I was in my hospital gown. Back home, my bedroom was tidy, my Christmas shopping was sorted and The Chef's present was wrapped, all in advance of my being one arm down after the operation. My blood pressure was 111/70 (that's good), my pyjamas tucked safely in my bag and a tin of soup was waiting for me at home. I had spoken to my surgeon, signed the consent form and chuckled wryly as he drew an arrow on my left arm to remind him - in case the giant, pulsating bulge of my fistula didn't register - which of my limbs to slice open. And I was preparing to go down to theatre...when my blood results came back, and revealed that my potassium level was 6.2, making surgery too dangerous as my heart might inconveniently stop beating.
I wish I could say I couldn't believe it, but I could, all too easily. I have spent the last month making a stink about my blood pressure lest it prove too extreme for surgery, only to be foiled at the very last minute by high potassium; the irony is palpable. When it comes to the hospital, the only thing you can rely on is that nothing is reliable. This is not the first time I have had an operation cancelled at the very last moment: the last time it happened I was in the pre-op chamber chatting with the anaesthetist so if anything, Friday's mishap signifies progress.
It isn't pleasant having to gee oneself up for an operation that is suddenly cancelled, there is no use in fretting about it. The operation will be re-scheduled for some time in the New Year and the delay means I won't be out of action in the run up to Christmas. The Chef and I have two days of quality hanging out planned, and having had all my gifts bought for the last three weeks is no bad thing. The coming weeks will require me to enforce a strict potassium fast, but Joanne has found me a renal diet App and it has become my new favourite obsession (potassium content on canned boysenberries: 230 mg. Useful stuff). I just wish chocolate wasn't on the forbidden list. But I probably should have seen that coming.
I wish I could say I couldn't believe it, but I could, all too easily. I have spent the last month making a stink about my blood pressure lest it prove too extreme for surgery, only to be foiled at the very last minute by high potassium; the irony is palpable. When it comes to the hospital, the only thing you can rely on is that nothing is reliable. This is not the first time I have had an operation cancelled at the very last moment: the last time it happened I was in the pre-op chamber chatting with the anaesthetist so if anything, Friday's mishap signifies progress.
It isn't pleasant having to gee oneself up for an operation that is suddenly cancelled, there is no use in fretting about it. The operation will be re-scheduled for some time in the New Year and the delay means I won't be out of action in the run up to Christmas. The Chef and I have two days of quality hanging out planned, and having had all my gifts bought for the last three weeks is no bad thing. The coming weeks will require me to enforce a strict potassium fast, but Joanne has found me a renal diet App and it has become my new favourite obsession (potassium content on canned boysenberries: 230 mg. Useful stuff). I just wish chocolate wasn't on the forbidden list. But I probably should have seen that coming.
No! Bang goes the boysenberry tart that I'd decided on making for Christmas lunch, decorated with chocolate curls and banana slices. Damn your potassium levels...
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