The anaesthetic wears off

11 pm. Beep beep. I hear the beeping of the blood pressure monitor and groggily snap out of the stupor. My mouth is so dry, it is possibly the driest place on Earth right now, my throat is barren, I try to swallow and feel my tongue scrapping against the roof of my mouth. So thirsty. I scan the dimly-lit room, there's no water nearby. Why am I so dehydrated? One of the requirements is not to drink or eat anything leading up to the ablation. Water is allowed, but it is encouraged to be kept to a minimum. That plus the fact they were pumping pressurised oxygen into my body while I was under General anaesthesia. So groggy, so thirsty.

I had been sleeping with my mask on. I remove the mask and fumble for the buzzer and call for the nurse. I have the IV still hanging out of my left hand, that's annoying. Wrapped around right arm is a blood pressure monitor. Beep beep. The crease of my right groin is bandaged, there's some tenderness. Slowly the senses come back to me, body feels so fragile, and then I notice the immense tightness around my heart and a distinct weight on my chest.  

The nurse comes in, "How are you feeling? Are you hungry?" I ask if it's possible to stop the beeping sound and if I can have some water. I'm told that I have to remain laying down for 8 hours, to make sure the wound heals. He shows me the bed pan in case I need to use the toilet then hands me some water and gives me some pain killers. Water. Finally, liquid salvation. Later he comes back with a sandwich, checks my blood pressure and turns off the machine. 

It's a little past midnight, I take a couple of bites of the cold vegetarian ham and cheese sandwich. I'm not usually somebody who is sensitive to loneliness but there's something about being in a dimly lit hospital ward, eating a cold sandwich on a Friday night that tugs are the heart strings. I pop a Panadol and manage to drift back into sleep. Intermittent sleep.

The next morning, the nurse comes in at 9 am, and advises that I am good to walk around. I order breakfast, which is the one thing I have been looking forward to the entire time at Adventist. Dr Fung visits the room at 10:30 am, he checks the wound and explains that the procedure was not a success. Turns out the source of the PVCs is located around the papillary muscle, which is apparently rare in itself. The procedure was done with x-ray and he was not able to accurately ablate the muscle. There is mention of needing specialised equipment and a slightly different procedure, this news is both disappointing and frustrating, and the information takes a while to process. I can't wait to get out of this hospital.