I wasn’t allowed to be on my own for a few days after the operation; my plans for peaceful convalescence delayed by care pathways and other such nonsense, nonsense like not being able to look after myself and being unsteady on my feet. It had been decided that I would stay with my parents as a condition of my release from hospital.

The little dog, meanwhile, was living it up with much fussing from my niece, my sister and her partner. Of course, he had to endure punishment beatings from Skippy the cat, but their relationship had improved since their first meeting when Rocky was ridden like a bucking bronco with the cat employing his claws to full effect.

My niece was at my parents’ when me and mum arrived back. I showed her the photo of my scar that I’d selfied when my surgeon had removed my dressing.

I told her that I’d been fastened shut with a zip and that I wasn’t sure whether I was water-tight, that she’d have to keep a close eye on my while I ate my dinner in case I leaked. She laughed, made me laugh, made me cough, almost made my staples explode. She watched with great intensity as I ate a chicken salad.

“I think they’re just about holding, Con, but I’d better just leave this piece of cucumber in case it pushes me over the edge.”

“You’re allowed an ice cream though?” With that, she ran to the kitchen and asked her nanna if I could have some ice cream. Bounding back to me, she handed me a single portion tub of vanilla and a spoon. I certainly wouldn’t have been getting this if I’d gone home to my empty house. Maybe going there wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

OMG, I’m an actual disabled person!
With dread, my bladder told me it was time to visit the bathroom. Nothing much wrong with this per se, but my folks are old and they’ve been provided with living aids for their bathroom, including a riser seat over the toilet (possibly the most unhygienic contraption I’ve ever encountered) and an electric rising bath chair, which takes up all the space in the bath. Oh god, I’d have to use this bathroom for days, I’d lamented on my previous visit there. I shuffled my way to the foot of the stairs and looked up, as best I could considering the restricted movement of my head. The twelve or so steps rose ahead of me and into the… distance. I made may way up, step by gruelling step, my energy sapping with every foot raised. By the time I reached the landing, I was sweating, my heart was pounding and I was short of breath. What the actual fuck? How could I allow myself to convalesce at a place that wasn’t equipped with a Stannah?

Now accustomed to the fact that I was temporarily disabled, I relaxed into my I feel ever so weak, please can you get me… Death in Venice persona and allowed my mum and dad to care for me for a while before trudging back upstairs to my old bedroom to settle down for the night.

Pins and needles in my face
The following day, I had to go back to the hospital to have half of my staples removed. The first challenge of that Friday morning was trying to have a shower from the chest down. This, of course, meant me having to balance in the one end of the bath that wasn’t occupied by the electric chair (an electric chair? in a bath?) and use the shower by holding the head of the pissy electric shower in one hand while trying to wash my body with the other. I couldn’t wash my hair for risk of getting my dressing wet. It hadn’t been washed since the Wednesday morning before my operation and was starting to take on a life of its own.

Clean, but not clean, Mum drove me to my home so I could collect some clothes before going to the hospital and it was there that I started to feel a bit odd: my arms were weak and tingling with pins and needles. Within a few minutes, my face and eyes were suffering the same effect. This is odd, I thought, should I mention something to Mum? Not wanting to worry her, I kept quiet and let her drive me to the hospital. Once she’d parked, I told her. Expecting panic, I was surprised when she just said, “Oh, just tell the nurse when you go in, it’s probably nothing”. Then I considered for a moment and remembered that this was the woman who’d had her heart stopped and restarted the day before my own operation.

We were met by the sister on the ward and I told her my concerns before allowing Mum to start on her. “Oh, your calcium levels might be a bit too low, we’ll do you a blood test,” she said calmly. And with that, I was invited into a clinic room where another nurse attended to me with staple removers.

The tugging of my skin as she removed half of the metal objects was slight sickening, but she made everything better: “Do you want to keep your staples?” Well, you lot kept my tumour so that’s the least you can offer!

“Before you put another dressing on, can I take a photo?”

“Of course you can, go ahead”

What I saw made me feel a little bit poorly, but these things must be done in the name of posterity (and acquisition of sympathy wherever possible).

“I’ll just take your blood sample and we’ll see you tomorrow to have the remainder of your staples out. We’ll get in touch if you need to do anything in the meantime.”

And with that, I was free to leave and face another hair-raising journey with Mum in ever decreasing control of the Corolla.

One with the wind and sky
Little Con was waiting for us when we got back to my folks’. She looked upset, “boys from school being nasty about Nonno”.

“Well, Con, the best thing to do is ignore them. They’ll be washing your big car one day when you’re all grown up and successful. Shall we watch Frozen and eat some sweets?”

With that, she perked up and we all settled down to watch the Disney masterpiece, again. It’s got to the stage where we can all sing along to it, something that might have been absolute torture for me a few years ago, but with age, and a good soundtrack, I’ve learned that the best way to enjoy Disney is to become fully immersed in the birth defect-like facial features of the characters and the simple, yet gripping, story lines. Do you want to build a snow man?

My sister arrived with the little dog. He was very pleased to see me, I think. We all watched and sang along… Let the storm rage oooooonnnnnnnnn… the cold never bothered me anyway

“We’ve got to watch it right to the end of the credits because the ice monster comes back to the palace and takes Elsa’s crown” Con protested as Anna tried to persuade her to stop the DVD so she could watch Pointless.

“But that’s it, nothing happens, the film has finished” Anna employed her irritatingly whiny voice.

“I want to see the ice monster! If Con says that the ice monster comes back, I want to see it!” I winked at my niece. Well, I can’t wink, it’s more of a retarded blink than a wink, but Con got me.

And there, as the credits finished rolling and the music stopped, the scene cut back to Elsa’s ice palace where the ice monster found Elsa’s crown, placed it on his head, and did a little dance. So there be a lesson to all the doubters.

Unzipped
Saturday morning came and I woke at 4.30 am. Not only was I awake, I was alert. Actually awake and not dragged back into sleep unconsciousness by the fatigue that had consumed me for so long. This was weird.

Anyway…

Another shower challenge and another day with new life forms growing on my scalp and I was ready for a return visit to the hospital to have the remainder of my staples removed.  I was certain that Mum would kill us both on the journey there, but we made it one piece.  

I wasn’t feeling tingly anymore and the nurse confirmed that my calcium levels were fine.  Thank fuck I hadn’t gone out and panic-bought Rennies! She proceeded to invite me into the clinic room where she prepared herself with gloves and staple-removers.

“Sorry, love, this one seems to be a bit stuck,” I felt the skin on my neck being tugged.

“Yes, your colleague had difficulty with that one yesterday,” please be careful!

More tugging, then release. “There we go, all done! I’ll just get you a dressing and then you can go.”

“I’ll just take a selfie of it before you cover it up”, my voice followed her out of the room.  I snapped away.

With that, it was covered up again and I was given instructions not to get it wet, “your hair will just have to smell until you can shower properly on Wednesday… or you could ask somebody to wash it for you.”

And so, for the time-being, I was released from the care of the hospital staff who had been pretty brilliant in all my encounters with them.  I just wish they were allowed to tell the annoying, unappreciative, demanding fuckers to go fuck themselves and get some fucking manners.