The Blurred Line

Day 30 - Physios and pirates

Tonight is my last night in hospital at least for the time being. I don't really know how to feel. I'll greatly miss the staff at St Mary's. I've been here so long that I've got quite attached to them and the chats I've had with them. I hope I can come back to see them just to visit them and I hope they don't recognise me and that it will be a big shock when they realise I have two perfect legs. Their excellent care, and Mr Simmons' handiwork and "plumbing" (of blood vessels), has given me the opportunity to not only lead an ordinary life but an extraordinary life because I am going to do so much more with this leg than I have ever done with my old one.

In addition, the outside world seems scary. Everybody walks so fast and they don't have the patience for or the compassion towards an L-plate wheelchair user. The pavements are uneven and sloping – I don't know how I won't slide into the gutter! I'm scared about how I am going to use public transport. I'm also scared about going home because if I go home then this whole ordeal will finally be real. Psychologically, it's the last step in the realisation that this isn't a horrible nightmare I'm going to wake up out of at some point, this is my life now – for the moment at least.

On the other hand, I will be home and there is nothing better than that. I won't have to wait for my mum to get here in the morning – she will have probably left for work hours before I even consider getting up! I won't have to restrict my family to seeing me during visiting hours. I'll be able to have a lazy Sunday with them and watch pointless or semi go around Osterley Park. I will be able to see my dog which is either good because I love him to bits or bad because he is utterly mad and will probably jump into my chair!

I've just spent the last hour sitting by the bedside of a 90 year old lady who was frightened – frightened because she didn't know what the computer was, frightened because she didn't know how she would get to the surgery tomorrow and probably frightened of the surgery itself. Hospital is frightening at the beginning for the like of me let alone someone who is elderly, deaf, confused, and can't see as well. And so I sat with her until the lights went off and she could go to sleep, answering any questions she had, reassuring her and holding her hand when she obviously needed it.

We have three elderly ladies in the ward with us now, all of which are deaf and a bit confused. One yesterday said that it was a pleasure that I understood that we needed to look after our older generation after I talked with her for maybe half an hour. It made me think how elderly ladies and gentlemen just get shuffled into a box by society. The Victorians used to think that children should be seen but not heard. I think that has changed now from children to older people who don't have the same support network as my grandparents do. They are me but several decades in the future. They are still human and deserve compassion. I don't think I was different before but being in the orthopaedic ward, where many of the women need hip replacements, I understand more just how vulnerable and lonely they can be and how just a simply smile can do so much good. A conversation on the other hand, well, that could change the world of not only the old lady but of you too.

After I criticised Her Majesty for saying she was in pain when I was very much in pain, I had a lovely card from Suzy that reinforced this idea. I have actually been pretty harsh on Her Majesty but at the time I just couldn't focus on being rational. I hope she doesn't mind me quoting her but she wrote on the subject of pain, "I guess it's all relative. The most painful and frustrating thing we have ever been through, is the most painful and frustrating thing we have been through, regardless of the cause." I found the sentence so profound and poetic that it really made me think that yes we are all sometimes in pain, not just in hospital but in the outside world too, and we all experience pain differently. I happen to become very quiet when I'm in pain whereas others scream and shout and I am able to take quite a lot of pain before it incapacitates me whereas others can't. All we, including myself, can do is be patient and supportive of one another when the pain happens. I did prefer the other quote on the front though saying, "Hi there. I'm under this ball of ketamine. I'll come out when I'm ready," which again is entirely accurate! Loved it!