My gorgeous savvy surgeon and his beautiful brilliant assistant came for cocktail hour and inspection. Upon their departure they awarded me with my much anticipated golden ticket.. I had permission to go home. Yay!
My discharge order was set in motion and I had 24 hours to prepare myself for checkout.
Intravenous drips were finally ejected, long scripts were written and copious quantities of hospital knickers and sick bags were handed my way.
And then there was the ‘blow job’ machine Officially known as an incentive spirometer.. I’m required to blow it 10 times an hour. In order to prevent pneumonia.. and other sexually transmitted diseases and unwanted menopausal pregnancies.
I obtained special permission to take a shower too. Not currently looking my usual eye-wateringly-alluring-self.. My anatomy resembles that of a malnourished heroin addict in desperate need of rehab.. track marks cover my body like a map of the Cotswolds footpaths.
M got prime viewing of this spectacle while hosing me down like I was an oppressed palomino belonging to a pigged-tailed posh kid about to enter the Pony Club mounted games.
Then my physiotherapist declared that I require a walking cane.. ‘Will hospital issue suffice?’ I was asked.
‘Umm no thank you very much. I desire an elaborate gold dragon’s head with bright green emerald eyes .. thanks for your offer, but I’ll require Chinese eBay for this accessory.’
Ironically I fell asleep that last evening whilst watching a movie about a little blue fish (called Dory) who suffered from short term memory loss.
The morning couldn’t arrive soon enough and I was so so excited to get home.. because as the saying goes.. ‘Home is always the place where .. You POOP most comfortably!’ And I was really looking forward to that fuzzy cozy feeling.