I regained consciousness...my eyes seemingly sealed shut, my mouth dry, my body heavy. I slowly opened my eyes, but where was I? I hadn't seen this room before, and didn't recognise the people who swarmed around me. I moved my head from side to side...it was a large room, with harsh fluorescent lighting dotted at frequent intervals across the ceiling. The walls were blank, and painted in a colour I would associate with a dentist's waiting room. There was an ambience...purposeful chatter, but I couldn't tune in to what was being said. People hovered over me, fussing around me. What had happened? My brain computed what I was seeing...I was at the gym, and the way people were fussing, I must've passed out or had a seizure or something.
"It's ok", I said. "I've recently had brain surgery...I think I've had a seizure." How embarrassing...my fears coming true. I'd not only had a seizure, but in front of a room of strangers. How must they have felt? Did I do anything weird?
"Peter", a voice said. "You're at LGI, and we've just brought you out of your anaesthetic".
I felt relief...and confusion. Despite the aforementioned absence of thought or feeling, my first instinct was that I'd had a seizure. Why had my brain taken me there? My brain quickly tuned in to the moment. I was alive. My brain seemed to be functioning. What about the rest of me? I took a moment to focus on my surroundings properly, and was in the presence of two nurses. This was the recovery room. I was surrounded by a series of wipe-clean surfaces and open spaces for the staff to bring me round, and to deal with whatever faced them.
The nurses removed the cannulas from my feet, and from one of my arms. I saw the the extraordinary length of the device that had been in my arm. "What did that one do?" I asked. "That was in case we needed to administer drugs directly to your heart." The nurse replied. I was barely conscious, but the reality of needing drugs fed directly into my heart hammered home the seriousness of what I had undergone.
Next, it was my arms and legs' turn. I flexed my arms at their elbows, and lifted them from the bed as I wriggled my fingers. Everything felt heavy, but it all worked. My right arm felt like I had slept on it for about a week, and it ached to bend it, but that didn't matter. It bent without assistance. I lifted both my legs from the bed, and tried to wiggle my toes. Success. My arms and legs, irrespective of weakness, we're working. I had remembered a friend at school who had undergone an operation, and suffered nerve damage in her leg, so was heartened to see that all of my limbs were functioning. The worst case scenario was 'limb weakness', as it'd been phrased on the consent form. If this was the case, bring on the physio.
My brain seemed to be operating ok, and my body was too. I raised my head and between my feet, could see a cold water dispenser. This was torture. My mouth was drier than ever before, and I couldn't get up to fill a cup.
The torture was about to get worse. "Can I have some water please?" I asked. The nurse replied, "Oh, we're not supposed to give you water so soon. Your stomach might not be able to take it yet." After a few minutes of banter, and light criticism of torture on the NHS, she gave in. I was provided with what felt like the holy grail. Picture the films of days gone by, where a disheveled man, clothes in tatters, crawls through the desert with more sand in his mouth than saliva. That was how I felt. Could I sip this water? No. I drank the water quickly, savouring the feeling of cold liquid passing my lips. I suffered no ill effects of the water, but the activity had exhausted me. I was suffering no pain, and was clearly under the influence of either the anaesthetic, or pain medication. I could move, speak, think, and smile - I'd made it, and I felt good. I drifted off into sleep or unconsciousness...I don't know which.
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