I’m realising now that my new hip works. The pain that I have is elsewhere: my head, my leg and the wound. As Laurent put it, an operation like this is essentially a controlled car crash – so it takes a bit of time to sort out the collateral damage from the main incident. The pain in the leg is from haematoma, which is blood around the tissues. That should be reabsorbed quite soon.
Last night I had my first good, though punctuated, nights’ sleep. I managed not to sweat all night by sleeping on top of the covers instead of on the plastic mattress cover. I wore my mouth-guard in case the headaches were from tooth-grinding. Sometimes I like to wear it to relieve the tension in my jaw, but often it makes me want to gag. It was okay last night though. I’ve hidden it away again now; my body is not entirely my own property, to do with as I please, after all, in hospital.
There are shed-loads of medication to take each day, so I’m also trying to watch my stomach and smuggling in, via Louise, some live yoghurts. One of the pills is supposed to deal with the blood loss, but I am finding myself panting a bit.
Since Tuesday I’ve progressed from walking along the corridor to doing stairs – on crutches that is – though I’m only to do stairs under physio supervision. I’ll have to manage on my own soon enough, though, since we’re flying back tomorrow. Louise has been to-and-fro for me this entire time, fitting in some running and walking excursions of her own in between. One day soon I too will be free to move again!
I’m sure that I just saw an albatross fly past my window! But it must just be a gull with an great ape-index. (see note below)
The ‘ape index’ is the term that climbers use to indicate the length of the arms in relation to the body. Knuckle-dragging bodes well for climbing prowess!
I’m looking at the ‘spare’ food on my table and the stack of bottled water on the floor, as I eat pear puree from it’s foil pot. The sight of it makes me feel strange. I’m overwhelmingly pleased to be here, with the humanity of it as well as the outright technical and scientific genius that makes a hip replacement, or any medicine, possible. But I also feel uncomfortably, shamefully?, rapacious.
Even simple hydration costs the environment so much. These 9 litres of bottled water are a tiny proportion of what I’ll consume over the next few weeks even. And the pear puree, that has been extensively processed from the real pears, portioned and sealed into it’s individual pot, is just a nudge of sugar in my body to stave off hunger till breakfast. It all seems so extravagant and COSTLY. And that’s before I even consider the human investment that I’m receiving: people up and at work through the night and day, and bearing my needs in mind. I know that I haven’t done enough to deserve it, and never will.