At 4.00pm, now convinced that this was not at all just "normal post op. swelling", I followed the instructions on the written leaflet I had been given in case of problems, and phoned my GP Surgery. Dr **** asked if I could get to the Doctor's Surgery by 6.00pm, presumably that's when the surgery closes.
As soon as she saw the swelling she phoned Frenchay Hospital and arranged for my admission into Ward 207. The doctor's tone of voice as she spoke on the phone conveyed to me the seriousness of my situation. She told them, "I have a man here who underwent hernia repair surgery at Southmead Hospital this morning and he is now displaying a haematoma the size of a grapefruit".
Earlier this year a lump appeared in my groin that from time to time would cause me pain. It took me a while to pluck up courage to go to the doctor's but eventually, on the 24th May 2010, I did so and was diagnosed with an inguinal hernia.
I was given an ultrasound examination and saw a consultant at Frenchay. Then on the 27th of September I received a letter telling me that I had been added to the waiting list, that I had 14 days to confirm that I still wished to go ahead with surgery, otherwise my name would be removed from the list and my GP informed. I didn't jump to the phone, far from it, I hesitated about coming to a decision. I searched for information about hernia repair operations on the internet but this research didn't do much to reassure me, quite the opposite in fact. It turns out that the hernia repair is more complex than I had previously believed, not an operation to be delegated to a novice looking to gain experience in the field of surgery. Now quite anxious I let a week slip by before phoning to say that I wished to remain on the waiting list. The person who took my confirmation phone call told me that the Bristol Waiting List Office, (another department) would be in touch with me to take some details. Being a self-confessed coward I took some comfort in the fact that the waiting list is long.

"Do you mind who performs your operation?", that was Ms **** phoning me from the Bristol Surgical Waiting List Office. My brain raced, what do I know about the different surgeons practicing in Bristol? Was this some sort of macabre joke where the patient is told to randomly pick a winner or a loser, a sort of surgeon roulette? Surely not, one would hope that the surgeons are all of a sufficiently high standard that patient choice should be deemed unnecessary, at least I hoped so because I didn't have a clue. But I had finally got Ms **** on the phone and I wasn't going to let her go. She had left an answer-phone for me to call her back which I had done several times only to get Ms ****'s answer-phone in return and the thought had crossed my mind, "had your chance, muffed it!"
"Do you mind who performs the operation?", N-n-n-no I blurted out afraid that I was going to lose my chance and end up on the bottom of the legendary long hernia op. waiting list. "Just hold on a minute then", she said, and then, "Is next Tuesday 12th October alright for you?". Brain raced again, is Ms **** having a laugh, next Tuesday? That's only five days away - what about the long list of waiters? "Y-y-yes please." I said. Was I really saying these words? Little did I know what I was letting myself in for. Next day my pre-op examination at Southmead hospital showed that I was ok for surgery to proceed. And before I knew it, Tuesday morning had arrived, my hernia op was over and I was laying in H Ward of Southmead hospital admiring the flatness of my abdomen, the neatness of my operation scar. But not for long.

Before you are allowed to go home after your hernia op, you have to prove that you can still pee ok after surgery. A good precaution, but isn't it always the way, nature works in her own good time! Eventually I needed to go and it was then that I noticed that the area around my op scar had started to swell up. The nurse brought a gentleman in a suit to examine the swelling. Then the nurse said "That's alright then, Mr **** said that it's normal post op. swelling and you are alright to leave hospital". So I waited in the ward until I was picked up at about 1.00pm and taken back home to Yate. But the swelling round the operation site just kept on growing.

At 4.00pm, now convinced that this was not at all just "normal post op. swelling", I followed the instructions on the written leaflet I had been given in case of problems, and phoned my GP Surgery. Dr **** asked if I could get to the Doctor's Surgery by 6.00pm, presumably that's when the surgery closes.
As soon as she saw the swelling she phoned Frenchay Hospital and arranged for my admission into Ward 207. The doctor's tone of voice as she spoke on the phone conveyed to me the seriousness of my situation. She told them, "I have a man here who underwent hernia repair surgery at Southmead Hospital this morning and he is now displaying a haematoma the size of a grapefruit".

