agony. Fortunately I didn’t have to argue about it. Nicola agreed. In fact, I think she was shocked by my fragile state. I know I had chosen to have surgery, so I’m not asking for sympathy, but the breast op had been to correct something that had gone wrong and I’d had no idea that the other surgery would leave me in such pain. I know that everyone close to me hated seeing me like this and was desperately worried about me. And I was scared.
After this last op I was bedridden. My arm hurt, my boobs hurt, I was so sore down below that I even couldn’t sit down. It was the worst pain I had ever experienced in my life – yes, even worse than childbirth. I actually thought I was going to die. I had a catheter because of the surgery and the nurse said they were going to take it out to see if I could go to the loo, but I couldn’t. I was in agony. The amount of anaesthetics and painkillers I’d been given had seriously affected my bowels and my waterworks. My stomach swelled up so much it looked like I was seven months pregnant. The nurses gave me suppositories and prune juice but nothing worked and when I tried to go it was agony. I would be on the loo for hours trying to poo out a tiny pebble. It was as bad as labour pains.
I got Jamela to take a picture of me down below so I could see what was wrong and it looked horrific – swollen and purple and blue. No wonder I couldn’t go to the loo. The nurses couldn’t give me any more painkillers to cope with the pain, so they said they would have to put in another catheter. I was crying and shouting out in pain as they did, but at the same time because of the painkillers I felt as if I was in a dream. Or rather a nightmare.
I must have gone to sleep again after that, but when I woke up I was in so much pain it was as if someone had lit a match and I was on fire down there. I was trying to shout out but no one was coming, and I was in such agony I couldn’t even reach the bell to ring it. Somehow I managed to get my phone and call Pete. I was sobbing.
‘Please come over, I need you . . . I’m in agony!’ I think he was really shocked to hear how bad I sounded and, thank God, he rushed over to the clinic straight away. I didn’t think I could take much more of this.
Some time later the gynaecologist came to examine me and said he could see no reason why I was in so much agony. It was supposed to be a straightforward operation but maybe I had put my body through too much with all the other anaesthetics and operations. They removed the catheter and I tried yet again to go to the loo, but I couldn’t. But I couldn’t bear the thought of having another catheter put in.
All I could do during this terrible time was hobble out of bed in the morning and sit in a bath filled with salt water, to try and ease the pain in my stomach from the constipation and help with the healing. I couldn’t even wash properly because of the stitches on my boobs. I went from being bubbly and excited about my trip to LA to being like a frail, helpless old lady. Jamela washed my back for me and shaved my legs and armpits. It doesn’t matter what state I’m in, I still want that to be done. She stayed overnight with me at the clinic several times because I didn’t want to be on my own.
One night it was arranged that Pete’s songs would be played in a certain night club. I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s trip by asking them to stay with me, but I did feel especially alone and vulnerable that night. And I couldn’t help feeling hurt that Pete would never go clubbing with me and yet now he was off clubbing with a group, including my friend Jamela.
Worst of all, Pete had to fly back home. By then we had been out in LA for seven days and one of us needed to be back with the children. Jamela stayed on with me after I offered to pay for her to stay at the Beverly Wilshire. I couldn’t bear the thought of being out in LA on my own when I was feeling so very unwell. I was desperate to go home
After this last op I was bedridden. My arm hurt, my boobs hurt, I was so sore down below that I even couldn’t sit down. It was the worst pain I had ever experienced in my life – yes, even worse than childbirth. I actually thought I was going to die. I had a catheter because of the surgery and the nurse said they were going to take it out to see if I could go to the loo, but I couldn’t. I was in agony. The amount of anaesthetics and painkillers I’d been given had seriously affected my bowels and my waterworks. My stomach swelled up so much it looked like I was seven months pregnant. The nurses gave me suppositories and prune juice but nothing worked and when I tried to go it was agony. I would be on the loo for hours trying to poo out a tiny pebble. It was as bad as labour pains.
I got Jamela to take a picture of me down below so I could see what was wrong and it looked horrific – swollen and purple and blue. No wonder I couldn’t go to the loo. The nurses couldn’t give me any more painkillers to cope with the pain, so they said they would have to put in another catheter. I was crying and shouting out in pain as they did, but at the same time because of the painkillers I felt as if I was in a dream. Or rather a nightmare.
I must have gone to sleep again after that, but when I woke up I was in so much pain it was as if someone had lit a match and I was on fire down there. I was trying to shout out but no one was coming, and I was in such agony I couldn’t even reach the bell to ring it. Somehow I managed to get my phone and call Pete. I was sobbing.
‘Please come over, I need you . . . I’m in agony!’ I think he was really shocked to hear how bad I sounded and, thank God, he rushed over to the clinic straight away. I didn’t think I could take much more of this.
Some time later the gynaecologist came to examine me and said he could see no reason why I was in so much agony. It was supposed to be a straightforward operation but maybe I had put my body through too much with all the other anaesthetics and operations. They removed the catheter and I tried yet again to go to the loo, but I couldn’t. But I couldn’t bear the thought of having another catheter put in.
All I could do during this terrible time was hobble out of bed in the morning and sit in a bath filled with salt water, to try and ease the pain in my stomach from the constipation and help with the healing. I couldn’t even wash properly because of the stitches on my boobs. I went from being bubbly and excited about my trip to LA to being like a frail, helpless old lady. Jamela washed my back for me and shaved my legs and armpits. It doesn’t matter what state I’m in, I still want that to be done. She stayed overnight with me at the clinic several times because I didn’t want to be on my own.
One night it was arranged that Pete’s songs would be played in a certain night club. I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s trip by asking them to stay with me, but I did feel especially alone and vulnerable that night. And I couldn’t help feeling hurt that Pete would never go clubbing with me and yet now he was off clubbing with a group, including my friend Jamela.
Worst of all, Pete had to fly back home. By then we had been out in LA for seven days and one of us needed to be back with the children. Jamela stayed on with me after I offered to pay for her to stay at the Beverly Wilshire. I couldn’t bear the thought of being out in LA on my own when I was feeling so very unwell. I was desperate to go home
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