It was early in the morning on 1st February 2019. My surgeon Dr Yep had swung by my room suddenly, looking excited and inspired. He was going to try to do the operation through keyhole surgery. This news suited me just fine!
In the holding room before my surgery Magic Radio was playing oldies softly in the background but I was really nervous and I let the team around me know this. They asked some questions about me a found how keenly linked to music I was, having been head of music at Kensington and Chelsea College and now running a House Music Choir. They instantly perked up, We can play you some music from our phone and link it to the surgery speakers. They asked me who my favourite artist was. "Joan Armatrading!" they cried enthusiastically as they whipped a phone out and set it to Spotify. Joan Armatrading began to saturate the airwaves in the room easing mind and drawing me out of anxiety.
"A House Music Choir" a female in the team chirped. "How does that work?" she asked. This is always the question I get when I share about my choir. As I explained to her, I then looked at her clearly. As sure as daylight I could see it. The funk-factor within her soul. "You look like you might be partial to a bit of House Music in yourself" I said with a smile. She confessed this to be true.
She shone a strange red infra red torch on my arm perhaps looking for a vein for a new cannula. I asked if someone could hold my hand. "He's the hand holder" the chirped volunteering their colleague. He held my hand. He was an excellent hand holder and was well selected. "That's what we're here for" he assured me. They placed a gas mask over my mouth and nose, told me it was oxygen and told me to take 3 deep breaths. Joan Armatrading sounded sweet for the 3 seconds before I fell into the deepest deep.
Phasing back into consciousness, I recall almost an excitement in the nurses voices and a forced to wake me up "Dr Yep did keyhole surgery! The surgery was a success but he also had to make an incision. About 5 inches vertical on your lower abdomen." I was fine with this news. I had been 7 hours in surgery! This seemed crazy to me.
They wheeled me into a post op bay and wow, Ebele was there! I was so happy about this. Phasing in and out of consciousness I began to groan. Something that felt like the strongest of period pains gnawing at me. A nurse came and showed me. She had hooked me up to a morphine machine and placed my thumb on the release button. Every time I felt pain I was to push the button. It would only release morphine according to the resit time. Happily for me this seemed to be pretty often. I spoke occasionally with my cousin Ebele. She won't tell me what I was saying which is quite perplexing! To this day she just maintains that she knew I didn't now what I was saying. I'd kinda still like to know to be honest. I gave Ebele a job. She was to wake me up anytime my morphine machine was reset.
I also made her take a photo of me. She resisted but I told her it was to let everyone know that I was okay. It seemed like a good idea at the time but I have to confess I look at the photo with a sense of both discomfort and fascination. All that matter really was that the operation had been a success.
It was soon time for Ebele to leave. I found out in later weeks that she shouldn't have even been in the post surgery ward. To this day I don't even know how she managed it.
A happy accident on my behalf is all I can say.
