Real life is exhausting

I’m ready to take the big step of returning to work tomorrow, a mere four weeks, seventeen doctors appointments, twenty-six scans for DVT and one additional operation after I was supposed to go back. It’s been a complete shlep.
There are unpaid medical bills littering the floor of the house. Yesterday, I found the beagle nibbling on one from the anaesthesiologist, which might explain a lot about why it sleeps so much.

Or it might just be really lazy.

I’m still not “right”, but I am getting there. I did a bit of driving (as documented here) last week, but the rush hour traffic is not conducive to a phased return to activity (clutch control is important, people), so the long-suffering and always admirable Mrs 6000 will be my taxi at least for tomorrow. And possibly Tuesday as well.

I’ve been up and about a lot more in preparation, and it’s all going well aside from the fact that not being laid up in bed in full RICE mode is actually completely exhausting. And that’s manageable while I’m at home, because I can just go and lie down somewhere.

That’s not really an option in a TB lab.

There’s also the question of drugs. My nighttime regimen includes stuff that leaves me feeling seriously dopey (yes, more so than usual) for large parts of the following morning. I’m expecting it to be rather challenging.

So… this week is surely going to be interesting. At least I have the benefit of a public holiday on Wednesday to break things up a bit and to allow me to recover from what promises to be a bit of a re-baptism by fire.

Home alone

Still in bed. Still being good. But I’ve not been sleeping too well at night, and being home alone today, I thought I’d to catch up a little. The beagle however, had other ideas, first flinging itself repeatedly at the back window in an effort to get out, and then (once outside) flinging itself the other way in order to get back in.

The stairs between us are exhausting right now, and so rather than continue with this ridiculous hokey-cokey act, I have now ended up leaving the back window open. Security be damned. The beagle must step up and lick any potential intruder to a slobbery end.

Tomorrow, my first physio session (I hope). Still concentrating on removing the swelling and bruising from my left leg rather than strengthening what muscle is left, but one has to start somewhere.

This enforced rest isn’t as good for the wallet either. Aside from the ridiculous medical bills, I’m finding plenty of time to watch Youtube videos of talented photographers and then wandering through online stores – ones selling photographic equipment –  the purchase of which makes me think I might be as good as them.

I have hidden my credit card.


My wife is pretty amazing.
True, she’s made the odd poor choice in her life [waves], but she really is the glue that holds this family together and keeps us all going. I try to tell her this a lot, but I’m never sure that she knows just how much she is valued and appreciated. Maybe she’ll read this, and then she’ll understand.

Equally, of course, I try to do what I can as well, and it’s worth pointing out that as a complete control freak, she’d probably not let me take over too much anyway. But we’re very, very lucky to have someone so willing, so strong and so able to lead our family.

And especially so now, with me stuck in bed with this leg [points] stuck up in the air like a lower limb Nazi salute.

Talking of… how on earth am I going to make it through tomorrow? It’s basically entirely sport-free. Without football, second-rate rugby and third-rate cricket, I imagine that I’m going to be quite bored. I have made sure to leave my music transfer to do then, and I’m sure I can catch up with some work stuff too. I’d much rather be up and about. But that would be counter-productive.

But I have to say that mindless Supersport viewing has kept me going this weekend, and there’s not going to be any of that.

So gone

Hey, Surgical Ward at the local hospital.

Thanks for being there when I needed you. I really wasn’t expecting to drop in this week, but these things happen, and you and your staff have been nothing short of amazing.

In fact, the care has been so good that I’ve been told that can go home today.

If I promise to be good when I get there.

You know me. I’m always good.

So it’s goodbye for now.
And thanks again for fixing me.

An intervention

Things weren’t going well with my knee, to the point where it was actually in danger of causing some permanent damage.

I’ve just woken up from a second, reasonably comfortable night in hospital and things are much less swollen than yesterday. Now I’m waiting for the call on whether I’ll be allowed to go home today. It seems unlikely, but a collective decision (doc, me, Mrs 6000, physio etc) will be made. It all seems rather dramatic and over the top to be honest, but they’re (quite reasonably) not willing for there to be more problems and another return visit.

Bandages are off, drain out, wounds looking good, drip out soon. The signs are good.

So, today will be another dull day of waking up super early [ticks box], hearing weird ward noises [ticks box], popping the cricket on and dozing [soon].

I promise you that it sounds much better than it actually will be. Additionally, I was unable to sort out my music issue before my surprise admission here, so I’m rather limited on the front as well. Grr.

Bit depressing, bit annoying, but fingers crossed that this is a new beginning.

Onward and upward.

(Just once I’m out of bedward.)