While I was in hospital I made some notes for this blog entry, some are a bit raw, some may seem trite and some may seem to be cloying but I want to record this journey as honestly as possible. I have decided they should be verbatim so here goes:
15 March: Stella came in with Dad tonight, can't remember much of the conversation. Stella's had her hair cut, she is beautiful.
16.March: On F8 (ward) feeling very low. Mum, Dad, Sally, Tabitha (she arrived earlier than the others), Jemima and Paul. It was good to see Tabby. Can't pretend to be happy, I feel like this is never going to end so scared. Just want to be with Stella.
My emotions swing wildly from overjoyed to tearful especially when thinking about the kids.
Later: Injected myself (anticoagulent) tonight for the first time. I am going to have to do this when I get home Yuk!
17 March: On the upside, recovery seem good I'm walking much further than recommended by the physio. Inside my stomach feels bruised (to be expected) and I feel vaguely like I need a poo, I think this may be down to bruising in my rectum. The Consultant is very pleased with progress and the symposium; showed me footage on his phone! The numb area around my stomach seems to be receding and I think I am begining to feel my bladder again. I still have a catheter (depressing) but they will take it out tonight (Saturday). I'll be in at least until Sunday possibly Monday. The Consultant says there is no reason why my stoma can't be reversed (v. positive). He had to 'remake' my stoma during the operation and did consider reversing it then! part of me wishes he had.
The staff here (Frimley Park) are fantastic, showing unbelievable tolerence, forberence and kindness. Their little joke was to say 'Medication time' every time they brought the drug trolley around the ward. However, being on the ward is very depressing.
Not verbatim bit
While on the ward I met and got chatting to an 88 year old guy who looked like catweazle. He had been in a tank crew on D-Day, being landed by the americans, wounded, patched up and sent back. He said he had never seen so many dead bodies, human and animal. He also related a story of an encounter with a German Tiger tank ended with his best mate being killed. He was demobbed in 1947. He never did remembrance day parades because of the memories they brought back.
Our conversations showed me two things; Everybody has story to tell and war leaves very deep and long lasting scars, something we should all give more thought to.
I think that when we have a life experience with others we can let go of ourselves in a way that is difficult when we are on our own. With others we can rise above our own needs and act for the group. Flying solo, as you describe it in this post, can be the scariest thing of all.
ReplyDeleteWell done on your progress so far.