15. Seeing Red = Blue Lights

Once home I was told to stay in bed for at least a few days and sleep and try and keep the pain at bay. Paul made porridge and soup which for the first couple of days I could just about get down, but when the pain meds were getting low boy did I suffer. I fell asleep at one stage and woke up far too long after I should have topped up, and sat rocking on the bed, holding both sides of my jaw in each hand with a flow of dribble coming out my mouth, sobbing waiting for the ibrufen to start to dull what can only be described as having the worst ear ache in both ears whilst someone ripped all your double teeth out with a pair of pliers. They had warned me it would be painful but nothing prepares you. I knew I had to try the morphine as I wasn't meant to take the ibrufen for too long as they had warned me it was so bad for my stomach. But sadly I'm allergic to opiates and codeine, and paracetamol just wasn't cutting it.

The first time I tried the oramorph I took such a small dose to be honest after about 1/2 hr it was like I hadn't even bothered and the pain was quickly creeping up on me still. By Sunday, I hadn't hardly slept and everything was a no as far as eating was concerned and drinking was warm water or milk, even the ice chips and cold drinks they recommend was so painful I couldn't stand it. By 8pm that evening I was starving, my blood sugars felt like zero and I was starting to feel shaky and not really lucid. I decided to try the face ice pack and some ice cream.

At first the 1 small scoop of vanilla Haagen-Dazs seemed the perfect interval from the pain as half a teaspoon dissolved on my tongue and then gently swallowed, it was the best thing I'd tasted in over 48 hours.

Paul looked round the door and asked how I was getting on and I asked for another scoop as if I could eat something I was jolly well going to. That's where everything spun off into some altered universe of shyte!

I had only put half a teaspoon of the second lot of ice cream in my mouth when I felt a strange 'pop' at the back of my throat, and at exactly the same time the pain vanished, like someone had turned it off with a switch!

For a few milli seconds I remember I didn't move, I didn't breathe, I didn't swallow, I just sat in the bed holding the bowl of ice cream silently waiting for what had just happened.

Then I felt the warmth flooding into my mouth and the sickly metallic taste, and I reached out for a tissue opened my mouth to spit out the ice cream and in horror as my whole field of vision zoomed in close up, and then refocused back out again, I stared down at the bright red blood soaked tissue and felt warm sticky flow of blood pouring out of my mouth. I jumped out of bed and holding my head forward catching the blood, and tried to shout out to Paul, 'hwelp me' ..... <<<muffled scream>>>

We spent the next 10 mins with me leaning over the toilet in the main bathroom, blood pouring out of my mouth trying to tell him what I'd done before it started, and him constantly passing me ice cubes telling me to stay calm and suck the ice til it had stopped. Eventually, after what seemed like ages it did stop and I was pulling lumps and clots out of the back of my tongue and gagging trying not to swallow any. Like a broken human being, I managed to get back to bed and he cleared everything away took a photo of the toilet so we had proof of how much blood there had been and went down stairs to get me fresh water , ice, and a bowl in case it started again or I was sick. I was laying in bed googling 'how much blood is ok to lose after having your tonsils out' when Paul walked back in the room. 'I think I should go to A&E' I said muffled trying not to open my mouth, or move anything to make it start again.

' Why? Its stopped now, you'll be fine' Paul said putting the fresh water and ice on the bedside cabinet. 'But it says any amount of fresh blood should be treated as an emergency as it might not stop'

'But it has stopped, stop getting yourself in a tizz about it, lay back down, calm down everything is going to be fine'. ( Famous last words)

As I sat up to take the bowl he was holding out, I tasted it again, only this time my mouth was filling up. I looked up from under my eyebrows, head bowed into my lap over the bowl he'd brought up from the kitchen. 'Phon 'd' amblance' and I passed him the phone from next to the bed. The blood was pouring, and I mean gushing I couldn't spit it as fast as it was filling up my mouth and throat, and I looked up and he was just standing there holding the phone, staring at me and all the blood.

' DWIAL DA FUKKING UMBER!!!!!!!'

