As I write this, I am still in hospital, healing from an infection and catching up on Ted Lasso before I watch the new season! Strap in, this is going to be a long one…
In my last post, I said I would keep everyone updated, and I have, just not in the way I thought I would. It has been a really hard month, a very long month, and one that feels like it’s never going to end.
The first try
It started on the 1st July 2026, the day we were all aiming for. We packed the car up, Dad and Charlie in the backseat, me in the front with Mum, and drove to the Premier Inn in Tooting. We got there and watched England vs DR Congo, the most important event of the evening (2-1 victory, thank god!)
Knowing that I had to get up at 5am to take my medication before the surgery, it would have been great to go to bed early, but nothing I did made me sleep. I was still up at midnight, playing alphabet games with my mum, worried about what would happen after I woke up from anaesthetic.
We got to the hospital at 7am the next day, 14 hours since I had eaten anything (I was feeling far too sick to stomach a proper dinner). Walking into the hospital that early was a nerve wracking experience, I didn’t know if I would walk out again, but the surgery needed to be done. We got to the Neurosciences Day Unit, and I was called in by the anaesthetist first, that was promising. Pretty much straight after that, the neurosurgical registrar called me into the room, got me settled in a bed and went through all the obligatory complications. That was the scary bit.
Pre-op went relatively smoothly, despite having to do an unnecessary pregnancy test and being absolutely starving, but we thought that I would go down around 11:30, so I stayed in the unit.
11:30 passed. No news. 12:30, still nothing. I was getting more hungry, more tired, more agitated. I was shutting down. By 15:30 I had accepted that it wasn’t happening, I had psyched myself up for nothing… then my surgeon walked in.
“Here we go.” I said, as she walked towards me. I could see it in her face; the surgery before mine had overran, she no longer had the time, the staff or the resources to complete my operation. She was very apologetic, I understood, but I was also angry. As it turns out, my case was quite complicated, and the next available slot was 2 weeks later, on the 17th July… my first thought… I’m going to be in hospital on my birthday”
So I start again, 2 more weeks of anticipation, but at least we knew that it was DEFINITELY going happen this time. The silver lining really was getting to go to Goodwood Festival of Speed with my Dad (as a birthday present to us both), spending the day watching cars and bikes across motorsport climb the hill and just take in the atmosphere of a raceday – meeting Lightning McQueen was cool too!
Here we go again
The 16th July rolls around, and we once again pack up the car. This time, accommodation for my family is easier – St. George’s Hospital is about 15 minutes away from Wimbledon and of course, when the tournament was on, it was going to be near impossible to find a hotel with space.
I had a room to myself that night, it meant I could watch my TV without worrying about disturbing my family, I could stay up as long as I needed and I could have the space to process what was about to happen. But I made sure that we went out for dinner, a little Italian place in Colliers Wood, which was really nice… normality amongst the chaos.
The next morning, I woke up at 7am. I had taken my meds at midnight so I could sleep, and seeing as the hotel was next to the hospital, it would take us approximately 6 minutes to walk to the ward. I went through the whole process again: height, weight, pregnancy test, allergies, consent forms etc. It was super rushed. I was in the anaesthetics room by 8:15, getting prepped with all of the different wires and cannulas that they would need.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I do remember the brainwave monitor they put on my head. I could see the screen, and every time I would blink, it would go off, every time I would talk it would be even crazier. It was really cool and took my mind off of what was about to happen.
Mum says that I fell asleep talking about Lando Norris, which of course I did, Goodwood was still in my head, and I had worn my new LN1 jersey into the hospital to feel somewhat normal.
The surgery took 6 and a half hours in total. My spinal cord was apparently really tethered, attached to fat and scar tissue that comes with having spinabifida and a previous untethering surgery. It was completely successful, I would wiggle my toes, which is the first thing I remember doing, and the surgeon was confident that I would make a full recovery (after not thinking she’d be able to and quickly changing her mind the week before).
I’m sure you can feel the relief through the screen after watching that video. I was convinced something was going to go wrong, that I would end up paralysed and lose everything I had ever worked for (athletically that is). But it didn’t, and that was the first time that I could process that my toes were moving – still high on drugs, but lucid.
The start of recovery
They took me back to the McKissock ward, the main Neurosurgical ward, where I was in a side room with an ensuite (not that I could use it). That was where I stayed for almost 6 days, most of which was on bed rest. I had a wound drain, a catheter, an IV in one vein for fluids and another for IV morphine.
I could barely move, I wasn’t allowed to sit up so eating and drinking was a challenge, and the pain was awful. From here, I started writing in my notes app, showing my progress each evening. These were written after my parents left each night, before I fell asleep.
Day 1
The surgery finally happened, I am laying flat, unable to really move, not allowed to get out of bed, hooked up to about a million different tubes, two of which are putting stuff in, two of which are draining stuff out… This is a weird feeling because I’m hurting but also I’m grateful to be hurting. I can move my feet, I have full sensation so far, and they haven’t gone numb even though I’ve been laying down all day. That’s huge. I will check in each day on here, but won’t post it until I’m out of hospital. Then you can get the full experience of being in and how my mentality changes over time.
Here’s to not being paralysed, I was so scared…
Day 2
I’m in more pain tonight, using more morphine and I got them to move my IV. But the football’s on so it’s ok! I have made some great progress today, moving my legs a lot more, got my pajama shorts on and my drain is doing well! Onto tomorrow, baby steps x
Day 3 and 4 (I missed a day)
I missed a couple nights because I felt so ill yesterday, but today was so good! I could sit up at lunch time and then the doctor came to check my wound after that! By 3pm I was up and walking (albeit slowly) after standing and my blood pressure tanking to 70/30. But I sat in the chair for a bit and my parents took me to the balcony for my first trip out of my room in a week. I am absolutely knackered now, but it is all so totally worth it… They took the drain out an hour ago, no local anaesthetic so extremely painful, but I am so much more comfortable now, it is amazing. Onto tomorrow, hopefully I’ll be home by Friday 🙂
You would think having a blog would mean that I’d have kept writing stuff down, but I’m a bit rubbish so I forgot. Day 5 was rough. I woke up feeling really nauseous, so Mum took me outside to get some fresh air, and by the time we came back in, the physios had come to see me. I was still feeling rubbish, especially since I hadn’t moved my bowels since before the surgery, but I thought I’d try walking through the ward anyway. I got to the toilet, where I started feeling even worse, so we left it there, and they wheeled me back to my room.
Mum let me sleep, it wasn’t for long, but it was enough, and after, I tried for the toilet again… lets just say my hot chocolate and laxative combination that morning wasn’t a great decision. Who am I kidding, the bathroom got covered in vomit, it was awful. Mum panicked, I didn’t have a sick bowl, my shorts got covered and I was stuck on the toilet. The nurses came to help but they were a bit rubbish and I ended up sat there for 20 minutes before mum just cleaned me up and got me back into bed. It was a combination of a poor breakfast drink choice and all of the surgical materials coming out of my system, and I felt much better for it.
Later that day, after yet another sleep and a bit of food, the physios came back, and this time, they wheeled me to the stairs, I went up and down one flight, and then walked all the way back to my room. That was massive progress from the day before and gave me so much confidence.
I was discharged the day after the stairs, travelling an hour and a half back in the car, but I was finally home, and finally comfortable… but it couldn’t be that simple could it?
Thanks for reading this far, I know it’s been a long one. The next post should be out in the next week, but I’m taking every day as it comes, so my upload schedule may be a little inconsistent (as always)!
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