Tut, tut. A three-day gap in posting is a bit lax! But I hope I can be excused for dropping standards like this.
The really big news is that I'm home again. Since yesterday at around 11:15am. No matter how nice the hospital, just being home is such a tonic! Your own place, your own bed, your own food, your own routine.
The sun was shining brightly as R--- drove me away from the Brighton Nuffield. A good omen! She'd researched a cunning route that minimised potholes and bumps for the twenty-five minute drive. How about that for looking after my comfort? What a joy it was to see my bungalow come into view, with the caravan and Fiona parked outside. There was my neighbour J---, with a quick word for us, and a warning that my house felt chilly inside. Oh dear. Yes, the boiler had stopped working. Hey ho! Let's get in, have a cup of tea, and relax a bit before getting worked up about anything like that!
Within the hour, I'd mostly unpacked, opened my mail, and was settled in Dad's green reclining chair, which has a motor, and can be controlled electronically. Bliss. The boiler wasn't going to get fixed that day, of course, so I asked R--- to get out the winter-warmth duvets for my bed, and for hers in the lounge, and I lent her a snug green dressing-gown: I was already in my long, furry oh-so-warm dressing gown. We selected meals to defrost and eat that night, and then R--- went off to work. She'll be staying with me for the first three or four nights, until it's certain that it's completely OK to leave me unattended overnight.
I began trying to get in touch with M---, my usual boiler man, eventually succeeding in late afternoon. He would come next day, his wife said, late in the morning probably. They'd actually just returned from her mother's funeral. In the circumstances, this was very decent service indeed. Soon after that, my cleaning lady T--- arrived. Another cup of tea and a chat. Then, while she got on with her tasks, I sank back and chilled - almost literally at first! Then the sun came round a bit, and the lounge filled with light and temporary warmth. I made sure to draw the curtains before sunset, to keep in that warmth.
I stayed reclined until after T--- left, when the need to pee drove me to the toilet.
I'd had the catheter whipped out by Mr Thomas personally on the day before, my last afternoon at the Nuffield. He'd apologised for having to stay up in London because of Charing Cross Hospital commitments during the preceding two days. I said I willingly forgave him. He examined my new bits, clearly very happy with his work, assuring me that there had been no major complications, and giving me information on the healing process. He really was in a delightfully cheerful, almost boyish mood. I felt very much committed to follow to the letter what he best advised.
Let's leave the homecoming there for now. Peeing will be the subject of the next post. Forget the surgery. Other things are just as important!