A stroke of luck – episode 6

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Lights up.

My hearing gave me the first sense that I had ‘made it’. It was as if somebody had just switched on a radio, suddenly the room was filled with sound. For a few seconds I lay with my eyes closed, and struggled to work out where I was and what was going on. At first the volume was set a little loudly, like a car radio is from the previous journey. Slowly I blinked open my eyes and the bright lights, white linens and shiny pristine surfaces dazzled as they came into focus, giving the place an ethereal quality. Perhaps I’m in heaven I thought, high as a kite on pain meds. Suddenly from somewhere beyond the billowing curtain, I heard a nurse say ‘we’ve only got tuna or chicken’. I immediately abandoned my attempts to work out if I was alive or not, and started thinking exclusively about how to get the attention of this food angel. Starving and dry mouthed I fumbled around the edge of my bed hoping to find the call button to summon her, but I couldn’t. Distracted by my efforts I hadn’t noticed that my eyes were doing a significantly better job than they had been yesterday. The doctor had said that there was a slight chance my vision could improve after he cut open my skull and the blood sloshing around inside drained out. Well that small chance had made a significant difference and I was now seeing much more clearly than before. I started examining all the tubes that were protruding from my body; I’d counted six cannulas when I noticed a seventh sticking out of my leg all covered in blood. I panicked and attempted to pull myself up, grabbing onto the rails of my bed, stretching and straining my neck to get a better view. Blood was gushing from my shin, I felt nauseous and worried about how much I was losing. I heard the nurse return with my neighbour’s sandwich, so I summoned all of my fading energy to call out to her.

 ‘Hello… can you help me’

My voice was croaky, thin and barely audible over the hums and whirs of the machines.

 ‘Excuse me!’ I tried a bit louder this time.

 ‘You need to stay lying down Mr. Clegg’ the nurse said, startling me as she appeared from the opposite side of the curtain than I was expecting.

 ‘My leg is bleeding’

 ‘Where?’

 ‘There, I must have pulled the cannula out’ I said, as she started to examine my bed sheets.

 ‘…Um, you didn’t have a cannula in your leg’

Confused, I strained to see the pool of blood I was convinced was flowing from my right leg.

 ‘Don’t worry, it was probably just a dream’

Suddenly a little overcome, unsure what was real and what wasn’t, I blurted out ‘Am I alive?’

 ‘Yes, your Surgeon said everything went well, you’re definitely alive’           

 ‘Can I have a chicken sandwich?’

She smiled and nodded before offering me a sip of water.

It turns out that the surgery had gone better than just well, it had gone perfectly. I don’t remember very much of it, thankfully, but apparently the team had spent more than seven hours carrying out an “image-guided left parietal craniotomy and extirpation of the arteriovenous malformation with ICG video angiography” before closing me up with three screws and nineteen staples, in case you were wondering. As I lay waiting for my sandwich, relieved to have confirmation that I was alive, I started attempting to analyse my brain. Surviving the surgery was an obvious relief, but I now wanted to know if I was still all there. During my alone time the previous night, I’d had a thought about how we are our memories. It occurred to me that the way we remember the moments of our lives, the traumas, successes, and experiences is what shapes how we behave and determines who we are. Our memories are what decide our futures. I’d had a terrifying thought that I wouldn’t be able to remember our wedding day, first date or even the moment we first met and if I couldn’t, would it change how I felt about Suzy? Thankfully she entered my mind in full vibrant colour and as soon as the nurse returned I asked if she could tell Suzy that I’d survived. I devoured my sandwich as she confirmed that Dr. Vasan had already spoken to Suzy and that she would be there when I was moved back upstairs. It was such a relief and I then bored the nurse with a few stories about her, as a way of making sure they were all still intact. I started testing myself and tried to remember every detail I could from our first encounters, then I flitted between more recent adventures, before I settled on the phone call we’d had earlier that day. I had been preoccupied with sounding brave, and in control. Telling her that I felt confident, and that I was going to be ok, I suddenly felt guilty that I’d not asked how she was feeling. I thought about the agonising day she must have had, just waiting. I’d basically just had a nap, but she must have gone through every possible permutation over and over again for seven hours. I couldn’t wait to correct my mistake and tell her that she’d been the brave one, and to thank her for shouldering that. 

I then distractedly tried to remember every detail of what had happened earlier. I remembered Juan had wished me good luck, and we promised to see each other back on the ward in a few days time. Regrettably due to some complications with his blood work, I heard that Juan’s surgery had to be postponed and I never managed to catch up with him again. I had shouted good luck to Kevin as I was wheeled down the corridor and towards the operating theatre. There was a lot of paperwork and checking things as I waited to go in. Someone had drawn an arrow on the left side of my neck, and I was asked to confirm my name and date of birth about six times. My heart started to pound furiously in my chest, and I tried to make eye contact and connect with the dozen or so people surrounding my bed. I wished them all good luck and thanked them for their thoroughness. The anaesthetist said that he heard I was an actor, and wondered what kind of actor I was. I didn’t want to add any more pressure to anyone, so this time I answered ‘I’m not a very good one so everyone just do your best’. The laughter broke some of the tension and a few seconds later he injected me with general anaesthetic. I fought to catch the last glimpses of the operating theatre, before nodding off.

Waiting to leave the recovery ward and get back to Suzy felt like an eternity. I was also desperate to get my phone back and message friends and family. There was a delay because a patient on my previous ward had tested positive for Covid, and so they needed to isolate people and deep clean before I could return safely. Luckily the nurse with the chicken sandwich supply was the most wonderful company, and we talked about our lives as I waited to restart mine. She kindly offered to stay on after her shift had ended to make sure I got back upstairs and reunited with Suzy as soon as possible. I have a sneaky suspicion she was the reason that Suzy was still allowed to visit me that night, even though all other visitors were now prevented from being on this floor. We were told that Suzy could only stay for an hour, and that I wouldn’t be able see her again until I was discharged in six days time. That hour was one of the most joyous of our lives. Adrenalin, excitement, relief and hard narcotics meant that we laughed until our stomachs ached. Let me just make it clear that I was the one on the prescription drugs and not Suzy. When the nurse on duty came round to take my vitals, and ask me his favourite questions, I felt prepared this time.

 ‘WHERE AM I!?’ I shouted exuberantly. ‘I’m at the greatest hospital in the world, KINGS COLLEGE HOSPITAL!’ Suzy was laughing and shushing me as if we were both drunk and nobody was allowed to know.

‘It’s the year of our lord, 2020’ I said, now definitely wearing on his patience. Not surprisingly he said it was nearly time for Suzy to leave, so we recorded a quick video for family and friends. I looked quite frightening with my full head bandage and greasy swollen face, but I wanted everyone who had spent the day worrying to feel the relief we did. It was while trying to be serious that I realised how out-of-it I was, I hope it gave them a laugh anyway. Suzy insisted I ate something before she left; I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d already eaten, and so I scoffed my third chicken sandwich, while telling her how happy I was to be alive. We then said goodbye and I put on some music, oblivious to how tough the next few days were going to be.

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