I had second and even third thoughts about writing this.
By most standards, the surgery I had this morning was a bit of a breeze, even though it was done under general anaesthetic and I was told there was a small (three per cent) risk of having a stroke or heart attack during the operation.
There was also a slight risk of infection, possibly leading to sepsis although the surgeon preferred not to talk about that during the pre-op consultation. Instead he alluded to something “worse” and I assume that’s what he meant.
I’ll get to the reason for the operation in a minute. But first, I want to explain why I almost didn’t publish this post.
As I say, it wasn’t a major issue and by writing about it I don’t want to equate it with far more serious operations and treatments that some of my peers, including friends and acquaintances, have undergone over the past year.
I think it’s an age thing. We’re all getting older and our bodies are wearing out, or mutating, in strange and unforeseen ways.
At Christmas, for example, a friend from university announced he was having open heart surgery. (Something to do with his aorta.)
A few weeks ago an old school friend - far fitter than me - had triple heart bypass surgery.
Then, last week, a friendly acquaintance had his gall bladder removed.
On top of that, several other people I know have undergone treatment for cancer.
But the most extraordinary case is that of Grandad, aka Richard O’Connor, who writes the Head Rambles blog.
I wouldn’t mention his name if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s been writing about it himself so almost every gory detail is in the public domain.
What he’s gone through is off the scale and I admire him not only for his stoicism but for maintaining his sense of humour. (It helps, I think, that he sees the absurdity of life.)
I admire them all however because I haven’t read or heard a single word of complaint, or self pity, from any one of them.
In comparison to theirs my experience has been a walk in the park, but this blog is a diary of sorts and it would be incomplete if I didn’t mention it.
Also, let my story be a warning to readers, but I’ll leave that to the end.
Anyway, the reason I was in hospital today is because a large lump had developed at the top of my back.
I first noticed it a decade ago when it was very small. Within three years it had grown to three centimetres in diameter.
That’s when mentioned it to my GP who said it was almost certainly a lipoma (a ‘benign tumour made of fat tissue’), but because it wasn’t painful, and was out of sight, I did nothing about it.
Gradually however it grew and grew to the point where my GP eventually said that, if was him, he would have it removed.
Earlier this year he measured it again and it was now eleven (!) centimetres in diameter, large enough to qualify for the Guinness Book of Records and, if I left it much longer, I’d soon be auditioning for the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
An MRI scan confirmed my GP’s diagnosis that it was a benign not cancerous tumour, but that created a different problem.
If it wasn’t a risk to my immediate health it would be considered a cosmetic procedure and the NHS doesn’t do ‘cosmetic’ so I would have to go private.
As it happens, when I booked an appointment at a local private hospital, the surgeon told me he thought I could get the operation through the NHS because the lipoma was now so large it probably met the threshold of risk because the larger the lipoma the greater the risk of it becoming cancerous, although he also reckoned the risk was very small.
He therefore suggested I speak to my GP again, but when I did it became clear I would have to jump through a lot of hoops, and even if the NHS agreed to operate there would be a significant wait.
Sod it, I thought, let’s get it done privately, and quickly. Hence today’s operation, although when my wife saw the price her immediate response was, “That’s the cost of a holiday!”.
Anyway, I’m home now. I’ll be convalescing for a few days but, fingers crossed, there shouldn’t be any complications.
That said, I now have an eleven centimetre scar at the top of my back so I won’t be winning any Mr Universe competitions in the near future.
Finally, what have I learned from the experience?
One, private hospitals are great! Over the last few months I’ve had a number of consultations and pre-op appointments, in person and on the phone, and I’ve been seen on schedule every time, so no hanging around in waiting rooms or corridors for hours on end.
Sometimes it felt more like checking into a hotel than a hospital. I exaggerate, but before and after today’s operation I had my own en suite room, and the post op food (which I could choose from a menu) was more than acceptable.
If I had my time again, and could afford it, I would take out private health insurance in a heartbeat, although I’m told that premiums go up significantly the older you get.
I’m also led to believe that private healthcare won’t cover more serious long-term illnesses - cancer, for example - but I don’t know enough about it so don’t take my word for it.
Two, and this is far more important. If you notice anything out of the ordinary, get it checked out as soon as possible. I know this is a bit of a cliche, but don’t postpone the day of reckoning because, if you do, the ‘problem’ (if it exists) will probably get worse.
The issue I had was relatively insignificant, but had I got it treated several years ago it would have been a ‘procedure’ under local anaesthetic rather than an operation under general anaesthetic and it would have cost a fraction of the price!
I should add that this was only the second time I’ve had a general anaesthetic in hospital.
The first time was at Dundee Royal Infirmary when I was 12. I was rushed in with acute appendicitis and my appendix was whipped out within hours of my arrival.
I remember it well because I ‘woke up’ while they were still stitching me up. I couldn’t speak or move but I could definitely feel the needle and stitches being inserted. It was quite disconcerting, although at that age I didn’t know any better.
Anyway, I mentioned this in a pre-op questionnaire and I repeated the story when asked about it by today’s anaesthetist.
Thankfully there was no repeat. Instead, after he injected something into my arm, I drifted off and woke up an hour and a half later feeling as if I’d had the most lovely sleep.
I’m told I may experience some pain over the next few days - they sent me home with three different painkillers and instructions to use them three or four times a day if necessary - but so far so good.
I know, though, that others have experienced far more challenging operations and treatments, so hats off to everyone mentioned or alluded to above.
Update: I posted the photo above on Facebook with a short note and people have been replying with comments such as ‘Get well soon’ and ‘Hope you have a speedy recovery’.
It’s very nice of them but, 24 hours after the event, I feel absolutely fine and a bit of a fraud!
