#kneeop

Operation Day began with an early start, as we had to check in at hospital by 7.15, however with a Nil by Mouth embargo now in force, no time was wasted having a Full English. Also, as it was School Holiday time,we expected the usual nightmare journey to Cheadle via the M67 and M60 to be much quicker, and so it proved, with the 18 mile journey completed in a record-breaking 2 hours 15 minutes-roughly the same time as the operation was going to take.

After checking in,we were shown to my room, where Hils immediately faced a dilemma-whether to order room service off the breakfast menu or go to the nearby cafe, where the aroma of bacon was wafting temptingly towards us. Aware that a man who is Nil by Mouth is best avoided when eating a bacon sarnie she tactically chose the cafe option-a wise move in my opinion.

Whilst she was gone I busied myself by checking the important things-whether I could get Sky Sports, what time was Evening meal, how well stocked was the mini-bar? I'm joking about the mini-bar. Honestly. I then decided I could no longer delay what I still feel is the worst moment of any major surgical procedure-putting on that stupid back-to-front gown. No normal size person with normal length arms and normal rotational mobility of the head can possibly tie it properly round the back, and looking backwards into a full length mirror to make it easier is just wrong, and a bit pervy if you ask me. Even when it's on it looks wrong, and unless you're the female tennis player from the famous poster of the 70s is not a good look from behind. And don't even get me started on paper underpants, they are literally not worth the paper you're sitting on!

Just as Hils returned there was a knock on the door and the most important consultation of the day was about to take place-it was Catering with the Lunch and Dinner menus. Even a glass-half-full man like myself realised that ordering Lunch was optimistic, but I eventually decided on a Tuna Bake followed by a Custard Pot for Dinner-(for people from Glossop, Lunch means Dinner and Dinner means Tea)😀😀. There was a space on the bottom of the form for Special Dietary Requirements, so I wrote 'If for any reason the operation overruns, please liquidise and feed intravenously.' No point a good Tuna Bake going to waste......

Next on the list was to complete my Health and Life Style Questionnaire. Over the years I have completed a number of these and have never had much trouble with them. I've never smoked, never had any of the horrible long list of illnesses listed and my retentive memory enables me to list my previous 9 knee and hip operations the way some people can list the kings and queens of England since 1066. I can't do that, although between us my brother and I used to know all the F A Cup Winners since 1872. 1924? That was one of the ones he knew!

However the one question on the form that has always had me struggling is the number of alcohol units consumed. Over the years I have always come at this question from a number of different angles to rationalise always putting 19.If put under cross-examination about the accuracy of this I have had various plans for justifying this number, from claiming ignorance about what one unit actually represents, to claiming this was a whole-of-life average from the day I was born ( that buys me an extra 10 years at the start), and if all else fails coming clean and admitting I thought it was the daily number of units that was required, not an entire week. Luckily in all the years I have been putting 19 nobody has ever questioned me further, even when Paul Hardcastle brought out a song about it.

The next 90 minutes was then taken up with what I have always thought is a very strange hospital ritual as 73 different people knock on the door, come to the end of the bed, pick up the thick file of notes and skim through the massive pile of papers in 10 seconds flat before asking you the same questions in exactly the same order-

Name, Date of Birth, have you got a tag on your wrist, what is the number, do you have any allergies, are you diabetic, are you wearing any jewellery,do you have any piercings or pieces of metal in your body?

I am always nervous answering these as for some reason Paul Hardcastle's lyrics of N N N N N N Nineteen are always going through my head, even though I know this is not one of the questions. In no particular order I was asked these questions by nurses, auxiliaries, sisters, doctor's assistants, doctors, surgeon's secretaries, surgeons, anaesthetist's assistants,anaesthetists, cleaners, the bloke selling newspapers, Michael Parkinson, Graham Norton and Trevor McDonald.

Eventually I obviously passed the identity parade because the surgeon then returned to the room and took out a black felt pen from his pocket. Having read of the pressure surgeons are under I was worried that he had succumbed to some sort of addiction, but thankfully he proceeded to draw a large black arrow on my thigh, pointing in a very accusing way towards my knee-and bonus!!! It was the right knee, which I saw as a promising start. He then assured me that everything was going to go smoothly , both he and the robot had slept well , and all would be fine . He couldn't tell me exactly what time the operation was but it was definitely before lunch, so my Tuna Bake was looking good for later in the evening. As he left the room I felt reassured that he was totally in control of his, and more importantly my destiny. Five minutes later his secretary reappeared to say that his list had now completely changed and I was now last , after Loose Women had finished and maybe even as late as Pointless. My first thought was whether the Pasta Chef had been informed, but I let it go.

