25 Years Ago Today - My Life Changed Forever | Vital Football

25 Years Ago Today - My Life Changed Forever

The Fear

The Fear

A Wise Man (once sat next to him)
25 years ago today, I had my life saving (not quality of life saving unfortunately) brain op. Life wasn't great leading up to it (you don't just have brain ops randomly you know!) but after it, everything changed forever.

Strange for me today, to think this is half my life, if you include the years the doctors fecked up before the diagnosis, then way over half my life and it wasn't as if I'd had a smooth ride before that, as I'd already had 8 major operations. But this was a new level.

Since then, every minute of every day has been punctuated with pain, fatigue and then at various levels depending on the time, brain fogs, confusion, loss of sensations in legs, hands and/or feet, legs giving way with no notice and so the list goes on (that doesn't even scratch the surface.

Punctuated by, but I'd like to think not defined by... that's the difference.

What do you do? Easy to let these things crush you, defeat you, end you.

And here comes the only reason for the post, the sermon.

You think fuck it and get on with life. At my worst times (not in a great health cycle at present) I can often sit for what seems to someone with an active 'want-to-get-out-there' type of mind an eternity (12 hours of doing nowt is a great torture for me) so I plan my next move when I'm through the flair up.

Don't miss the moments in life, don't waste a day, don't put excuses in the way of doing what you want to do and if you don't have anything you want to do, give your head a wobble and find something.

Life is short, you never know what is going to happen, so don't sit there waiting for it to come to you, get out and f****** well get it.

This went into my somewhat mixed history:
https://www.birminghammail.co.uk/sp...special-feature-meet-superhero-aston-10126529

Since then I've had two more major operations and a rushed visit to A&E due to my body deciding to go into a major spasm, no proper control of my arms and legs etc. That was (not) fun.

Did that crush me? Well, none of it made me happy. But since that article, I've also been up Ben Nevis (agony but amazing) up Snowdon (got me on a good day that one, not too bad!) and I tortured myself doing a marathon, whilst raising a decent amount for various charities and also - I'm told - inspiring others in life.

So, a lot of words all to say... don't waste your life, get up, get out, live.
 
Extract from the book I've written, hoping to find an agent to take it on!

‘Hello,’ said the receptionist, ‘and how can I help you?’

‘You can start by telling me my operation is off and I can go home.’ I replied.

‘I’m sorry sir?’ said the receptionist.

‘Me too,’ I said.

‘I’m sorry sir?’ she repeated.

‘Humour me,’ I replied.

My Mom interjected as she could see that perhaps this attempt at humour wasn’t going to get me very far with the receptionist, and explained we were there to get me admitted.

‘I’ll admit I would rather be anywhere else but here today,’ came my Elvis Costello response.

Again, a blank expression peered back at me.

I was nervous and to alleviate that, I became daft; it wasn’t a new phenomenon for me and in fact, daft is basically my default mode. If I can raise a smile – even if it is just mine – then raise a smile I will.

A lady came out from the business office, took the money and explained the admittance procedure. The next step was to have one of those bloody hospital bracelets that list your name, date of birth, room and ward number. I hate these plastic bracelets, hate them, hate them, hate them. I know it is ridiculous - all the pain of the operations and the worries about the risks connected with such surgery - and yet all I can moan about is a plastic bracelet! The biggest pleasure I get from them is ripping them off as soon as I am told I’m being discharged. Simple as it sounds, it is symbolic to me. It’s the final confirmation that the surgery has been done, I have survived and I am ready to start the fight back to health. Or maybe I’m just a bit of a plonker?

Once all that was done, I was taken to my room. The nurse who showed me to my room was happily chirping away about this, that and the other. I can’t say I was really listening to much of what she had to say, (I had more pressing things on my mind), but my ears did prick up when she warned me that my specialist left a lot of his patients in tears the way he spoke to them. I quickly replied that if he tried to leave me in tears, he would get his answer with interest. She seemed to like that. I’d be buggered if he, or anyone else, would get the chance to belittle me after what I’d been through - sod that for a game of soldiers.

I was delighted to see my granddad (or ‘Pops’ as my brother and I always called him) nip in for a visit. A nurse followed him in and explained it was head shave time. This was all becoming a little bit too real now. I think she was more nervous than I was. My Pops was obviously not impressed with how she was attempting to shave me so took matters into his own hands. He told her not to give up her day job and finished the shave for me. Job done, I was now a fully paid-up member of the skinhead brigade.

It felt really strange, I’d not had a fully-shaved head before and the sensation was extremely different. I had always messed about with my hairstyles so I wasn’t in the slightest bit worried. In fact, I had a girlfriend at school whose Mom would always ignore me when I said hello. I always worried it was something that I had said – or done – but my girlfriend explained that her Mom never recognised me because my hair kept changing colour, shape and length. I had a close crop once, but left a mop of curly hair at the front. I then decided it would be a good idea to dye it so bought some peroxide. My parents asked me if I’d coloured my hair and I said no. Little did I realise that when you use peroxide, it gets lighter each time you wash it, so I didn’t get away with that lie for long.

