Just a not quick update from St Mary’s

foggy

Striker
So here I am in intensive care at St Mary’s. I’m very tired in all directions but here it is.

First off my train was late the other night. 44 minutes. That turned into almost 2 hours as a tractor ran into some overhead lines in Retford at a crossing. I got the first taxi to my hotel. The road was having a dooey up. Another 200 yards. These hurt but I got there. It’s amazing what your body can do if there is a big target in front.

Then off to no sleep, up then I trundled along to the hospital. Went up to the 4th floor and knocked on a door a sign pointed out to me. The surgeon opened it. The real life Mr Jamie Murphy. So I went in sat down chatted and signed another consent. Half an hour later I was on the gurney in the put to sleep room before the cutty up room.
The last thing I saw when turning off the telly was breakfast telly showing a debate in the House of Commons. Which explains why when I woke up from the operation and asked if I had any questions I said “who won the brexit vote?”
After I got my shit together I said am I clear and I was fairly sure he said yes. Then wheeled up to a recovery room where they did all sorts. Not sure what. I was off me tits. I left a message on here. Then off to intensive care. Which is where I’ve been since.
I saw the surgeon who said ‘you had a fistula with a tumour attached that had punctured into your bowel. - That explains why I am 3 stone lighter than 8 weeks ago. - And we have cleared and cut all the cancer out. Oh and we drained a litre of fluid out’. That explains why I couldn’t eat for a while.

Now I’ve heard this before and had recurrence so while I am the most overjoyed grateful lad in cancer land I know my future may still involve the fucker coming back.
But fuck it right now I’m clear!

Someone put in my lead up post last week that even the lads were going to put in an effort for me. I said steady on. Turns out we had rather a good result last night.
So a tube count. Two massaging leg coats at the bottom of my legs for circulation. They’re lovely, plugged in to the mains. Better than those exploding socks at Basingstoke. A catheter so I can piss in peace. Two blood drains. Right hand side. An epidural. That they got wrong. A doctor replaced it last night while I was under several sheets of plastic. The freeze spray showed it was hardly working at all. A feed line in my neck. Nothing in it yet though. A pulse monitor on my finger. A heart and blood pressure monitor in my wrist. A cannula in hand and something else in my neck for back up painkillers. Oh and the NG tube up my nose and down my throat. And the bag is empty. I think this is a good thing. A PCA button for pain control. Morphine. They tried Fentanyl. I said no. It does nowt. Two oxygen blowers for me sneck. A saline tube for hydration. Think that’s it.

No arsehole stent this time. Thank fuck.

The pain started rising today so they gave me diamorphine or in another way of putting it. Heroin.
Our lass isn’t here. I travelled alone. Her ‘bairn’ had a baby today. Girl. 7lb 5oz for those who are interested for no reason whatsoever. I don’t mind, the first few days are busy as with staff doing all sorts of stuff to me.
The bloke nurse this morning arrived on his shift. Introduced himself as my nurse for the day. And in the process of checking me over lifted up my gown and cupped my balls. I kid you not. He was wearing an NHS with coloured stripes in the background. Maybe it’s a new temperature check. Moving on.
I have lots of visitors lined up but only two at a time are allowed in. My slots are canny full so I’m enjoying the peace while I can. My circle is f***ing brilliant mind. It has made this thing so much easier. Or less difficult. And even though I’m not a touchy feely person I’m going to hug em all. And tell them I love them. Well not me brother like. I feel the same about him but it’s unsaid.
Someone died two cubicles up this morning. The wife was hysterical. Life really is precious. My first taste of iced water without cramps was just f***ing great.
I know this should be more upbeat but I am shattered. I do know that my fellow supporters on this board have been top class throughout this and I thank everyone who left a message of support.
I’m rambling. It’s the heroin.

.
 


That catheter to piss in peace - that's a Godsend. I never knew some plastic going into such a tender area could bring such relief.

ICU tends to have a bit of drama. Last time I was there, within a few minutes of coming round, the gadgie next to me went to meet their maker. We've both been chosen for bigger and better things before we go, @foggy lad.

You're doing brilliantly and I think you might be beginning to realise just how hard as nails you are to get through this.

You'll be around for that telegram from Buck House. We'll still be 3 months away from Brexit by then too.
 
I'm a Mag who's lurked a little but had to register and say I'm absolutely delighted for you.

Reading your posts has been incredible. You're such an inspirational person, who's dealt with such a difficult situation with class and strength.

Wishing you the best for the future, and your good news has made my day.
 
