Jun. 2nd, 2009

Healing

Jun. 2nd, 2009 09:37 pm
In accordance with the wishes of a few friends who are presumably sick of hearing about blood and genitals, this post is mostly free from TMI.

I'm getting better. At least, I'm in much less pain and finding it easier to move around and to get comfortable. I can lie on my side now to sleep; I can sit for short periods; I can walk without it hurting - as long as I don't try to do too much or strain myself, I'm fine. Actually, I'm very happy: I feel as though I still haven't shaken off the post-operative glow. I've been wandering around grinning too much, and enjoying the sunlight. I'd like to be able to enjoy the sunlight for longer every day, but my body has been strict in telling me when enough is enough. I hate to waste the summer, but I'm aware I must allow myself chance to recover - anyway, I'd only be spending my time selling music in a dingy shop if I hadn't had surgery - I'm probably catching more of the good weather this way.

I even managed to take a trip back into London yesterday, so that the surgeons could check up on me regarding the - um, the problem I've mentioned in other recent posts. It was all rather last-minute - Lisa, the Clinical Nurse Specialist, had arrived back from a week's holiday that day, so first thing in the morning, I took the opportunity to contact her directly about the... issue, rather than going via the clinic itself. I explained the situation to her, with a mention that my nurse in Oxford has expressed concern; Lisa seemed a little alarmed, and asked whether I might be able to get over to see the surgeons *by 3pm that day*. I was slightly taken aback, but glad that they were taking me seriously, so I said I'd try. I was also a little scared - Lisa is the most experienced person I'd talked to about this, and if she was worried enough to clear a same-day appointment for me, well....

It was only when I put the phone down that I realised I'd probably need to take the bus into London myself, without the luxury of my brother acting as courier this time. For a moment, I wondered about sending a plea to possible drivers over the Internet... but I suspected that nobody would be around and able to reply in time, and I didn't want to alarm everyone by mentioning my requirement to go back to the hospital, at least, not until I'd worked out how serious this was. So. I decided to take the bus into town, and then the coach to London, and then the tube to Hammersmith. The actual amount of walking involved would be minimal, and I could probably stand on the bus and on the tube, and recline on the cou-, um, coach.

It was uncomfortable and tiring, but I felt accomplished by the end of the journey - it feels *good* to be so mobile. Still, I was glad when it was over. Lisa had told me to pack various essentials, so I was half expecting to be readmitted to hospital and to have a break from travelling at least for the rest of the day. In fact, my appointment with Lisa and the surgeon resulted in my being sent straight home. When I showed them the problem, they ummed and aahed a little, but decided... and at this point I'm afraid I'm going to have to move into the realms of...

TMI )
So, yes, I then had to make my way back home again. By the time I reached my room, the collected journeys had left me exhausted, and very sore.

I'd been expecting to spend the whole of today in bed, recovering from the previous day's exertions - but when I saw how beautiful it was outside, I couldn't resist but to take a bus into Oxford and have a walk around. I hobbled along Cornmarket Street, wishing I could do some shopping (trying on clothes would not be a good idea at present). I drifted into Worcester College and did my old favourite walk around the lake. It's been a very long time since I last visited my old college, and I forget how pretty it is. I was feeling pleasantly wistful by the time I found myself back in the main quad - so many memories, and such a rekindling of desire to find my way into academia in the future....

This may have some connection with the dreams I've been having lately. For some reason, since arriving home from hospital, I've had at least two anxiety dreams to do with academic work. Last week, I was falling behind in studying for my A-Levels, playing truant to spend time with a branch of my family I'd only just become aware of (they were travellers, with a brightly-colored horse-drawn wagon); and I was considering dropping out of school. Last night, I hadn't been putting the work in on my degree, and my coursework essays were severely unbalanced - I'd done too many on animals, and hadn't a clue what to write about plants (I remembered something about a magical beanstalk, but I was fairly sure that didn't actually exist); the Pillars of Academia turned their stone faces towards me in contempt.

I'm itching more and more to *get down and study something*; I just - still - haven't worked out what it's to be, yet.

For now, I really ought to appreciate my own sense of gladness :D

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sallyalice

September 2009

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