taking care of the place
neither warmth nor depth
I woke up strapped to the bed by six different apparatus. The last thing I remember is the surgeon greeting me at the swing doors, ‘Welcome to Theatre,” and I said, “Oh! How gracious,’ then, “I’m scared.”
Of the leashes pegging me out like a goatskin my favourite is the pair of disco moon boots that wrap, white and puffy, loosely around my calves and plug in to a noisy apparatus to inflate and deflate, compressing the muscles as through walking. Getting out of bed is painful. I’ve several holes in my belly and one of them has a tube of blood coming out of it which is there to drain the wound.
The last time I ate was Wednesday, it’s now Sunday. However we discovered I can still vomit copiously. Had a visit from my mother who sat down beside the bed and said, “Well I’ve been having a very difficult week.” She wanted advice on something uncomfortable in her household arrangements and I gave it. The next day my whole family visited at once, as I thought it would be less stressful to get it over with in the one lump. Mum reached over to hug me and managed to gouge her elbow right into the principle wound on my belly, the first time anyone had touched it. It was so painful I actually screamed. I thought I would black out. When I opened my eyes I found my brother and her two sisters gathered round her patting and soothing, while she cried, because she felt so very terrible about hurting me. When I said, rather bitterly I suppose, ‘Oh, please. Focus on Carol!’ in a bravely wobbling martyred voice Mum said, ‘I’m alright! I’m ok. Focus on Cathoel.’ And my aunt came over on pretext of straightening a blanket to lean in and tell me in a stern undertone, ‘Stop it.’
I’m thinking of climbing out of bed (takes me a while) and going over to the whiteboard on my wall which has daily updated details for the nurses: I’m going to erase ‘liquid diet’ and put in its place ‘strawberries and champagne cocktails.’ I’m in bed 27, the age rock stars overdose, and I am alive and have survived. I’m on ward number 3D and indeed life is all technicolour this week and in three dimensions.
15 comments on “neither warmth nor depth”
Leave a comment
You might also like to read:
For weeks after the diagnosis I was still having episodes of shock as deep as flashbacks, every single day. Every day at some point I went into a dazzled fugue of confusion and horror, while ...read more
When I got there the doctor said, "You know when we call you in at seven in the morning it's not good." She had called me in at 7.15am on Friday to give this news. ...read more
I just got a letter from my mother explaining she has been in hospital for five days with bronchial pneumonia. Mum is in Brisbane and I am in Berlin and no one told me. She's ...read more
A virtual hug,
On the plus side, you might get to keep the cute little red or orange walking socks. On the minus side, hospital sucks. I hope you are recovering OK. XX
Hang in there!
Your mother is a piece of work. Sending strength x
I’m sorry you have to go through this. Hoping the surgery was successful and you can get out of there soon.
All the hugs my beautiful friend xx
Nuff love from across the Atlantic Cathoel xx
Oh I feel for you – had a massive migraine after theatre when I had a total hysterectomy two months ago. Gotta love the compression socks too.
Enjoy your solids when you get to them. Quality of champagne in hospital is always questionable.
If hugs do heel wounds.
From me to you.
Stay stronger
She’s had a difficult week?!!!
Your family…!
I’ve been waiting for a post… hoping you’re ok ! 🙏🌺
Sending love!💜 ..your smile in the midst of so much to manage..🧡
Just saying Cathoel, I know you’re not a violent person, but if you need one, you know a guy.
This…this is a lot. Sending you my love.