Then I managed to get out of bed and kneel on the floor so my head was in a downward trajectory over the bowl. I could hear him answer the questions somewhere in the distance as I retched, and reached into my mouth pulling huge red masses of congealed blood off my tongue so I could breathe. I could hear the woman on the other end of the phone asking if it was 'still the same, was I still bleeding, tell her to stay calm'.

'She says try to stay calm' Paul said. He disappeared I could hear him running round the house turning lights on, opening blinds still talking to the 999 operator asking how long will they be. All the time the blood kept pouring out in to the silver bowl and Lottie sat about 2 feet away from me on the carpet, I managed to look up through my eye brows at her, whilst retching and her little face looked so confused and frightened, she sensed the fear, smelt the blood but she sat there anyway not knowing what to do. Finally after about 10 minutes the ambulance arrived. Still leaning over the bowl retching up big lumps I could feel the presence of someone behind me at the end of the bed and another green uniform knelt down in front of me, I reached out and grasped my hand round his bare wrist between his purple latex glove and the sleeve of his jacket. I needed to know he knew I wasn't panicking but I needed him to know I was scared. For the next few minutes they asked Paul questions and I carried on spitting up blood but slowly the gushing started easing off. Paul had whisked Lottie off to the kitchen and shut her away, and they told me they were taking me in straight away as it could re start at anytime. I told them I could walk to the ambulance, luckily my bag from 3 days before when I had been in hospital was still relatively unpacked and just needed a new pair of pyjamas slung in the top. Paul brought the bag, my handbag, my thermos ice water cup and a jumper for me to put on over my un matching blood splattered pyjamas and I was bundled off into the ambulance, with unbrushed hair and no underwear, a cannula put in, my obs taken and a red light phone ahead to tell them I was coming.

Paul stood on the driveway and I waved goodbye as they shut the door, and I told him to stay with Lottie and I'd text him when I knew what was happening. I asked if they could take me to Peterborough as I definitely didn't want to be going back to Kings Lynn and have anything to do with ENT there, and also I knew Mr Amen had dealing with Peterborough so I could maybe get him a message. They refused and said Kings Lynn was closer by about 5 mins so I had to go there. And off we set, towards the worst hospital in England. (according to official reports).

QEH aka Clowns R Us.

When I arrived outside A&E we were the only ambulance there, even the crew were joking that since it had been on the news the previous week about it being the worst hospital in England no one wanted to be brought here. Wheeled straight through into 'resus' I was greeted by 4 people, a woman Dr took the hand over and asked to look into my mouth and confirmed there was a large clot and that what was probably causing the bleeding.

Then another Dr came in and started quizzing her and I realised she was obviously still learning and definitely knew when he asked what she thought she'd do next and she said

'remove the clot???????' He laughed nervously and said immediately 'No no no! Definitely not!' They then started telling me there was no ENT trained staff there at weekends so they would be taking me to Norwich Hospital. I asked then why hadn't they taken me to Peterborough from my house, it was only 5 mins longer and they would have ENT staff and now they wanted me to travel another 50 mins further away to a hospital I'd got a complaint against.

Over the next 5 mins basically I got told, that's what we're offering like it or lump it

I lumped it! I said ' Fine get the discharge forms, and call me a taxi, I'm going to Peterborough' They tried telling me I could bleed out again, and it could be life threatening but to be honest, I'd rather have taken my chances in a taxi than there or in Norwich. So at 1.30 am , under medical advice to not go, in odd pyjamas covered in blood, armed with a cardboard sick bowl, a very nervous taxi driver called Chris drove me as fast but as smoothly as he could from Kings Lynn to Peterborough City Hospital. As I peered through the fog, into the darkness I tried to gently hold my tongue firmly on the back of my throat and with every breath counted every foot of the journey, praying I wouldn't taste the warm metallic taste suddenly in my mouth. I calmy texted Paul and told him 'I'm on the way to Peterborough No ENT at QEH and I refused to go to Norwich, so I'm in a taxi let you know when I get there.' All very calm like I was texting him to remember to get a loaf out the freezer, but inside I was alone, I hadn't eaten for nearly 3 days, not slept, I had been told I could bleed out and possibly die and I had no medical back and my pain meds were fast running out. Kings Lynn to Peterborough felt like a lifetime.