LamikayTy

Mo ranti – means I remember.

The interval between being put to sleep and waking up was EVENTFULL! and it was LONG. As I was fast asleep, what you are about to read are details of what transpired told to me by my sister (who is a doctor) and my husband. According to my sister, I went into theatre at 9.30am and came out after 4pm.

Both of them stood outside the theatre door with our family friend (also a doctor). The doctor who took me in soon struck troubled waters. His first discovery was that the episiotomy had been badly done and after searching and searching he could not find the source of the bleeding to stem it.

By this time my swob bucket (which my sister could see anytime the theatre doors flung open to admit more personnel) was gradually filling up with my blood. After a while, and not surprisingly the doctor comes out and in a voice filled with fear calls out (very loudly) for ffp (fresh frozen plasma) before I go into DIC (Disseminated Intravascular Coagulation).

My sister knew the meaning of all the terms so this did not make it any easier for her. Crying and weeping as she runs along to look for plasma with our family friend (who is also a doctor). They are both Christians and at one point she turns to Tomi and says “Tomi, we are not of them that mourn”. I mean, they were crying and I was not dead yet I can laugh now but I do understand.

They were both doctors (and as my sister told me later, she had not seen a case as bad as mine where the patient survived) and they knew what I was up against. Thank God they found the plasma derivates.

The same doctor came out at one point to tell my husband that he could not find the source of the bleeding. I dont know what that was supposed to do. Make him pray harder or prepare him for what (maybe he thought) was the inevitable. It made him do the former and call a few more trusted friends to pray.

I beg to digress. In this part of the world, even when the tummy of a pregnant woman is the size of a giant watermelon, no one asks you when you are due. And of course you are not expected to spill the beans. Of course taking time off work is a sure sign that the day is near. I guess or rather realise that child birth in this part of the world is fraught with ‘danger’ and instead of confront the real issues, we react in fear!

Anyways back to remembering!

A consultant comes in after being called and in a few minutes found the source and stopped the bleeding and sewed me back up. My consultant (by this I mean, the consultant in charge of me) came in afterwards and like my sister heard was so vexed with the doctor that had been working on me simply because ‘he wasted my blood’.

After surgery, I was wheeled back to the ward. I woke up (i dont know how long after)and trying to open my eyes it seemed as if I was swimming in tofee – i guess the effect of the anaesthesia. I kept on seeing waves and waves of what seemed like colored tofee or chocolate being mixed up. I woke up and discovered I was hooked to a bag of blood. i was receiving blood- what had happened? I had lost so much blood that I needed to have 7pints.
At a point, it seemed as if I had a sudden onset of fever. I was shaking so much. I had reacted to one of the blood units. At this point my blood pressure dropped to 60/30 and refused to go up. I had no idea much was wrong. My thoughts were ‘I have survived surgery,I’m out’! Little did I know that things seemed bad.

I was uncomfortable as my bed had been adjusted to make my head slant downwards. Can’t I just sit up for a few minutes I kept asking and everyone said No without explaining why. I feel so uncomfortable, I need to breathe properly. At one point I thought I saw my dad but it turned out to be my consultant. Please let me just sit up but no one listened to me. At a point, I had an oxygen mask put over my face, that eased my breathing a bit but I felt funny.

I looked up and saw my sister in tears. Why on earth are you crying? I told her to wipe her eyes. It did not occur to me that she was a doctor and she knew that things seemed a little bleak to say the least. When my blood pressure refused to go up, some doctors came round to congregate round my bed. When some started ‘moving stuff’ around my bedside, I told them to move elsewhere! Imagine proposing all sorts of horrible theories about the state of their patient within earshot. They didnt scare me, I knew I was not going to die.

After a long day of being constantly prodded, with personnel taking my temperature, blood pressure, pulse and other vitals much too often, I was tired, exhausted and still in pain. I was finally moved to the Intensive Care Unit.

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