Immediately my daughter drove me to Frenchay and stayed with me in Ward 207 until 8.30pm, all the while the swelling was worsening. A nurse inserted a cannula for a saline drip into my arm and at about 10.00pm I was moved to the Day Case Ward, put on a saline drip and my long night of waiting began.

At about half past three in the morning I became conscious of a wetness around my op scar, brought my hand into the light and saw that it was covered in blood. I called the night nurse and told her that it had started to bleed. I asked her in a tired voice, "When are they going to sort me out!" She was really considerate and sympathetic and said, "An emergency has come in that they have to deal with at the moment". I gestured towards my swollen stomach, now the size of a melon or small football, the once neat scar now an inch wide red ribbon under the distorted plastic patch that had been applied at the time of the failed operation 18 hours ago, and leaking blood. I'm of slight build weighing about 10 stone, and it appeared huge. I said in a tired weak but meaningful tone, "Isn't this an emergency?" She said that things were being kept under control - but for one who is knocking on seventy I was seriously beginning to wonder if I would ever see the light of another day. She went away and returned with a large pad of lint and told me to hold it over the area to staunch the bleeding. Then I heard her on the telephone explaining that my operation site was now bleeding. It seemed another age before a suited man appeared at my bedside and asked the nurse to turn on the bright light so that he could examine my abdomen still expanding under arterial presssure. And not long after that, I was being wheeled towards the operating theatre.

I woke up in the large operating theatre with two lovely nurses (all the nurses I was privileged to meet at Southmead and at Frenchay are lovely) welcoming me back to the real world. "Did they manage to sort things out?" I asked. "Yes, you're alright now, they cauterised the artery and you're on the road to recovery".

Then I noticed the surgical staff, a little group of white coated angels bathed in a pool of light in close discussion round the central desk of the operating theatre. I just couldn't resist calling out to them as I was being wheeled out on my hospital trolley ,"Thank you, team!" They all stopped talking, turned towards me, and waved. What a moment! I say again now, "Thank you team, thank you for your skill, thank you for your chosen profession, and thank you for helping me when I so needed help". And then I was back in my bed in the Day Case Ward.

Six o'clock in the morning, I lay in a daze following the surgical procedures when a smartly dressed lady that must have been a consultant appeared at my bedside.
The consultant lady told me not to do anything that would put a strain on my abdomen, not to drive or lift anything or even go shopping for, I think she said six weeks. Through the post op. haze I seem to remember making some inane reply along the lines of, "That should stop me playing the saxophone or lifting motorbike engines for a while!" before drifting back into post op. euphoria. Then I snoozed 'til about 9.00am when I enjoyed breakfast in bed with a cup of tea. "I don't get this at home!" I quipped. "Bet you do!" one of the nurses called back. At midday, a few hours after my second operation in less than a day and a night, I was ready to leave Frenchay Hospital and by one o'clock on Wednesday the 13th of October I was being driven back home to Yate.

It would have been nice to get some explanation of how a simple hernia operation could turn out so badly in 2010, if only as an assurance that lessons have been learnt and that other patients will not experience the same fate. But not a syllable of explanation has come my way. It is hard to imagine what the rapid and massive swelling has done to my sense of well-being. I recall saying to one of the nurses, "now I know what women have to go through". It was like being four months pregnant on one side of my belly. I wonder what effect this stretching of my tissues had on the original open mesh hernia repair operation? A little time spent explaining the possible after-effects would have helped to allay some of my fears . But nobody has explained. I'm still recovering from my physical and psychological shock, concerned about the lack of essential resources in a civilised society.

PS.
It has taken a month to bring myself to write this but it has helped me to come to terms with things, thank you for reading.

Hopefully some good may be salvaged from what happened to one OAP if others may be spared the trauma of waiting several hours for life-saving operations.