So after a cathartic 24 hours with the family, delicious roast lamb prepared by Bundy (despite the World's Worst Hangover) and a middle of the night cup of tea, it was back to the grim reality of hospital appointments. HWISO and I talked in the car about the fact that psychologically, I needed to try and get in a good place for this operation and the resulting isolation that is going to come with it. Regardless of the wonderful offers of compression slings, physiotherapy visits and the very beautiful, Katie, the Occupational Therapist, mere physical stuff is not enough. Thus, running away to Southwold was completely justified.
Apparently, this "infection" is quite serious as far as the operation is concerned, and requires IV antibiotics every day for the next ten days. Mr Shah is quite insistent. He even threatened to make me go into Basildon next week. Like No! Voluntarily spend time in hospital before I have to? I almost went white with terror. I am not sure what I dread more - the interminable boredom and restriction and routine of hospital - no nipping to the kitchen for a cup of Earl Grey T 4 am, mid-blog, I suspect. All that overheated air, constantly being on best behaviour, no privacy, no sheepskin rugs in the bathroom, endless sanitation and worst of all, no dogs..
Striking a deal with Miss Aitken - along the lines of I am NOT staying in - I now have to go in once a day to the surgical ward and have this IV done. It only takes 20 minutes.
I got my port line put in by the stars on the MacMillan day unit and met the lovely KL, a great fun friend (and Ward Sister) of Darby & Joan of moving house fame.
So six hours later I got home. Into my new Fat face fleece men's pull ups and fleecey bed wear top that arrived from darling Bex, a steak sandwich and bed
I am now trying to work out how to fit the infusion in with the Rugger and Strictly and how to avoid the scrutiny of the seemingly clairvoyant Mr Shah. I shall be checking the iPad for bugs and avoiding all doctors, especially consultants. Nurses are much better at keeping things on the straight and narrow and less dramatic. Even if they have never used a port line before.
Apparently, this "infection" is quite serious as far as the operation is concerned, and requires IV antibiotics every day for the next ten days. Mr Shah is quite insistent. He even threatened to make me go into Basildon next week. Like No! Voluntarily spend time in hospital before I have to? I almost went white with terror. I am not sure what I dread more - the interminable boredom and restriction and routine of hospital - no nipping to the kitchen for a cup of Earl Grey T 4 am, mid-blog, I suspect. All that overheated air, constantly being on best behaviour, no privacy, no sheepskin rugs in the bathroom, endless sanitation and worst of all, no dogs..
Striking a deal with Miss Aitken - along the lines of I am NOT staying in - I now have to go in once a day to the surgical ward and have this IV done. It only takes 20 minutes.
I got my port line put in by the stars on the MacMillan day unit and met the lovely KL, a great fun friend (and Ward Sister) of Darby & Joan of moving house fame.
So six hours later I got home. Into my new Fat face fleece men's pull ups and fleecey bed wear top that arrived from darling Bex, a steak sandwich and bed
I am now trying to work out how to fit the infusion in with the Rugger and Strictly and how to avoid the scrutiny of the seemingly clairvoyant Mr Shah. I shall be checking the iPad for bugs and avoiding all doctors, especially consultants. Nurses are much better at keeping things on the straight and narrow and less dramatic. Even if they have never used a port line before.
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