DRAINED

So let me tell you about yesterday. Firstly however...

If you haven't read the last CHRONICLES OF A LUMPY PERSON post written by my daughter, then you are not up there with the cool people. If you wish to be one of the cool people, stop now, grab a coffee, sit back and read it ( link below) because the rest of what I'm going to write will be meaningless without the background.

http://lumpyone.blogspot.com.au/2015/04/not-belle-at-all.html

So, Ashton wrote that article Wednesday night. She was all worked up about THAT woman and wanted to get it out of her system. She sent it to me and I got the shivers. The hairs stood up on my arms and my kids know what that means - you're either going to win X factor or what you've written is bloody good. She needed a platform to post from. I willingly lent her my blog post and warned her this would go viral. " Don't be silly Mum".

The emails, tweets and phone calls started at 5am the following morning. Apparently either nobody on the east coast of Australia knows about the time difference between East and West Australia or we had failed to mention we were in Perth, Western Australia and still asleep.

Now on any other day I would have managed the communications and the requests like a pro. But yesterday when I woke up, I was fasting for surgery and my caffeine- less mood amplified my confusion. As I was showering and getting ready for hospital I was fielding calls from channel 10, the Daily Mail, the Herald Sun. It was only when the tweet came from Mamamia did Ashton lose the plot! She loves Mamamia. She was over the moon but not for long because she still had to deal with channel 9, channel 7, WHO magazine and the Geraldton Guardian.

http://www.mamamia.com.au/wellbeing/belle-gibson/

I walked into the hospital speaking to the commissioning editor of news.com.au and tweeting Ben Fordham ( Ashton's journalist buddy/ how did that happen?) at the same time. The receptionist told me to keep talking. She knew me by sight, how unusual! I really should get frequent flier points for hospital visits.

Anyway, madam receptionist was obviously ready because despite telling me to complete my calls and urgent emailing of photos to media outlets around Australia, she started asking me questions:

HER: Are you on citalopram for depression?
ME: ( checks room ) - yes ( meek voice)
HER: and the thyroxine what dose is that?
ME: chucks phone in bag and approaches desk with frown. Is nothing sacred at 8am in a caffeine- less state.

A voice behind me called my name, grabbed my bag and cardigan and ordered me to follow her. Again, stunned and still tweeting photos cos Mamamia didn't understand " I'm having surgery and can it wait?" , I obeyed. She introduced herself, told me it was her birthday and that she'd like my bag please. Err no!

Anyway, phone put away and trivialities begin. At this stage my brain started working and I wondered why the receptionist had been asking me questions about my drug regime? Then came the weigh in. I told her I knew my weight. She told me she needed to see it. I almost punched her till I remembered it was her birthday. As usual, any hospital or doctors scales add two kilograms which do nothing for my self esteem.

I was then returned to the waiting room which was great timing because the Daily Mirror needed more photos. This was done just in time because nursey returned once more and told me to come
meet my anaesthetist. She even grabbed my bag again, at which stage I started to wonder if she may
be indeed a closet kleptomaniac.

Enter male anaesthetist and all I could think of was that he looked like a male Sia. If you don't know
who Sia is you are seriously not cool and you need to read more than the above article. There sat an older male with a polished English accent and in serious need of a good haircut. Well he talked and

talked and talked and I switched off, I tried to figure out where his eyes where. It was a hard job I tell you. Finally he shut up and asked me if I needed a pre-med. I said no. He looked surprised and asked me if I was nervous. He had the good grace to laugh when I told him I was a professional patient. I then said I'd have a premed if that meant I got a bed. He seemed relieved probably cos he could bill me for something else.

I finally got rid of him and Nurse " I want your bag" re - entered. I asked her if he always dribbled so much shite and she laughed and said yes. Oh joy!

Anyway I was marshalled into a share room and greeted by the sounds of my room mate coughing her lungs up. Joy to the world. I changed into my hospital couture, swallowed my drugs, checked my phone one last time and asked to see my doctor, whose raucous laughter I could hear in an adjacent
room.

New nurse walks in and starts asking me same old, same old questions. " I like your bag" she says. Now, I'm worried but I drift off to sleep.

" Sit up. I need to mark your back" says my surgeon who never bothers with basic niceties like hello and how are you? I thought I was dreaming but realised at least he wasn't going to pinch my bag. He laughed when he realised how dopey I was. He used to be my favourite doctor till that moment.

Anyway, surgery soon after with Sia and my ex favourite doctor. He was playing Spanish music and I
told him his taste in music was awful. Sia said " oh you're firing on all cylinders". I said " you ain't
seen nothing". And he knocked me out.

A big accumulation of fluid has been annoying me on my back for a while plus a hardened scar and a haemangioma. A drain was inserted to remove the fluid. The scar was removed and the haemangioma removed too. The drain will remain in for five days. My record is two consecutive loads of five weeks. I hate drains with a passion but this one seems bearable...so far.

I woke up well. My Dad picked me up and we went home. I then slept for the rest of the day before waking to watch my daughter on two TV channels and waking to read all the media repostings of her article. I am so proud of her ability to speak out in defence of herself and others.

How was your day? I'm drained.

Till next time...xxx