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I had my surgery to fix my massive (or giant depending on how my surgeon chooses to describe it on any given day) hiatal hernia a couple of weeks ago.

You think once you've had a few surgeries that you have recovery nailed and yet somehow I always seem to forget that surgeries and procedures are different from each other. One thing they do seem to have in common is that recovery is not linear. I know this and yet I always seem to be surprised by it. I can't fence jump my way through all the hurdles to the other side. It's more of a blunder and hope for the best.

I was nervous in the run up to the surgery of course, but I think I sometimes try to carry these things too lightly perhaps.

At least I know the drill now in terms of admission to the hospital. I'm so familiar with the place now that at least the stress of going somewhere unknown isn't something I have any more.

Shortly after checking in at reception, my husband and I were collected by a porter and taken to my room where I would be spending the next 24 hours. This was going to be my first overnight hospital stay which did feel a little bit daunting because I have been so used to previous surgeries and procedures where I was able to go home the same day.

I wasn't surprised to learn that I was the only person on my surgeon's list for the afternoon. I know from previous consultations and my OGD that my hernia was massive and complex so it was perhaps anticipated that it might not be a very straightforward surgery.

Thankfully I didn't have hours of sitting in my room just waiting to be taken down to surgery. My admission was at 12:30pm and then there was the usual flurry of activity as nurses did their various checks and questions. I met briefly with my surgeon and the anaesthetist, and then I went down to surgery around 2pm.

I have been through this process a few times now and I am always a little overwhelmed but impressed by how many people there are milling about in the process of attending to just one person. I have always been treated with kindness, with everything that is happening explained to me along the way.

I do feel for my husband who has always been so supportive and has accompanied me to the hospital for all my procedures. He sits with me, sometimes for hours before I go down for surgery, and then he has potentially hours more waiting for me to come back. Once I'm under anaesthetic, that's it for me.

As it turns out, it unfortunately was quite a lengthy wait for him as I didn't get brought back from the recovery ward to my room until around 6:30pm.

As always it's a bit disorienting and confusing coming round from anaesthetic. Your body has been through a whole ordeal without your knowledge or awareness and you wake up groggy and overwhelmed and sore.

Thankfully, I didn't wake up heaving and nauseous as I have after other surgeries, but I feel like it took me a bit longer to actually come round and be fully cognisant.

I do remember the surgeon stopping by to see me back at my room. My husband thankfully was able to ask what I wasn't capable in that moment, which was the all important question of if the surgery went well. My surgeon said that it had but it had been very difficult. I later learned from his post-op letter that the reason it was so complicated is because the hernia sac was thickened and stuck and the dissection was prolonged and challenging before they could even start the actual procedure.

It actually sounds like it might have been touch and go as to whether they could continue with the laparoscopic approach, but thankfully they did. No open surgery.

My husband stayed with me long enough to make sure I was doing okay before he went home and I was left in the good care of all the nurses.

I was on oxygen for a while as my saturation was quite low. The nurses kept telling me to breathe deeply so that I wasn't just using the top of my lungs but it was difficult getting deep enough breaths in because my chest was so tight after the surgery.

As expected, sleep was a bit disjointed. Being in hospital isn't a relaxing experience when nurses are in frequently to check on you and you're sore and stiff from surgery and it's difficult to move because there are tubes and a cannula to get tangled up and caught. Despite all that though, I did manage to grab batches of sleep.

It was incredibly hot those couple of days so I was extra grateful to be in a well air conditioned room. One less discomfort to have to put up with!

In the night I felt like I could successfully pass water so I called for a nurse who helped me with my drip or whatever it was attached to my cannula and left me to it. I'm grateful she didn't hover because it took me absolutely ages, but water was successfully passed.

Something must have gone awry from my walk from my bed to the toilet though because my tube was clear when I went to the toilet and it was full of blood when I got back so a nurse flushed it out so it was draining properly again.

I had five incisions from the surgery, but because of where they were, it didn't matter which side I was on, it was sore and uncomfortable. In the end, the most comfortable position ended up with my pressing the button to increase the incline on my hospital bed so I was halfway sat up and my body slightly angled so I wasn't quite on my side.

I fully woke around 6am and almost immediately, a nurse came in to check on me.

After they had done the usual observations she asked if I would like a cup of tea. I was surprisingly feeling quite alert and bright so I welcomed a cup of tea which I got down without any trouble.

Soon after that my breakfast was brought. Understandably, due to the nature and location of my surgery, I wasn't allowed to eat anything the day of the surgery. I hadn't had anything since the night before. I had a milky porridge, more tea and some orange juice. I was surprised by how easy it was to get everything down. Seems extraordinary looking back on that now.

