The Big Pull

It’s amazing what we agree to sometimes.

Chatting to the surgeon before sticking some sharp implements up my nose, he warns me about the possibility of damage to my eyes, and also the base plate of my brain. After which, he shoved the consent form in front of me to sign.

"What the hell, let’s go for it". What else could I say? How many people actually turn around and say, "now that you mention it, I’m not so sure. I’ll think I’ll go home?"

Perhaps I should have done. I thought the sinus procedure would be a local anaesthetic and a quick in and out job. Not a bit of it. When reviewing the scans he also saw a bit of crooked bone that was in the way and suggested we take that out too.

At 09.30hrs my eyes stared at the clock as they put me under, "are you feeling drowsy yet?" The last thing I remember saying was ‘no’.

12.30hrs and I’m coming around. 3 hours. 3 bloody hours. Literally. And now I’m sat in recovery with packs up my nose. I’m not sure why they call them packs – imagine a tampon shoved up each nostril. The tails are taped to my nose, ready for the big pull. Oh yeah, there’s going to be a big pull. That wasn’t mentioned on the consent form.

Still, the pull wasn’t for another 4 hours. I had to sit and refrain from moving my head much, and was limited to breathing through my mouth, the throat already sore from whatever pipe they shoved down there in theatre.

Next came the ice for the bridge of the nose. In a very resourceful manner, a latex glove had been filled with water and frozen. Then, the fingers you use for the two-fingered salute were put either side of my nose, and there it rested.


Then the time came. Packs out. "It will feel funny for a moment or two, but will soon pass. Oh, and there might be a bit of bleeding. Some people dribble, others don’t."

I wasn’t one of the others. And it wasn’t a dribble.

The young nurse called politely for help. A head appeared around the curtain and said, "oh, that is rather a lot isn’t it", and went to fetch a third person, doing nothing for my rising anxiety.

I also needed to spit. The blood was running into my throat and I was about to gag. The young girl gently rested a bowl beneath my chin, unaware that it wasn’t a polite dribble that was about to emerge. Like a scene from the exorcist I spat. Suffice to say the bedding needed changing.

But all mopped up, and with the second nostril unplugged a few minutes later, I was done and dusted. A few hours after, I was chauffeured home.

Surprisingly I have no pain. I’m very much blocked up with clotted blood, but other than that minor discomfort, I’m fine.

I even coughed, and spat something up that wasn’t blood a few moments ago, so I must be on the mend. Now where's the bottle opener?