I had my operation yesterday – a polypectomy along with a side of septoplasty. It went well, by all accounts, but after three hours under the knife and a further two in recovery I was ready for a nap.
Just before I went under I was thinking about that Simpsons episode when Homer has to get a heart bypass, and just before his eyes close he hears his surgeon, Dr. Nick say, “what the hell is that?” It was funny in the context of that show, but not sure how I’d have felt if my guy had said it too.
The surgeon came to see me after I had woken from the anaesthetic and explained that I had lost a lot of blood during the procedure, and they also discovered I had an infection as well, which slowed things down a little.
All the polyps are gone (for now, as it is possible they will come back) but my nose is currently sore to touch and still filled with blood, so I just have to be careful when I’m cleaning it. Bending is also a problem as it encourages blood flow, so I’m trying to relax for a few days.
I have an extra couple of days off work so fingers crossed I’ll be back on the wagon by Wednesday and fully recovered a couple of weeks after that.
I have nasal polyps, which is what is stopping me from being able to breathe properly through my nose. It has also completely eliminated my sense of smell, and likely affected my ability to taste as well.
I went to the hospital today for what they called a pre-op assessment, which was basically the nurse asking me a whole lot of questions, and me saying no to almost all of them. I guess it’s them covering their ass while trying to protect mine.
She gave me a forest-worth of pamphlets to read before the operation and told me to make sure the underwear that I wore next week was cotton. Why? I have no idea, and I felt that it was too stupid a question to ask, so I didn’t. I don’t think I own any other kind, to be honest. Do people wear polyester pants?
I had a thumping headache and all the inane questions were not making it go away. She explained what it was I was getting done and I nodded like I knew what she was talking about. Ultimately, once they knock me out, they could tar and feather me and I won’t be able to do anything about it… but I have to trust them.
I’ve been advised that in all likelihood it will not be a permanent fix, and that I will have to get it done again at some point. It could last a year, or it may last for a decade – they just don’t know.
The only thing left to do, is to get it done.