Wounded Part III: Paper underpants

‘I am Jack’s swollen head’.

The voices start to fade in. I open my eyes. It feels like one second ago that the room disappeared. In reality over four hours have passed.

I have a tube feeding saline solution into my left hand. I have a tube draining blood from behind my right ear. I am an over-complicated machine for turning water into blood.

My head is bandaged, and throbbing a little. I am wearing nothing but ill-fitting paper underpants, and some anti-DVT stockings.

And now, just to complete the utter demolition of both my comfort and dignity, the nurse informs me that if I can’t urinate in the next 45 minutes, she’s going to insert a catheter.

But I’m not going down that road without a fight. I drink so much water that I’m surely violating water restrictions, and strain so hard to piss that I’m at risk of popping some of the 56 staples holding my head together.

Fortunately I succeed.

Considering what has just been done, I’m in surprisingly little pain. I assume it is due to the morphine they injected before I woke up, but the hours pass and the pain stays away.

The combination of sharing the room with three other patients, the nurse injecting antibiotics every few hours, and the constant beeps, wheezes and clicks going on means I don’t sleep much that night. Eventually the sun rises, and soon after one of the surgeons comes to admire his work. He’s pleased with the result, and that I’m not in pain. He says I need to have some x-rays taken, and I can go home.

Thank-you sincerely to everyone for the well-wishes and thoughts. It really does help to know you all care.

And thank-you to the nurses and doctors, who did a great job. I am still very satisfied with our public health system.

‘All the King’s horses and all the King’s men, couldn’t put Humpty together again’.

Humpty really should have seen a maxillofacial surgeon.

Brain-injury smurf is one of the lesser known smurfs

I don’t know if the reverse-sideways-Mohawk will catch on

Two weeks later: Sporting a few scars and a new hairstyle, but feeling pretty good

Wounded Part II: Not invincible

Actually, I suppose that’s a double negative. Maybe it should just be ‘vincible’. Anyway, I’m broken.

Once the dressing had been removed and the swelling had subsided, I had a strong suspicion that I may have fractured my skull. Perhaps it was the canyon in my forehead that gave me the clue? I went back to my GP who referred me for some scans.

I was expecting confirmation of a fracture. I was not expecting this:

You don’t need a decade of medical school to see there’s something wrong with that picture.

I’m booked in for surgery on Thursday (10/09/09). I had already accepted my fate before I met with the surgeon. I was actually quite keen just to get it over and done. That was until he told me how they were going to access the fracture: A coronal-flap with a mid-facial de-gloving.

If you’re imagining something like this:

then you get a point.

If you’re picturing this:

…you can have half a point.

I’m only joking because if I don’t I’ll cry. I don’t like having my blood pressure taken…and they’re going to peel my face off!

The worst part is waiting. No, that’s probably not true; I imagine the worst part will be when I wake up and my face is attached by staples. But the waiting is bad. I just want it to be over.

Before:

After: