They’re cutting me open.
The feedback I got for the first blog about having MG was mental (if you don’t know what I’m on about, you better go here and read this first and then come back. Lol, you thought you would get away with just reading this and getting some TLDR stuff. Not my vibe.)
To all the people who sent me DMs, emails, texts, green tea and postcards, and to those who told me I looked like a tw*t, thank you! It’s made it so much easier to walk into a room full of people.
So, Round 2
They’re cutting me open…
I get one chance in my life to be legitimately dramatic. Let me have it.
I’m having an operation known as a right robot assisted thymectomy.
In layman terms, it means that a very experienced surgeon who I’m going to be buying many doughnuts for pre surgery, assisted by robotic technology, will be making three incisions around my right boob, inserting thinner versions of hose pipes in, and sucking out my thymus gland (see below for location).
The trick is to not touch anything near my heart or the nerves connected to my lungs. Sounds jokes.
I have told a few people and some of the reactions have been hilarious including tears/nervous laughs/denial/offers of private HIIT sessions and offers to keep my dog if I die.
I mean it’s an operation. Of course I could die. But you could die having your pre molar pulled out. So no, I have no plans of disappearing anytime soon and the risks are pretty damn low and I’m being seen at one of the best hospitals. Alhamdullilah.
One of the risks is that anaesthetic can be a problem. I have myasthenia gravis, which means your muscles that are controllable (not things that happen automatically like your heart) can become gravely weak and basically become a bit droopy (No, dear possible future husbands, I don’t think this means saggy boobs, but I have been meaning to ask my doctor...). Anaesthetic causes your muscles to relax and mine are already super chilled out. The main risk can be your throat muscles decide to stop working and that will obviously affect your breathing.
The biggest risk for me is that all the muscles in my face go south and I’ll look like this
I therefore get special (like me) anaesthetic and a night in intensive care (woop!).
I then spend another 2–3 days on the ward where people can visit me with Cadbury’s chocolate, Pret chocolate croissants, and proper hipster doughnuts (this is not a hint…). I also get Morphine on demand. I shall be making full use of this feature.
Am I scared?
Yes, shitting myself.
I’m scared that they hit my heart, and I have internal bleeding. and it goes from tiny holes, to them having to cut my chest open. This happens to 1:200. For someone who likes numbers, these are not numbers I’m feeling.
This scares me because after watching enough House and Grey’s Anatomy, you learn that internal bleeding isn’t a good thing.
And, secondly, because having a scar go all the way down the middle of my body from under my neck to my belly button is going to make me feel even less attractive than the whale I already consider myself (note: whales are beautiful, and this joke is not intended as an insult to their feelings). Yes, it’s superficial. Yes I shouldn’t care. But I do. So there you go.
I’m scared I’ll wake up and I won’t be me. That it will have changed me. I’m scared it will change my outlook of the world. I’m scared I’ll wake up and hate the person I see in the mirror.
I’m worried about not working for a week. Maybe the fact that it’s worrying is worrying…
But I’m also scared that the op won’t make an ounce of difference. And this is where the truth lies. I’m having this operation not because it’s really going to make a difference right now, but because it can stop things from becoming worse and because if it does get worse, steroids work a lot better when there isn’t a Thymus gland to ruin its fun. But, there is a chance that it will improve the symptoms I already have. And that chance is one I can’t pin my hopes to.
Like with the first blog, there’s an ask.
I have to take a week off of work. No exceptions. Unless my office building is burning down, I don’t want to know. And if it is burning down, please call Tom Salmon because I definitely don’t want to know.
If you’re around Clerkenwell/Farringdon, please take Serena for lunch. She deserves it for keeping everything afloat this year.
Don’t feel like you can’t ask me questions.
Work to my schedule for a couple of weeks. Come have work/social meetings with me at my house so I can recover and still be efficient.
Be careful when you give me hugs for the first month! I’ve just had my chest cut into, kids.
The people on my ward seem lovely. Friendly, smiley, super helpful, and have Morphine on tap. So I feel like I’m going to be in great hands. Yeah I’m disappointed its not happening at St Thomas hospital with a great river view, but my surgeon is called Thomas so I guess that makes up for it?
See ya on the other side!