This has been possibly the most frustrating three days of my life. I’m not used to not being able to do things for myself and I don’t like it. I’m 33. My mum shouldn’t have to be making me tea and bringing me food on a tray and changing my sheets and keeping one ear open at night in case I fall down the stairs on the way to the loo. She especially shouldn’t be woken up at 6 in the morning by someone being sick in the street outside the window and automatically come running into my room to check it’s not me. I don’t know how she does it - I’d have throttled me by now… My mother is nothing short of a legend. And she makes a mean chicken pie.
So, for the past couple of days I’ve been hobbling round like an old man – making those noises that only old men make. Oooophs and urrrrs and ghmmphs and hrrrrrrrrrrrs. Standing up hurt. Sitting down hurt. Moving from standing up to sitting down hurt. Don’t even get me started on moving from sitting to lying. For the first day swallowing hurt. On the second day it felt like the rubber tube in my chest was about rip itself out. Last night I peeled back some of the bandage on my neck and took some skin with it. That hurt.
It’s getting better though – this morning I managed to shower and wash my hair for the first time since Wednesday (I was RANK). The cat just trod on my chest and I didn’t fling him across the room. And I can now hold the beadle arm straight. Shame Mr W couldn’t add a couple of centimeters while he was at it…
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