I decided on some rest , at which point Hils departed for the Trafford Centre where she was going to spend the afternoon in the company of the credit card until the operation was over. It is a sign of my state of mind at this point that this hardly registered on my scale of things to worry about.

I was woken from my slumbers by the Anaesthetist wanting to explain my choices of anaesthetic- there were basically three in ascending order of strength,

Spinal injection

General anaesthetic

Watching United's end of season DVD.

As I definitely wanted to be well out of it I opted for the DVD and when the time came this turned out to be an inspired decision as by the time the third long ball was lumped up to Fellaini I was well away, not waking up until over two hours later, just in time to see Hazard scoring the winning penalty in the Cup Final.

Finally, around 2.45 the porter knocked on the door, picked up my file, read it in 10 seconds, asked me the questions, and then asked me if I was fit to walk to the operating theatre. I must have looked a little surprised by this as he said - 'It's alright for you, I have to walk back as well!' Luckily I was able to wear my dressing gown to cover my operation gown, which by now was offering some tempting rear glimpses when I walked.

I was on my way, and a few minutes later I was lying on the operating table waiting for the Spinal injection to take effect- yes the DVD was a joke.........Honestly........

Coming next time-

Will I wake up in time for the Tuna Bake?

Will the credit card survive the Trafford Centre?

You may remember that in 2016 I had a new hip, and was so bored during the Rehab that I produced a series of Blogs that seemed to amuse a few people. For anybody wanting to read these again, or,heaven forbid,if you missed them last time, these can be read on my Tumblr site. For those who want to cut to the chase, I quote the last couple of paragraphs of the last Blog of May 2016-

'Anyway, now I have a life again I will be too busy to blog any more, so thanks for sharing my rehab with me,I have been genuinely amazed by the number of people who have told me they have been reading them, and with the power of the Internet they have been shared with fellow sufferers throughout the world.

And of course, never say never, I have so many other creaky joints I am sure there will be some time in the future (hopefully not too soon) when I am again obliged to go under the Surgeon's knife, and have time on my hands to write some more rubbish'.

Well, guess what, around a month ago, whilst at my son's wedding in Portugal, my right knee, which had been gradually crumbling like Jose Mourinho over the last few years, finally packed up completely.

This meant 2 things-

1- I was unable to carry out any serious dad-dancing at my son's wedding, which I know seriously upset Sam and Lyndsey, although bravely they soldiered on with the Wedding.

2- Having supported me through thousands of football and cricket matches, numerous marathons and half-marathons and even the odd bit of dancing here and there, my knee was no longer fit-for-purpose, and needed upgrading as soon as possible.

So it was that just a couple of days after returning from Portugal, I was sitting in a Consulting Room at the Alexandra Hospital discussing my options with a Surgeon who was reassuringly not only a Mr, not a Dr, but also double-barrelled, and not in a chavy way.

The operation was explained to me, and he then asked if I was prepared to be a bit of a guinea pig,as he was pioneering some (literally) cutting-edge techniques whereby part of the operation would be carried out by a robot. I agreed, on condition that the robot was also double-barrelled. (Where is R2-D2 when you need him?).

The date of the Op was agreed for the end of July, which would give me a month to sort out the logistics of working from home for a few weeks afterwards, but also would give the post-holiday insect bites on my legs time to heal up, as the Op couldn’t have gone ahead with the current state of my mosi-ravished lower limbs.

My only other concern was the attention he had given to my City tattoo,which is located on the outside of my calf, and the throw-away comment that hopefully he wouldn’t damage it. I feared from the glint in his eye that he was of the red persuasion, and he was already programming R2-D2 to change the C to a U at the first available opportunity.

The month of July flashed by in a flurry of organisation and arrangements, and suddenly it was the night before the operation. That is always a difficult evening to get through, as it is not recommended to drink alcohol or eat anything particularly hot or spicy before the anaesthetic .

To take my mind off the following day's events we decided to go for a meal and then go to our favourite little cinema in Marple, where for the incredibly reasonable price of £5 we could watch the new Abba film, and the thought of watching a bunch of actors who can't sing murdering some of the Swedish superstars' greatest hits seemed a good way of forgetting about things for a couple of hours. To be fair the standard of singing was better than in the first film and although it was a long evening it was a good way to spend what Hils was somewhat worryingly referring to as 'The Last Supper'.In fact if I had to do it all again, I would my friend, Fernando.....