Today dawned as Michael's date with Doctor Bhandari, lovely chap, general surgeon and cricket lover, who was in charge of sewing up Michael's belly button hernia. Very early start for us - vertical at five o'clock in the morning, breakfast done and dusted by six o'clock, followed by interminable fasting until he went to theatre just before two o'clock. In between was driving to the Big Smoke, lots of paperwork, with episodes of utter boredom and high anxiety, mostly in the operating theatre holding bay where we waited with waning anticipation until, suddenly, all was GO.
Thankfully, the interval Michael was under the care of Others was relatively short and punctuated by two informative texts, reporting on where he was and then a final phone-call confirming he was on his way back to Room 15 in Howell Ward in Hollywood Hospital. I heaved a huge sigh of relief when Michael appeared cheerful, hungry and surprisingly switched on.
We have been surrounded by some really lovely staff - from the surgeon and the anaesthetist to the orderlies, the nurses to the domestics, the reception to the cafe attendants. Although there's no place like home, we have been particularly heartened by the experience of this hospital stay.
In addition, Michael has looked incredibly sexy in his glorious powder blue patient 'dress', his white knee high support stockings, his disposable undies (he was aghast at the concept of going without any jocks) and the Pro Hart inspired splashing of red disinfectant all over his belly.
This evening's entertainment included two bladder ultrasounds to check the volume of wee still sloshing around and the theatre of Michael's night time tablets being dished out to him by our attentive and compassionate nurse, Nick. Nicole, who admitted Michael onto Howell Ward was cheerful and efficient. And then with any luck, we will both drift off to Cloud Cuckoo Land and enjoy as much slumber as is possible in a hospital room.
The only brickbats I can currently toss are concerning the ancient pillows sporting the latest fashion of torn plastic protectors, the stained and torn sheets and the illusion of thin coverlets masquerading as blankets. Hence, expecting the worst whilst hoping for the best, we arrived with our own pillows in clean, fresh pillow cases and warm and woolly blankets, which were lovingly knitted by Michael's grandmother.
In a couple of weeks, we will likely be switching beds. The ulna in my right forearm, which was shortened and had a plate inserted in 2015, has completely healed and grown again and is now back pushing onto my wrist bones, causing pain, weakness and limited movement.
As a result, I will be re-visiting Mister Ben Kimberley, who put the bloody plate in, for an opinion and hopefully a solution. Which will probably involve taking the old plate out, putting a new plate in...in, out, in, out and shake it all about...along with a further shortening of this annoying bone. What is most irritating is that I would really like a growth spurt in my leg bones, but that seems rather unlikely in my rapidly ageing state.
And thus, I will be the hospital patient and Michael will draw the shorter straw by enduring the luck of the draw in securing a reasonable sofa bed as the boarder. With our own pillows and blankets.
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