Over the moon that it all went so well and that you're back on here rambling on already. Didn't expect to hear anything yesterday so it was just the icing on the cake when I got home from the best match in a long time to read your message.

I had the leg massage things after my op. They are lovely like :D

Get plenty rest and look after yourself marra. Take care xx
 
So here I am in intensive care at St Mary’s. I’m very tired in all directions but here it is.

First off my train was late the other night. 44 minutes. That turned into almost 2 hours as a tractor ran into some overhead lines in Retford at a crossing. I got the first taxi to my hotel. The road was having a dooey up. Another 200 yards. These hurt but I got there. It’s amazing what your body can do if there is a big target in front.

Then off to no sleep, up then I trundled along to the hospital. Went up to the 4th floor and knocked on a door a sign pointed out to me. The surgeon opened it. The real life Mr Jamie Murphy. So I went in sat down chatted and signed another consent. Half an hour later I was on the gurney in the put to sleep room before the cutty up room.
The last thing I saw when turning off the telly was breakfast telly showing a debate in the House of Commons. Which explains why when I woke up from the operation and asked if I had any questions I said “who won the brexit vote?”
After I got my shit together I said am I clear and I was fairly sure he said yes. Then wheeled up to a recovery room where they did all sorts. Not sure what. I was off me tits. I left a message on here. Then off to intensive care. Which is where I’ve been since.
I saw the surgeon who said ‘you had a fistula with a tumour attached that had punctured into your bowel. - That explains why I am 3 stone lighter than 8 weeks ago. - And we have cleared and cut all the cancer out. Oh and we drained a litre of fluid out’. That explains why I couldn’t eat for a while.

Now I’ve heard this before and had recurrence so while I am the most overjoyed grateful lad in cancer land I know my future may still involve the fucker coming back.
But fuck it right now I’m clear!

Someone put in my lead up post last week that even the lads were going to put in an effort for me. I said steady on. Turns out we had rather a good result last night.
So a tube count. Two massaging leg coats at the bottom of my legs for circulation. They’re lovely, plugged in to the mains. Better than those exploding socks at Basingstoke. A catheter so I can piss in peace. Two blood drains. Right hand side. An epidural. That they got wrong. A doctor replaced it last night while I was under several sheets of plastic. The freeze spray showed it was hardly working at all. A feed line in my neck. Nothing in it yet though. A pulse monitor on my finger. A heart and blood pressure monitor in my wrist. A cannula in hand and something else in my neck for back up painkillers. Oh and the NG tube up my nose and down my throat. And the bag is empty. I think this is a good thing. A PCA button for pain control. Morphine. They tried Fentanyl. I said no. It does nowt. Two oxygen blowers for me sneck. A saline tube for hydration. Think that’s it.

No arsehole stent this time. Thank fuck.

The pain started rising today so they gave me diamorphine or in another way of putting it. Heroin.
Our lass isn’t here. I travelled alone. Her ‘bairn’ had a baby today. Girl. 7lb 5oz for those who are interested for no reason whatsoever. I don’t mind, the first few days are busy as with staff doing all sorts of stuff to me.
The bloke nurse this morning arrived on his shift. Introduced himself as my nurse for the day. And in the process of checking me over lifted up my gown and cupped my balls. I kid you not. He was wearing an NHS with coloured stripes in the background. Maybe it’s a new temperature check. Moving on.
I have lots of visitors lined up but only two at a time are allowed in. My slots are canny full so I’m enjoying the peace while I can. My circle is f***ing brilliant mind. It has made this thing so much easier. Or less difficult. And even though I’m not a touchy feely person I’m going to hug em all. And tell them I love them. Well not me brother like. I feel the same about him but it’s unsaid.
Someone died two cubicles up this morning. The wife was hysterical. Life really is precious. My first taste of iced water without cramps was just f***ing great.
I know this should be more upbeat but I am shattered. I do know that my fellow supporters on this board have been top class throughout this and I thank everyone who left a message of support.
I’m rambling. It’s the heroin.

.

I'm considering upgrading The Nestlé Fist to The Nestlé Fistula :lol:
Man alive, you haven't half been through the ringer.

Amazing stuff. May your recovery be all smooth sailing!
 
Great as ever Foggy

If the NG bag stays empty you will be having a better time of it

I wonder if yours and SAFC fortunes are linked, hopefully both are moving into better things
 
So here I am in intensive care at St Mary’s. I’m very tired in all directions but here it is.

First off my train was late the other night. 44 minutes. That turned into almost 2 hours as a tractor ran into some overhead lines in Retford at a crossing. I got the first taxi to my hotel. The road was having a dooey up. Another 200 yards. These hurt but I got there. It’s amazing what your body can do if there is a big target in front.

