It is great to be home. I miss Marcello’s delightful Italian accent though. He is a doctor from Scicily. When I ask him for some lactilose, he asks me if I would like
‘A Henema’ ...cluck cluck… the mind boggles. I certainly don’t miss bloods being taken daily and the endless stream of painful canulas. At home I can walk a little with the drains concealed and it is a pleasure to get down to the sea and watch the silvery waves glistening in the sunlight. So therapeutic. All I could hear from the ward in Southampton were the massive delivery lorries that began around 6am and droned on throughout the day Sunday being the rare exception offering a little respite. Swapping that for the beating of swans wings and beautiful bird song is indeed a delight. How I long for the chance to swim once more but that dream is a while off into the future. In the meantime I have to live with the drains and this feeling of being slightly freakish. The district nurse comes every day to change the dressings. Not easy, but better than being trapped in a hospital ward for eight weeks.
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