Surgery was supposed to wait until October. Then the surgeon had other ideas.

Well, I'm back home in the Isle of Man now—and what a journey it's been.

The Plot Twist: It Can't Wait

As I mentioned before, I had two procedures lined up: hernia repair and gallbladder removal. I was expecting to schedule them for October, so when I went in for a discussion with the surgeon one Tuesday early September, I thought it was just a chat. Turns out he had other plans. He wanted to do both that Thursday. I tried pushing back to October, but his response was pretty blunt: "If it gets bad, you'll end up in emergency surgery with someone who isn't a specialist, and you'll go home with a massive scar." That was... persuasive.

The scan that afternoon in Droitwich showed the gallstone had grown from 18mm to 23mm, and the hernia opening was unstable. (Honestly, I still don't fully understand what "unstable" means, but it sounded urgent enough.)

Pre-op: Control is an Illusion

Wednesday was pre-op assessment. Thursday, Mum arrived to look after me in Birmingham. And I was, to put it bluntly, terrified. I even tried to talk the surgeon out of the gallbladder part. He wasn't having it.

I did make both him and the anaesthetist promise not to kill me. I also warned them both: I'm neurodivergent, and under stress I say inappropriate things and ask silly questions. Fair warning delivered - I think I behaved!

The Anaesthetist Made It Better

Here's the thing about theatre: Jeremy, the anaesthetist, was brilliant. When they wheeled me in, he spent a good 15 minutes explaining exactly what he was doing—the drugs, what they'd do to me, all of it. Then he carefully inserted the cannula while I was trying desperately not to panic.

When he said he was giving me the fentanyl—that it would make everything feel weird and floaty, like none of this was real—he was holding my hand. And that's when my brain decided to switch from "oh God, I'm about to be cut open" to "actually, Jeremy is quite attractive—shit, I hope nobody notices I'm—" well, you get the idea. Apparently having an inconvenient crush is a better distraction than panic.

Next drug in. Two and a half hours later, I woke up in post-op with two very kind nurses making sure I was okay.

The Blur That Was Thursday Evening

I don't really remember Thursday night. I know I tried to get Mum an Uber. The next real moment was 1am, needing a pee, and standing up—which was a choice I came to regret. Five holes in my abdomen, and the alternative was a catheter. In hindsight, I should've just taken the catheter.

But the hospital staff were incredible. At 1am, when I had a sore throat after my pee, they brought me sorbet and more drugs. There was on-demand TV—I apparently watched Wicked 2, SpongeBob, and the new Minions film. I have photos of me watching these. I remember none of it.

Getting Out

Friday, they wouldn't discharge me until my oxygen levels came back to normal, so I ended up staying most of the day. Finally got out around 4:30pm to the hotel, where they'd kindly given us three connecting rooms.

Rich arrived at 7pm. We watched telly. Everything was still a bit fuzzy.

The Long Road Home

Saturday, Rich organized passenger assistance and trains to get me back to Yorkshire with Mum. Then came a week of proper agony.

Two pain sites at once: the left side with the hernia (absolutely brutal), the right side where the gallbladder came out. I don't naturally sleep on my back, so that wasn't an option. And going to the toilet? I genuinely cried from the pain when it finally happened.

Last Thursday, I felt well enough to make the journey back to the Isle of Man with Brendan and Julie (who've both had their own health battles—Brendan's had a chunk of his lung removed). We looked like two elderly people hobbling through the airport, but we made it.

Where I Am Now

Since I got home, I've barely left the house. Still on codeine, so no driving. I'm planning to take all of next week off work and just let myself heal properly.

The sciatic nerve in my left leg is playing up, and my right leg keeps losing feeling—but I'm told this is all normal after-effects. Time and rest will sort it.

Surgery done. Gallstone removed. Hernia fixed. Now for the boring bit: actually recovering.