Then off to no sleep, up then I trundled along to the hospital. Went up to the 4th floor and knocked on a door a sign pointed out to me. The surgeon opened it. The real life Mr Jamie Murphy. So I went in sat down chatted and signed another consent. Half an hour later I was on the gurney in the put to sleep room before the cutty up room.
The last thing I saw when turning off the telly was breakfast telly showing a debate in the House of Commons. Which explains why when I woke up from the operation and asked if I had any questions I said “who won the brexit vote?”
After I got my shit together I said am I clear and I was fairly sure he said yes. Then wheeled up to a recovery room where they did all sorts. Not sure what. I was off me tits. I left a message on here. Then off to intensive care. Which is where I’ve been since.
I saw the surgeon who said ‘you had a fistula with a tumour attached that had punctured into your bowel. - That explains why I am 3 stone lighter than 8 weeks ago. - And we have cleared and cut all the cancer out. Oh and we drained a litre of fluid out’. That explains why I couldn’t eat for a while.

Now I’ve heard this before and had recurrence so while I am the most overjoyed grateful lad in cancer land I know my future may still involve the fucker coming back.
But fuck it right now I’m clear!

Someone put in my lead up post last week that even the lads were going to put in an effort for me. I said steady on. Turns out we had rather a good result last night.
So a tube count. Two massaging leg coats at the bottom of my legs for circulation. They’re lovely, plugged in to the mains. Better than those exploding socks at Basingstoke. A catheter so I can piss in peace. Two blood drains. Right hand side. An epidural. That they got wrong. A doctor replaced it last night while I was under several sheets of plastic. The freeze spray showed it was hardly working at all. A feed line in my neck. Nothing in it yet though. A pulse monitor on my finger. A heart and blood pressure monitor in my wrist. A cannula in hand and something else in my neck for back up painkillers. Oh and the NG tube up my nose and down my throat. And the bag is empty. I think this is a good thing. A PCA button for pain control. Morphine. They tried Fentanyl. I said no. It does nowt. Two oxygen blowers for me sneck. A saline tube for hydration. Think that’s it.

No arsehole stent this time. Thank fuck.

The pain started rising today so they gave me diamorphine or in another way of putting it. Heroin.
Our lass isn’t here. I travelled alone. Her ‘bairn’ had a baby today. Girl. 7lb 5oz for those who are interested for no reason whatsoever. I don’t mind, the first few days are busy as with staff doing all sorts of stuff to me.
The bloke nurse this morning arrived on his shift. Introduced himself as my nurse for the day. And in the process of checking me over lifted up my gown and cupped my balls. I kid you not. He was wearing an NHS with coloured stripes in the background. Maybe it’s a new temperature check. Moving on.
I have lots of visitors lined up but only two at a time are allowed in. My slots are canny full so I’m enjoying the peace while I can. My circle is f***ing brilliant mind. It has made this thing so much easier. Or less difficult. And even though I’m not a touchy feely person I’m going to hug em all. And tell them I love them. Well not me brother like. I feel the same about him but it’s unsaid.
Someone died two cubicles up this morning. The wife was hysterical. Life really is precious. My first taste of iced water without cramps was just f***ing great.
I know this should be more upbeat but I am shattered. I do know that my fellow supporters on this board have been top class throughout this and I thank everyone who left a message of support.
I’m rambling. It’s the heroin.

.

Your utter @foggy keep going! Oh and I suspect the bloke who touched you is probably a mag!!
 
So happy for you @foggy that everything went well. And enjoy the diamorphine, had that myself when giving birth to daughter no.1.... its class! 🤪
 
Great as ever Foggy

If the NG bag stays empty you will be having a better time of it

I wonder if yours and SAFC fortunes are linked, hopefully both are moving into better things

So if the NG bag stays empty then it’s going into my piss bag? I ask a million questions but I’ve not got to the bottom of this one.

Day 3. Tomorrow. Is always my worst day following major surgery. Don’t know why

Wind. Swollen belly and wind. I hate it.

Hopefully we’ll get to the have a shit thread soon.
 
So if the NG bag stays empty then it’s going into my piss bag? I ask a million questions but I’ve not got to the bottom of this one.

Day 3. Tomorrow. Is always my worst day following major surgery. Don’t know why

Wind. Swollen belly and wind. I hate it.

Hopefully we’ll get to the have a shit thread soon.

The NG bag is for stomach contents so vomit etc, should help with bloating, pain, wind etc

Are they doing four hourly aspirates or free drainage
 

Back
Top