What seemed like every medical person in the world came in and explained their role in the operation. Every time one person left, another doctor or nurse would come in to poke me, prod me, take blood or ask me if I was all right. Am I all right? What the heck sort of question was that? Of course I wasn’t all right! If I was I wouldn’t have been sitting there waiting for a brain op! The whole process before an operation is just mind-numbingly boring. Once you have been admitted, all you really want to do is get on and have the operation done as quickly as possible. Obviously, it is absolutely essential that you have all the tests and procedures done and I do try wherever possible to have a laugh with the doctors and nurses and let them get on with the business of hurting me.

Once the tests had been done, the brain specialist came in and was fairly pleasant, telling me he would, ‘Go where no man has gone before, on you anyway, first thing in the morning, so get a good sleep.’

Without further ado, I was alone in my room, contemplating life, the universe and everything. Well, actually, I was watching the television and reading a paper, but that doesn’t sound anywhere near as dramatic does it? It turned out to be a long night - you don’t tend to sleep well when you know the following morning will bring a brain operation! I was also nil-by-mouth and my mouth doesn’t really enjoy nil input. I watched TV, tried to sleep, watched a bit more TV, tried to sleep, stared out the window, tried to sleep and before I knew it, the day had arrived. The dreaded theatre gown was delivered and, once I figured out which way round it fit, I was travelling down the corridors, being pushed in my bed by a hospital porter being as cheerful as anything (I wonder if whistling and being chirpy is part of their job description?), and a nurse following on asking the obligatory, ‘Are you all right?’ question.

This, as they say, was it.

I don’t have any real fear of operations; I tend to think what will be, will be. However, I am not a big fan of the anaesthetic. I dislike the way it feels travelling up the arm, to the neck and then the buzzing, spinning sensation in the head. Even typing these words is making me feel nauseous. The sound of people speaking just seems to echo and distort, the loss of control, it’s just totally unpleasant. Shame really because the majority of anaesthetists seem to be a cheerful bunch - if only the end product wasn’t so nasty.

So, I’m lying there on a bed, in a gown, looking resplendent in my long anti-clogging socks up to my thighs with the needle slowly being inserted. I’d been asked the usual questions to check my identity again and I signed the consent form, my hospital bracelet - that bloody bracelet - was checked and we were ready. The brain specialist pops in to say hi and then the words “count backwards from 100” were uttered by the anaesthetist. So it begins, 100, the anaesthetic is administered, 99, the warm stinging sensation, 98, of the drug, 97, entering the bloodstream, 96, the buzzing in the ears, 95, people standing over me, 94, and your thoughts slowly slipping away, 93, I’m wondering what is to follow, 92, and if I would wake up again, 91 eyes shut, 90,

OUT……..
 
Makes great reading JF.

I can certainly relate to anaesthetic part. It's horrible going under but worse coming round especially with me being opiate intolerant.
 
And here was I going to write a major opus on my various ear operations (with a postscript on getting my gall bladder out) and Fear comes along and upstages me.
Something happened to me last time round (gall bladder time) which I would not wish on anyone.
I was gowned, waiting outside the operating theatre, trying to make small talk with Igor (what a name for an anesthetist....) when the surgeon came bustling along, looking worriedly at charts as he did so.
"Sorry", he said, "your blood readings for liver function are all over the place. We're going to have to postpone".
 
Fulford said:
Makes great reading JF.

I can certainly relate to anaesthetic part. It's horrible going under but worse coming round especially with me being opiate intolerant.
Click to expand...

yes, the echoing and that metalic taste in the mouth, awful!
 
Awful BBJ, you get yourself all ready and mentally prepared, it's a real let down isn't it? Had it with a brain tap (a procedure) once and wasn't particularly amused as it's a pretty horrible one!
 
  • Like
Reactions: BBJ
I'm still waiting for that one question. I've not moved from my desk since Still Ian asked if he could ask but didn't ask what he'd asked if he could ask.
 
No. Came out quickly and in clumps after the brain op. Wasn't male pattern baldness, just extreme hairless. Not sure if it was shock or lack of circulation to the head (half the skull has been numb since the brain op)

Used to like messing around with different hair styles.

Just decided not to let it bother me abd luckily my head shape seems to be OK for a shaved head!
 
Jf I have suffered, I stood on a 3 pin plug once ?. Don't want to be morbid but I've Been to two funerals in the last 4 years , my cousin who passed away at 41 in his sleep and before that a work colleague lost his son to cancer in his mid 20,s and went through a lot of pain with treatment that sadly couldn't save him. Life is truly precious and wonderful and we are all blessed with so many things that we wouldn't know of until they were taken from us.
 
You both have made my moans seem insignificant. Lol.

Although maybe ironic posting that whilst at the doctors :lol:
 
You must log in or register to reply here.