I don’t like Saturdays in hospital as they are quiet plus the staff are sometimes bank staff which isn’t good for me. I know the regular staff now and we can have a little chat but the bank staff, in my experience, just want the day to be over with as little interaction with the patient as possible.
I slept quite well and awake to the usual rituals of obs ( all ok), drug round ( paracetamol), room clean, shower blah flaming blah. I feel sad. I always feel sad in the mornings. Last night I had a dream I was home, thought I heard Stephen coughing but no chance, just my mind playing tricks on me again. How I miss home and what appeared as our mundane Saturday morning rituals now seem pretty perfect. Stephen always made me breakfast in bed, toast and marmalade, juice, coffee, banana. This was partly because I would then leave him in peace to read his paper, which could take hours and which he puts great effort into to, absorbing every single flaming word. If I disturbed him, I’d get the look which always amused me – I’d call him a pompous arse or words to that effect. I’d get up eventually, moan at him for getting marmite on the cream cupboard doors again or dropping marmalade on the floor. Just normal life that we all take for granted until Wham, something happens that takes all of that away. No point looking back they say and yes I accept that but I think it’s human nature isn’t it? I think the problem is when you are in hospital is it’s all relative. Compared to some patients, I am really well – the nurses have seen this all before so nothing phases them. To me it’s the end of the world – again yet I must stop looking back, I’m always looking back.
Even though Stephen and I bicker, I am hopeless without him. I lack motivation to walk on my own and they won’t let me leave the ward unaccompanied so I’m stuck. It’s a beautiful day and Facebook doesn’t help my low mood when I see everyone having a seemingly great time. I decide to phone Stephen and he tells me he is power washing the patio to keep himself occupied. Stephen does love a gadget 😫. I have a vision of him power washing everything to within an inch of its life, with paint being stripped in the process, and cobbles being catapulted all over the place, traumatised cats and all the while the spray leaving a messy grimy residue over everything. I don’t like the power washer, just spreads the mess but hey ho shouldn’t be ungrateful. He’s off to tesco soon and so we have a bizarre conversation about mops as I tell him the best one to buy. He says I must be better if I’m worrying about the state of the conservatory floor. I feel marginally brighter by the end of the phone call and set myself a task of doing 12 laps of the ward. I really must get fitter, get the blood flowing, heart pumping, body healing – sitting on this bed achieves nothing. My mind is my enemy at the moment 🤔