I finished my breakfast and then another lovely nurse came in to see me to explain that she would speak to the surgeon to see if he had plans to see to me today and discuss when he would be happy for me to be discharged.

I was feeling quite fine in myself. I had managed to get myself to the toilet again and had managed to move slowly around my room.

My nurse came in again to change my dressings and check on my incisions which were looking fine. I asked if I could then get washed and dressed. I was feeling okay so was just keen to get home at that point and it's always easier to facilitate that by showing them that I'm dressed and mobile. She said that would be fine and she went to get me some towels so I could use the shower in my little bathroom.

They don't tell you how grubby you feel after surgery and I was so grateful to just stand under the water, wash my hair, and feel fresh.

I had been keeping my husband updated via text all morning so once I was dressed he asked if I wanted him to come in. He finished up some house chores and then he was on his way to see me.

While I was waiting for him to arrive, my nurse came by with some liquid ibuprofen and a change of compression socks.

In the end my surgeon told the nurse he didn't need to see me after they reported I had eaten successfully and was dressed and ready to go home, so my nurse quickly went to get my discharge paperwork and we were home just after midday.

I was of course feeling very sore from my incisions and due to how high up they are, it was quite painful to breathe, but I felt surprisingly well. Oh, you sweet summer child...

In the evening, I had some chicken broth for dinner which definitely felt more difficult to get down than the porridge had been that morning, but nothing that phased me. I just had to take my time. I had been told I must follow a sloppy diet for at least two weeks so I had a house full of porridge, weetabix, soups, yoghurts etc.

Then the anaesthetic and pain relief I had been given in hospital started to wear off. I remember hearing that I'd had fentanyl and propofol amongst lots of other things that I didn't recognise, which explains why I was overconfident in how well I was feeling. I remember thinking that I was expecting to feel a lot more uncomfortable in my throat, and then the soreness and swelling started to come through.

The next day we had a visitor for a couple of days. Last year my husband had booked tickets for a movies and games music concert, obviously not knowing that I was going to be having surgery so close to it. Alas, it was far too close to my surgery and there was no way I was going to feel up to going but at least my husband and brother were still able to go.

On the Saturday it was very pleasant weather; sunny with a nice breeze and not too warm so we had a BBQ. Well, my husband and brother had a BBQ and I sat and watched. It's very odd when: your appetite deserts you, so many foods are suddenly not allowed, and yet seeing the foods you would usually enthusiastically eat right in front of you and wanting them but not wanting them...

At least I had ice lollies and sorbets.

I knew that my appetite might disappear. Part of the process of fixing the hernia is to wrap the top of the stomach around the oesophagus so food capacity is reduced and fullness is felt sooner. It's not permanent though apparently, eventually my stomach will stretch and it will be able to accommodate previous capacity.

I also lost about 11lbs in the space of a week due to the diet and lack of appetite. I remember there was one day when all I managed was a couple of glasses of orange juice and a protein shake. I don't think I appreciated how difficult it would be. It's very different to know that the side effects of the operation would be dysphagia and lack of appetite, and actually living it. Taking three hours just to drink a protein shake because I had to take small sips and take 30-60 second breaks in between, whilst also not wanting to have anything at all, felt very frustrating.

This is probably the most complex surgery I have had so far and I have perhaps taken it a bit too lightly in the run up to it. I now fully appreciate how rearranged I have been in there and it has put my body, and particularly digestive system, into shock. It's that old adage of not appreciating things that you take for granted every day. Like being able to swallow. You don't really think about it, do you? I read that not only would my oesophagus be swollen and tight, it would also feel "stunned" and be unable to contract normally. Even taking the smallest of my medications has led to difficulty and moments of panic.

The best way I can describe the sensation is when you have gulped too much water too quickly and it feels like it gets trapped in your throat and swallowing it is like trying to swallow a rock, except there have been occasions where I got caught in a horrible cycle of every swallow feeling like that painful gulp. It made me feel like I was going to choke.

The other weirdly icky sensation is that liquids travel so slowly down my throat at the moment, that when I take a sip of water for example, I can feel it slowly travelling down. I wouldn't have thought that could feel unsettling, but it does. It's not surprising though. My oesophagus has been through a lot.

I really understand over these last couple of weeks why the sloppy diet is so strict. It's really, really scary when things get stuck. It has made me very tentative about eating. Before the operation, I was frightened of food because of The Grip (what I call the pain attacks). Now it's fear of choking and the wrap somehow coming undone.

