Adventures with Nurse Binxatronic

If you’ve been following on Instasnapagram stories for the last few days, you’ll know that I’ve been in a hospital over the weekend for an operation. It’s nothing serious, I’m not dying. Well, I am dying. We’re all dying when you think about it. Our cells die every day, and as we age we lose that vital youth and energy that keeps our heart beating and lungs moving oxygen about the place, soon to stop forever as the circle of life ends painfully for all involved, another speck of dust sunffed from the vacuum cleaner we call life… but that’s not really the point. The point is, I’m ok.


Check out Clever Little Doodle's drawing of Nurse Binxie!

I had a routine laparoscopy At Springfield Hospital in Chelmsford and, thanks to a good two decades of horrifying cramps every month, I was treated to some cervical cauterisation with a Mirena coil thrown in for good measure. My consultant, who I’ve been seeing through BUPA (I love the NHS, I’m going to be working for the NHS, but some things just need a bit of speed) suggested trying this for now, and if nothing changes and the cramps are still inducing every month, it’s to Plan B with either an ablation or a hysterectomy. As someone who doesn’t want children (make kittens not kids) I’d be more than happy to just have it done with and forget my womb as a bad joke, but as I’m so young it probably won’t happen. Because fictional children are more important than physical pain, but whatever.

BEHOLD. Private healthcare! I had my own room, my own bathroom, a ballet of domestic assistants, a nurse and doctor, as well as my consultant of course. I was admitted at 07:30, my room was ready at 08:30, and I went down for surgery at 10:30. Back from recovery I felt so chilly, so the nurses got to it making me feel comfy. David was waiting for me and stayed with me all night on the uncomfortable waiting room chair. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is.

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The operation went well. I did come home a day too early (hey, I felt ok with the morphine, alright?) and after a 4am phone call to my consultant went back to hospital the following day to make sure I hadn’t ripped or torn anything, but aside from that, the heavy meds are helping. I’m not 100% sure what’s real and what I’m dreaming at the moment but such is life. Apparently, David had a full on conversation with me before he left for work this morning. Apparently, I said goodbye, love you, see you later etc, and then apparently called him half an hour later in a panic wondering where the hell he was. Drugs, man.

Warning for those who are squeamish but I had the wound cleaned and all looks good, as you can see. A laparoscopy involves filling the abdomen area up with gas to pregnancy proportions, so I’ve been tempted to tell people I’m expecting so I can get a seat on the tube. I’ll report back if it works.

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So. How have things been going? Well. As much as David has been absolutely amazing, I have a nurse. The Binxatronic 5000, Moaner Extraordinaire, Burrower of Duvets, and Eater of Mac n Cheese, has been my shadow since getting back home. She’s currently sat trilling next to me right now, looking at me as if to say ‘You pathetic human, you can’t even chew away your stitches. I had a Sock of Confinement on for three weeks and I STILL managed to get my stitches out as any good animal does. What a feeble excuse of life you are. I would spit on you if I had the capacity or inclination.’

She’s also been attacking any bits of string which could pose a vital danger to my life, as well as keeping my space on the bed warm for when I need to rest. She has been catching and eating flying ants, I’m assume to protect me as I’m such a terrible hunter.

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Guarding the door, like a guard kitten.

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Testing the mattress to see whether it’s suitable for recovery.

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Judging life.

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Judging me.

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Overseeing bathroom activity.

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Saving me a space in bed.

As is tradition, she’s been sleeping on my head at night – I assume to steal my warmth – and has been licking me constantly. I think I smell like the hospital as she’s been trying to paw at my bandaged stitches too. Helping? Or perhaps revenge for the Sock of Confinement? Who knows.

But anyway, all is well. I have an appointment in a few weeks to book with my consultants and he’ll assess to see how things are going. With a weekend in London with the family planned, a few nights in Barcelona next week, and prep for uni which begins mid-September, I kinda need a cat nurse to handle things for me. And provide extra cuddles too.