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That Wednesday night in April was without doubt the proudest moment of my life. Standing on the pitch, surrounded by my team-mates, my friends, looking up at the podium waiting for G Mac to lift our Ulster title – it’s hard to describe the feeling at that point. It’s an adrenaline rush but not like one any of us have felt before. It’s pure satisfaction. It’s happiness. That was the high-point of the journey. Things weren’t always that good…..
November 25 2010
My body’s shaking uncontrollably as a searing and repetitive pain shoots through my midriff. Moving makes it worse and I squeeze the unfamiliar bed frame in search of some sort of comfort. The nurse beside my bed spots my distress and finally comes to my aid. After fiddling at my hand she tells me she has pumped morphine into my system but the pain continues. She tries to distract me by engaging in conversation but talking only makes the pain worse. Ignorantly, I lie there and stare at the blank ceiling; manners are certainly not at the top of my priority list at this moment in time. Unfortunately there is absolutely nothing up there to amuse my eyes or distract my brain any longer and the pain overrides every thought in my head once more.
My sentences are coming out sounding like a have a bad stammer. I start to breathe heavily and the more I move my diaphragm in and out the worse it becomes. There is an oxygen mask covering my mouth and I suck in air like a rookie diver about to submerge myself underwater. The nurse, in her wisdom, tells me to slow down my breathing or I will hyperventilate. Does she really think telling me that is going to help calm me down? My facial expression clearly gets the message across. Thank god it does because talking is too much hassle and not worth the effort right now – normally you can’t shut me up but now I don’t want to talk – this pain is consuming me.
Finally, she takes the hint and pumps more morphine in an effort to help me relax. The pain begins to ease. Numbness begins to spread throughout my groin and it is a welcome relief. At this stage I’m drifting in and out of consciousness as the anesthesia works its magic. My eyes give up the fight and close.
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I’m woken up by someone shaking my arm; this time it is a different nurse. I know I have my wits about me again at this stage as my immediate reaction is to check her out. She’s a tidy bit of work. Thankfully I’m no longer as high as a kite and I remember where I am and what has happened. I’m sitting in the Day Ward of the Hermitage Medical Clinic, Dublin. I’ve just had a Hernia Repair operation on my right side after playing with a mysterious pain in my quad and groin that nobody could pin down over the last two years. My surgeon Michael Allen thinks this will do the trick. I have no other option but to trust him.
