coming out of my vagina. Now, I hope that he never has to do this again for another woman in his life. Or I have to ask a man or a woman to do that for me ever again though as I'll never have a hysterectomy again, the chances are minimal.

The nurse arrived and the first thing was to change the bed and sheets. I was in agony. Again, the order of the events are scattered and things may not read particularly coherently right now. I do remember one nurse or doctor (her uniform was different) brandishing a syringe which went straight into my arse cheek. Apparently, the painkiller was enough to put a horse to sleep. The best we could was sit and wait for it to take effect. We waited and I still felt worse. More (gentle) telling offs about moving and me too much in pain to protest. Heard that...I couldn't really answer back or protest. 

The super strong horse tranquilliser failed to work. I was desperately rubbing my stomach in some attempt to soothe the pain. Roberto asked me 'Are you wanking?' (my fault he knows that word) to which I thought or maybe vocalised that right now, I certainly wasn't feeling horny. The doctor/nurse returned with plastic gloves. I knew this involved fingers. She asked Roberto to leave the room to protect my modesty. The man had just been changing my sanitary towels and there was nothing left to hide anymore. Also, I wanted him there. It was all getting far too 'Doctor House' for my liking.

At some point later, a doctor arrived who could speak English. I was concerned that I had stretched Roberto's translation skills a lot and he needed sleep as he commented, 'it's going to be a long night'. I think at that point, I fell asleep so maybe it had just gone or the cocktail of painkillers had finally kicked in.

The doctor returned, more fingerings but with less blood and pain. Basically, as I lack the ability to sit still, I had abnormal bleeding because the catheter had cut me slightly inside. She commented that I'm hyperactive (so bring on the sedatives then) and needed to rest more.

Now, I've had an interesting array of accidents but being cut by a catheter may have topped the charts. And possibly that of others in my accident prone friends crew.