Update: surgery

Thank you for your good wishes.

The beloved is walking, talking and has become demanding (i.e. she requested removal of all tubes, drains, etc.) and marched herself off to the shower this morning out of protest against the nurse's rough washing techniques.

We saw the surgeon this evening again. Barring some minor complications (a numb upper leg, pain) and the outcome of the tissue tests (benign?) which we are still awaiting, everything is fine so far.

Homecoming scheduled for Wednesday or Thursday, after which a long recovery flat on her back is required.

One step a day.

Thank God for morphine!

This evening at 7 pm I got the call.

Everything was all right, she'd just been brought back to her room. Leaving the munchkin in my mum's care, I made straight for the hospital.

Pale face, dark shadows, but a smile and she cracked a joke at me, while half asleep. A morphine pump is keeping the pain in check.

In the car I finally gave free reign to my tears.

Relief. Pent-up stress.

Thank you all for your support!

Current mood: brooding

I deposited my beloved in the hospital this morning where two respected surgeons will attend to her innards, hopefully with a positive outcome.

All I can do now is sit here and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Blogging will be a bit more infrequent than usual in the next weeks as I juggle a household, a child who is on spring break and daily hospital visits.

Surgery central

Far be it from me to bother you with inane details pertaining to my life but sometimes I seem to be able to wrap my mind better around something when I actually write it out.

For some time now, my beloved so has been acting like a fire-spewing creature straight out of the dragon's den. No, menopause has not hit with a vengeance yet, thankfully. Unfortunately she too has had to hop on to the surgery bandwagon and will have to undergo some pretty invasive muck-raking surgery in the spring, followed by 8 weeks or more of recovery.

I am trying to ignore the ramifications of this decision. However, at the end of the day I find myself being terrified by the fact that somebody who is basically a paragon of health (well, sorta) will be knocked out for such a long time. I don't like illness, I hate hospitals and I despise medical practitioners for their lack of communication skills. So, here is our bump on the road: I am terrified of the idea that she is putting her life into someone else's hands (the dreadest anaesthesia), horrified at the idea that they might find something else while they're in there, and I think of the recovery period as filled with gloom, doom and a lot of pain. I suppose that by now, you might have gleaned that I'm the half-empty glass type of personality.

So this is my current mood:


And for those who like men in drag, and a more contemporary voice singing the same lyrics: