Apple Juice, Morphine & a Cheese Sandwich

Monday, 28th July 2025 - Coming out of surgery

I came round at 18:10 after my surgery (apparently just 10 minutes after the operation was complete thanks to the special cocktail the anaesthetist gave me).

I felt relatively clear headed but was in a bit of discomfort, the only way I can describe the location of the pain is as if my entire bra (front side) was filled with stinging nettles, not so much what that would feel like just the area that was affected. It was a constant pain that I described as a 7-8 to the nurse.

She gave me some Fentanyl which kicked in pretty quickly.

I asked if they could pass my phone out of my bag -.  Looking back at my phone history I sent my first message at 6:55pm so I’m not sure what happened in the mean time.

“I’m out xx all good. It’ll be another hour or so before I can come home but it all went well 😘 see you soon xx”

I think this proves how normal and un-drugged I was feeling at this point. 

Based on the conversation I had with Mark over text the half an hour I was mainly focused on food..

I started to feel a bit hungry. The male nurse asked if I’d like some tea or coffee. I explained I didn’t drink either and could I have a cold drink instead. The cold drink alternative he offered was 7Up! I was confused - fizzy was the last thing I fancied right now, I also had a distinct memory of a lady from before my op being offered apple juice which was exactly what I was craving. 

It didn’t seem like this was an option though as he said “I could get you some water?”

As a typical British person I said, yes please. 

He brought me over a small cup of water and a pack of what we call squashed fly biscuits (this refers to any kind of biscuit with raisins in). I don’t like raisins!

I politely asked if he had any alternative biscuit options, and if there was any chance of getting some apple juice (I decided to be brave!).

He returned with some plain digestives and some shorties and a carton of apple juice with a paper straw.

I was very grateful and he left me to it. It didn’t take long for me to discover that a paper straw with a pointed end is not a great design to pierce a foil seal on a carton. The pointy bit just folded in on itself, so I was still not able to get my long awaited apple juice. 

I reluctantly called the nurse over to see if he had anything that could be used to pierce the carton and he went off to see if he could find anything. 

5 minutes later he returned to the post-op ward and went on with his duties - no sign of a new straw or anything sharp. So I continued to try and get into my carton using the flat end of the paper straw and my finger nails.

A little later he came over to check on me and I asked if there was any chance of a cheese sandwich (again I had the memory of the lady earlier being offered one and the shorty biscuits were not sufficiently quelling my grumbly belly). I was stubbornly refusing to eat the digestives - I’d only had surgery, I wasn’t at starvation point just yet.

At this point he realised he hadn’t got me a solution to my carton issue - I had already managed to get into it by now. He went and got me a second carton, this time with a plastic straw and hurray - a cheese sandwich! It was 19:20.

After eating my sandwich rather slowly I don’t really remember much about what I did to pass the time, there was some discharge paperwork and some antibiotics and morphine that they had to sort out. 

I’d been told I would have the drain in for up to two weeks and would need to take antibiotics until the day it was taken out, I had only been given one week’s supply of these though. 

When I raised this with them they had to try and locate another box of them somewhere else in the hospital. 

I was under the impression that the hospital would call my mum when I was ready to be released, but instead the female nurse said you can go home now if you want to call the person that’s coming to get you!

I’d already messaged mum a while back to say I’d be able to come home in about an hour so she was poised waiting for a call. I had messaged Mark when they were doing the discharge paperwork to say hopefully they would call mum in a minute. He said he would leave now. 

I was so confused, but it turned out he was going to collect me instead (he hadn’t actually confirmed this with mum though 🤦🏻‍♀️).

Anyway at 20:10 I was collected. I took a very slow walk to the car and Mark drove very uncharacteristically slowly home where Amber was waiting for me. 

I had been given a bag for my drain and a little heart cushion (for under my arm) from the breast care nurse at my last appointment and I’d had these with me. Both were so useful and made the journey home much more comfortable.

We spent a little while going through the day and I took some Morphine at about 9:15 as I was starting to feel a bit sore again. 

When I got undressed to get ready for bed I noticed the post-op bra had been put on inside out - that must have been really tricky to do up as it has about 10 hook and eye catches on it!

I don’t have any recollection of looking at my wounds before I went to bed.

Getting into bed I didn’t think I’d have any issues falling asleep.

I am very fortunate in that ever since my last surgery I’ve not been able to sleep on my tummy and have over the years trained myself to sleep on my back so getting comfortable wasn’t an issue at all. My drain bag lay in the bed next to me and I set myself up to read for  a bit before I fell asleep (this is my usual bedtime routine). 

It was about 10pm when we went to bed and by 1am I had been to the toilet 3 times (all very productive emptying of my bladder) and was still wide awake.

At 1:20am I took some more Morphine - I kept a log of all the drugs I was taking as I knew I wouldn’t be able to remember when I’d taken them. 

I must have finally fallen asleep not long after this as my next Morphine dose wasn't recorded until 6:05 when Mark got up for work.