The Pre-Operative Assessment

I’d probably write a blog about my experiences during my upcoming septoplasty operation anyway, because I enjoy writing, and I think it’s important to record my experiences, because memories fade, and are subjective at the best of times.

Doing my research into the procedure though, it’s become evident to me that not all operations/health boards/patients are created equal. There seem to be a lot of differences in the way neighbouring NHS trusts in the UK go about their business, and I've found it difficult to find any accounts of anyone having undergone the same procedure as me in the same health board as me. I'm probably worrying too much about Having An Operation, but I thought I’d try and include as much detail in these blog posts in case anyone else from Glasgow finds themselves looking for an account of what happens throughout the entire process.

As I mentioned in my last post, on Saturday I received my appointment letter for my pre-operative assessment. On Monday, while I was trying to check with my manager that they were okay with me attending the pre-op, my mobile started ringing. It was an 0800 number, and as I dithered about answering it, thinking it might be some sort of scam, it went to voicemail. Checking the message, it was from the appointments department at Gartnavel, so I rang them back immediately. “We can offer you a date for your procedure,” the lady on the other end of the phone told me. “10^th December.” The stylus was ripped from the record of my mind. “10^th of December,” I could only mindlessly repeat. “I’ll need to think about it.” “That’s fine, but could you let me know by 1pm?”

The letter I received when I was added to the waiting list stated that the absolute latest I would undergo my op would be the 12^th January, so that was the date I had in mind, and had planned for. A date almost five weeks earlier was entirely unexpected. I’d been worrying about the surgery and recovery time eating into my festive period, but some quick mental arithmetic informed me that even with two week’s recovery, I should be in decent shape by Christmas Eve. That was encouraging, so I confirmed with my bosses, and phoned back to accept the appointment.

I wondered in my last post if my symptoms are getting worse, or if I'm just imagining it. I do seem to be experiencing a fair amount of pain in my sinuses, I'm constantly having low-grade headaches, and the entire front of my face feels incredibly muggy. This might be down to the fact that it’s been raining in Glasgow a fair amount the last couple of weeks (it normally rains less than you’d imagine.) My sleep app, which records my movement in bed at night, suggests that I'm more restless and my sleep is worse when the weather is wet. The trouble is, I've no idea if this is normal for humans, or it’s symptomatic of people with sinus problems. Oh, and I'm sneezing a lot as well.

The most complicated part of my pre-op was getting to the hospital. While the Royal Infirmary is my nearest hospital, it's a near two mile walk. I didn't particularly want to turn up for a physical assessment being a bit sweaty and smelly, which ruled out walking. My manager informed me that parking at the Royal is terrible, so I decided to get the bus. The trouble with public transport in Glasgow is that it's atrocious. It's deregulated, and not joined up, and under-funded. I had planned on buying an electronic ticket using the First Bus app, but it transpires they don't do day tickets via the app. As I didn't have any change, I had to walk to Buchanan Bus Station.

Like most bus stations, Buchanan is not a place where logic thrives. Trying to work out which bus to get, and where it departs from requires a fair amount of local knowledge, patience, and time. Online timetables say one thing, the printed timetables another. The comings and goings of the buses themselves don't agree with either. Google maps told me I was better walking to Cathedral Street and catching a 38, so I did, and I was at the hospital within a few minutes, and 15 minutes early for my assessment.

Regarding the pre-op itself, I felt like I do when I take my car for an MOT; nervous about what close inspection might throw up. The world’s worst disease, found only in me, and named for me. But my examination was over in 15 minutes. I was asked a few questions about my general health, had I had an anaesthetic before, do I have any dental veneers (yes, one.) Then my nurse measured my height and weight, and recorded my blood pressure and pulse. She fielded a couple of questions that I had, and then I was free to go.

There was one small element of confusion, when we were discussing who would collect me from the hospital after my operation. Logistically it would probably be easier for me to stay overnight, and the nurse said that wouldn't be a problem at the Queen Elizabeth. “But my operation’s at Gartnavel,” I told her. “Oh,” she replied. “Well, they don’t have beds. You couldn't stay overnight there.” I got the bus back into town, bought my lunch, and waited for another bus that would take me back to my flat. After 20 minutes, no buses for either of the routes I can take had turned up, so I walked the mile or so home.

As I’d arranged my appointment over the phone on Monday, I still hadn't received a letter of confirmation. When I got back to the flat, there was still no sign of it, so I phoned the number I’d been given on Monday. They told me to phone my consultant’s secretary, which eventually cleared up the confusion. The consultant I’d first seen, Mr. B, operates at Queen Elizabeth. It transpires a different consultant, Mr. T (I know,) operates at Gartnavel. And evidently that’s where the first free appointment is. I was given the option of rescheduling, at the Queen Elizabeth, but I feel committed to the date now.

Having got the pre-op out of the way, I feel a little more relaxed now. I think I was actually more concerned about latent illnesses being exposed during my assessment than the surgery itself (latent illnesses remaining undiagnosed I'm quite comfortable with; out of sight, out of mind.) As for the operation itself, I suspect I’ll be doped up to my eyeballs most of the time I'm not awake, so that’s not such a big deal. The next seven days will fly in, in all likelihood.