NHS Insights Part 2: Surgery!

Welcome back to NHS Insights Part 2: Surgery!

We’d been home in the UK for around 2 months living in London and adjusting to city life. I was now running regularly and I had my sights set on a 10k by the end of summer. A rainy day loomed ahead, and I headed off for a 7km hilly run. I was feeling good. The run was tough but nothing spectacular and I got home drenched, tired, but pleased with my efforts. My knee was sore but then again I’d just run up and down hills for 7km so it was to be expected. A few days later it was still sore. A few weeks after that the pain had not gone away. 12 months later and I’m still, very much, in pain.

The rainy day that was my last ever run

 From that point onwards a series of very minor injuries and incidences led to a steady decline of my knee. A night out at a concert made walking painful and a tiny stumble down the stairs at Aldgate Station put me on crutches. So of course, I went to my GP and arranged an appointment with orthopaedics.

 

My first appointment with my surgeon was uncomfortable. I headed over to the medical centre after work where I waited for well over an hour for my appointment. When I eventually got to seeing my surgeon I explained my situation; I told him all about the diagnosis I had been given in Australia, and about the MRI I'd had. He accepted my version of events as the truth, and declined the offer to see my MRI. He examined my knee for about 10 seconds, giving it a few pokes and prods, before offering me surgery 2 weeks later. At this stage I was still able to walk without crutches and having had no tests I felt a little unsure about the idea. So, I declined the surgery date and said I will book one later once I have had time to consider. When I declined my surgeon almost immediately opened the door and ushered me out while I was still talking and asking questions. Less than 3 minutes after I entered the room I was leaving.

 

However, my knee continued to decline, and within a few weeks I was on crutches. I realised I was unlikely to recover without surgery, so I booked in for another appointment with my surgeon to get a date. Somehow my second encounter was even more unpleasant. After another 40-minute wait I went into the doctor's room where he had a sign reading…

 “I have a cold and can’t hear properly, could you please shout?”

 Whilst I thought it a bit odd, I was fine with this. That is until he decided I wasn’t speaking loud enough, took me by the shoulders and manhandled me to talk directly on to his ear. Even more bizarrely he felt compelled to do the same to me, despite my hearing being fine. I explained my knee had worsened and I was offered another surgery date which I this time accepted. He still did not perform any tests, nor did he look at my MRI. He offered me no advice for the surgery, nor how to take care of myself in the meantime, despite my asking for the guidance. The next time I saw him was the day of surgery.

 

The astounding artwork as produced by my surgeon

That day arrived, two month later. Even this interlude was not without hiccups however, and I nearly failed to receive my pre-assessment phone call. But in the end the day did roll around, and before I knew it, I was in the car on the way to the hospital. My surgeon briefly visited me before the surgery only to draw an arrow on the correct leg and then leave. Fortunately, every other member of staff I met that day were delightful and reassuring. It was not long before I had a canula in my hand and the anaesthetic kicked in.

 

Time for things to go from bad to worse.

 

Come back next week for the third instalment of this baffling story, where I'll be talking about waking up and the drama that was to follow!