Then my ribs started hurting. Most of my incisions are in that area. When I changed my dressings my incisions were still very red and sore, but there was no sign of infection which is good, and when I eventually completely removed the dressings I could see the bruising coming through which would explain my ribs hurting. It's not just the incisions themselves, they were obviously shoving and moving things around in them to perform the procedure. My body is going to feel that in a lot of ways.

There's also been a general malaise, bordering on depression. My concentration has been gone so there has unfortunately not been as much reading as I had hoped. Sleeping has been inconsistent - either epic or not at all. The lack of appetite and then very small intake of food has meant I've been very low energy, weak, and demoralised.

I remember one night about a week ago. I had gone to bed and was just doomscrolling but my algorithms kept shoving cooking reels into my eyeballs of all the foods I couldn't eat. It made me upset so I trundled back downstairs and my husband got all concerned until I cried, "the Internet keeps showing me foods I can't eat!" and he burst out laughing whilst exclaiming, "oh no!" and gave me a cuddle. Then he walked me back to bed and let me just vent before going to get me some orange juice.

He has been very patient and careful with me these last couple of weeks (forever). Making sure I don't bend if it's something he can do or help me with. One day I was finally sleeping and he came in to check on me. I asked what time it was and he said it didn't matter and left me to sleep some more. I think it was around 2pm when I eventually surfaced.

The next scary thing to happen - and I'm still not convinced it wasn't actually a dream - I woke up after a popping and pulling sensation in my chest. Of course I immediately started catastrophising that the wrap was coming undone. There was no pain though and upon looking into it in the cold light of day, it's entirely normal, especially during sleep. The popping/pulling sensation can be caused by oesophageal spasms, trapped gas escaping the stomach wrap, or minor shifts in the healing tissues as I change positions. It could also be stitches or sutures shifting or releasing slightly.

My big turning point was a few days ago. After the two week strict sloppy diet deadline, my surgeon said I could slowly try reintroducing more solid foods. I tried a spaghetti bolognese, sadly heavily butchered to pieces.

It took me a long time because I was making sure I was only taking very small bites and chewing into oblivion but I managed the whole thing! I felt a bit giddy after, perhaps because of a sudden energy rush after not eating properly for ages, but also because it was a sign of positive progress.

I had a bit of a stomach ache for a while after, but I didn't mind. It had been a while since my stomach had much work to do so it was a sign it finally had something to do except feel sad.

Unfortunately, the next day was not as successful and I couldn't get my next meal down and had to stop. There's that non-linear recovery experience again.

Yesterday, I successfully had three slices of thin pizza without crusts and later on, some wholemeal toast with plenty of butter and jam. I'm trying not to get ahead of myself and I knew reintroducing bread would probably be the most difficult, but I think the butter and jam helped.

It's still difficult to get food down, I can still feel that my oesophagus is restricted. It takes ages to eat anything approaching substantial due to the teeny tiny nibbles and millions of chews to get things down safely. I wouldn't say I am currently eating for pleasure. It all feels very mechanical and I'm terrified of choking if I'm not careful enough.

There's also the fear hangover of The Grip. The big test for that was the pizza as I probably got attacks most frequently after that and there wasn't a sign of that but I'm reluctant to declare victory yet. It's very easy to lose sight of the endgame when you're feeling low, sore, and frustrated. The whole point of the surgery is for the greater good.

Recovery is exhausting. It's such a roller coaster that sometimes gets stuck on the tracks before it gets going again. I've not exactly handled it with grace. I've been incredibly grumpy at points. There have been bright spots though. I've really appreciated the support and care from my husband. Friends and family have been regularly checking in. My parents sent me a food delivery, friends have sent flowers, care packages, Lush goodies and books.

I've had some lovely messages and it's meant a lot to have people cheer me on when I accomplish something like eating a simple meal.

I've had comfort rewatches of Pride & Prejudice (1995), Death Comes to Pemberley, and Project Hail Mary. I have also fallen madly in love with the absolute delight that is Widow's Bay.

I have my post-op consultation with the surgeon in a few days. I will be honest about how things have been but that I'm finally seeing some progress.

After that, I think he will probably discharge me and then I will need to prepare for my pyeloplasty surgery sometime in August. Two surgeries down, one more to go! I didn't have three major surgeries on my medical bingo card this year but I am very grateful I've had such a good surgeon to have gotten to the bottom of these things. Who would have thought that gallstones would lead to the discovery of a wandering stomach and an obstructed kidney?!

Until my next adventure...