Tuesday was a rough day - unbelievably bad. The memories of last year's post operation episodes of utter misery came sweeping back over in swathes of agony. Amanda reacted badly after I'd left her on Monday evening in the early hours of Tuesday morning (despite me being told otherwise when i'd called for an update on Tuesday morning). Will spare the details but it wasn't a good day.
Amanda had an MRI Tuesday morning too. No doubt to find out whether there was any trace of whatever it is. We still don't actually know what "it" is just yet. We're now playing the waiting game. More about that in a moment.
I didn't actually get to see much of Amanda on Tuesday. As she drifted in and out of anaesthetic sleep throughout the day, between bouts of...let's say unpleasantness...there wasn't actually a great deal I could do. I felt so helpless.
Wednesday morning - Amanda calls me quite early and the old spark is back, her voice has regained authority, she's slept off the worst of the effects. I visit the hospital within 30 minutes of her call. We're blessed to be within three miles of our health care provider. Now to try finding a car parking space onsite is another matter. Despite the granting of a concessionary car parking pass (yes, you have to pay to use the car park), demand far outstrips supply and there's plenty of uneasy car standoffs. I managed to get a space far quicker than yesterday's 45 minutes.
Amanda is looking tired but good. remarkable that this is 42 hours after major cranial surgery. We weren't sure what to expect hair wise - whether any would be removed to access her head for the operation. Thankfully, her hair is in place. She's sporting some pretty major metalwork in the form of pins which would keep a staple gun fully loaded for a while once they come out next week but she's looking good.
The consultants on the ward confirm she is well enough to leave today, just have to have the physio team walk her down the corridor to confirm she's fit enough to walk. Then we have to wait for the issuing of her medication from 11.30am....and wait....and wait....and wait...and wait....
We had a discharge letter to give to our doctor when Amanda has her staples removed from her head next week. It's littered with bad grammar. One section makes reference to a patient with a completely different name. (we're told that the people who drafted the letter were just testing that we were paying attention). I've joked with someone this evening that this letter looks like it's been written by someone who'd taken part in a "Take a child to work day" although a nine year old would wince at how bad the grammar is throughout this letter.
We waited so long, we were moved out of her room down to the discharge lounge. I detected a little bit of ice forming in hell before we were finally allowed to leave at 3.30pm. Even then, Amanda's medication hadn't been fully delivered. I returned to hospital later that evening to collect the outstanding supply of steroids, painkillers, anti-inflammatories. So there we have it. We're told to wait for a call now from the consultant which will define which path we are to take with this. "The Waiting Game" as a Facebook confidant puts it. I love a game as much as the next person but this is one I would gladly pass on and not participate in.
For now, we're enjoying the moment. I have my wife home, she's caught up watching Hollyoaks and enjoyed simple things. like a meal I'd sorted courtesy of the Tesco salad bar (other salad bars are available). Some major steps were overcome this week, but like a jockey in the Grand National, we're only part way through the circuit so far and plenty more (huge) hurdles to face.
Here's the front cover of a book I found in the day room in the neurological ward. OK, modelling for this kind of work is never going to be an easy job but... **Shudders**
Dean.
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