Heavenly Beverley : My Knee and I

The Beverley Hillbillies are back where we belong. I am currently seated at my familiar desk, looking out at our beautiful brick courtyard. The endless hues of our recycled bricks are dancing and glistening in the morning light.

Wednesday was one of those topsy-turvy days. I woke, flustered, in pain and uncomfortable, without Michael next to me in the room at the Mount Hospital. He'd had to return home on Tuesday due to the imminent sealing of our charcoal pavers, in order to keep the dogs contained. As of this morning, the sealing has still not occurred ...

Michael and I have had only good memories of the Mount. The Boy Wonder has put us both together again there on a number of occasions. All of these previous admissions had been overnight stays. My knee replacement had led to a five-day stay. Maybe I was just there too long...

My first concern on that fateful last morning was my unanswered bell. For an hour. Then came two nurses, who had supposedly checked my morning medications, bringing in a blood thinning injection I'd had the night before.

A diversionary tactic was employed when I asked for help with showering "Do you think you could manage with the shower chair?" I doubt I would have asked for help if I didn't think I needed it.

I showered and dressed without help. My knee was not amused.

Confusion reigned about the timing of my discharge. I had checked the day before (Tuesday) that I could stay until after lunch as Michael would be coming from Beverley to collect me. So I'd ordered lunch for us. Wednesday morning I was told needed to vacate my room prior to Michael's arrival. I singlehandedly packed up all our gear.,,Then I was assured I could remain in my room after all.

Give me strength.

Michael arrived, having broken the land speed record in Lily. The bloke whose partner was in the next bed helped him down with our belongings. In their absence, I went to the toilet and sat rather heavily on the seat.

A robust bellow of my favourite expletive should have been heard throughout the ward. I rang the bell to ask for immediate pain relief. I was not happy and said so.

Apparently, my needs had not been met due to Wednesday being a busy admissions and surgery day.

We arrived at Station House just before three o'clock that afternoon. I retired to our bedroom and slept for a dream free two hours. We were increasingly tired and crotchety as the night wore on, so we chose bed relatively early, prior to either of us actually stabbing the other in the eye.

Throughout this last week, my knee and I have also been forging a relationship. I have yet to post holiday snaps of us together. Our partnership reminds me of being at home with a new baby. One part euphoria, one part terror, one part exhaustion and one part sheer determination.

The first morning at home was a mixture of refreshment and joy. I had slept twelve hours away. My knee and I were making progress. Prior to this, I had considered that the knee was an alien, rather like the being in the movie of the same name and definitely not to be trusted. Although not yet best buddies, we are now beyond the funny handshake stage.

Yesterday, I blasted past any limitations and I am now paying the price. My foot has blown up due to more activity and less horizontalness. Bollocks. That will teach me.

Today is a fresh day. I vow to be more sensible. I vow to treat my knee with more tenderness and affection. There will be no leaping tall buildings in a single bound.

But I am home and all is pretty good in our world. I can hear the Beagle behind me snoring her rocks off whilst reclining on her bed.

Gold.