Hospitalised! (‘Life’s a Journey’ Nostalgia Link-Up, Week 60)

Welcome to year two of our weekly series of ‘link-up’ Posts which reflect on life’s journey, old memories and family stories (see below for more info).

I am going in for a minor Op this week. In my pre-op interrogation, I was asked whether I’d ever had a general anaesthetic before. Having replied that yes, just one time in 1988, I’d been ‘on the slab’, the nurse reassuringly advised me that medicine had ‘come on a bit’ since then.

Thank God for that, I thought.

Anyway, this made me think about the occasion of my 1988 hospitalisation, so I thought it was time to record it for posterity.

I was one of those young adults who had constant issues with their tonsils. It got so bad that I was getting ulcerised tonsillitis about once every two or three months. Time for the chop.

I remember little about the surgery itself. Maybe this is because I was unconscious.

I do, however, recall the recovery period. The Cold War industrial strain of anaesthetic I had been given brought on a bout of raging nausea. I stumbled, still heavily sedated, to the tiny wash hand basin in the cold Birmingham children’s ward and succumbed to an excruciating hour of vomiting. Acid bile against open wounds. I can still feel it 25 years later.

I also remember, specifically, that I was fed a breakfast of cornflakes immediately after I came around. Yes, cornflakes. If there were a more inappropriate food type with sharper corners to feed a tonsillectomy patient, then I’d sure like to see it. Ouch.

At the age of 21 I was already a homeowner as well as the owner of a particularly useless boyfriend. My mother rightly worried that the combination of a sore throat and the lack of a manservant would result in my bodily demise into starvation once I was discharged from hospital, so she set up a permanent vigil and an endless supply of tomato soup and straws. God love that woman.

I am forever grateful for the violent nursing treatment I was given in 1988. I lost almost a stone in weight in the two weeks after my operation. I wonder if I could ask to be fed through a straw when my leg is in plaster this week?

Have you any memories of hospital stays as a child/growing up? Tell me about yours…… Join the Linky or leave a comment. Memories come in all shapes and sizes, so make sure you capture them. I heart nostalgia.

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