Hey, Surgical Ward at the local hospital.
Thanks for being there when I needed you. I really wasn’t expecting to drop in this week, but these things happen, and you and your staff have been nothing short of amazing.
In fact, the care has been so good that I’ve been told that can go home today.
If I promise to be good when I get there.
You know me. I’m always good.
So it’s goodbye for now.
And thanks again for fixing me.
Things weren’t going well with my knee, to the point where it was actually in danger of causing some permanent damage.
I’ve just woken up from a second, reasonably comfortable night in hospital and things are much less swollen than yesterday. Now I’m waiting for the call on whether I’ll be allowed to go home today. It seems unlikely, but a collective decision (doc, me, Mrs 6000, physio etc) will be made. It all seems rather dramatic and over the top to be honest, but they’re (quite reasonably) not willing for there to be more problems and another return visit.
Bandages are off, drain out, wounds looking good, drip out soon. The signs are good.
So, today will be another dull day of waking up super early [ticks box], hearing weird ward noises [ticks box], popping the cricket on and dozing [soon].
I promise you that it sounds much better than it actually will be. Additionally, I was unable to sort out my music issue before my surprise admission here, so I’m rather limited on the front as well. Grr.
Bit depressing, bit annoying, but fingers crossed that this is a new beginning.
Onward and upward.
(Just once I’m out of bedward.)
As this post publishes itself (via the magic of WordPress), I will – if all is going according to plan – be lying on a bed in an operating theatre in a hospital deep in the Southern Suburbs (no, not that one – I want a decent chance of survival) with a highly accomplished and highly expensive surgeon delving inside me like they do on Grey’s Anatomy.
I’m not particularly looking forward to this. My last “proper” op was when I was 7.
The aim of this one from my point of view is twofold: it will hopefully sort out the medical issues I have had recently and it will give me a chance to flirt with the nurses on the recovery ward.
In addition, I’ll be handily placed for the local A&E department when my wife reads this.
Pre-posting this is a bit of a risk: previous pre-posts about big events backfired spectacularly. I can only hope that that incident was a one-off. I can’t afford similar disasters with today’s operation.
Although the thought has occurred to me that it would be unlikely to be cancelled because of heavy snowfall.
Anyway, I digress. Often. And this time it’s probably because of pre-op nerves. See, much like when one reads a newspaper story about an event that one witnessed and one realises just how inaccurate the papers are, so it is with being a patient in a hospital when one has, for much of one’s life, worked in and around the medical profession. That smooth veneer of cleanliness, knowledge, professionalism and caring that you see as an outsider actually often covers a multitude of sins. I would prefer to be ignorant of these things for the next few days.
Indeed, the run up to this op has been plagued by poor service, misdiagnoses and ineptitude at virtually every step. It doesn’t fill me with confidence.
Still, it should all be plain sailing as long as the bloke with the knife has had his morning coffee (maybe the pre-op nil-by-mouth thing goes for surgeons as well).
All being well (but most especially me) I should be back blogging “soon”.
Maybe even sooner than that if I manage a couple more pre-posts before
You’ll never know the difference.