Blankety Blanks (Part Two) – The Prequel and The Sequel

As part of the post-surgery anti-clotting campaign, I’m advised to wear compression stockings for 42 weeks (only 41 to go…). As if that simple sweat-inducing fashion statement wasn’t enough, Mr H also insisted that I be plugged into the Stormtrooper Matrix for at least 24 hours after surgery (see above). The self-inflating cuffs are called Flowtrons; I can’t be the only one imagining a Transformers-esque spin-off story?

The Flowtrons are deliberately intermittent to prevent clots settling, which was a noble aim and was a success . However, the non-rhythmic noise and action of the random compression was distracting and supported the Steroids in their sleep-fighting games. The Transformer-Matrix-Stormtrooper machine malfunctioned every single time I unplugged myself to go to the toilet throughout the night. I had to reboot the machine every time, which didn’t ease the sleep deprivation!

Doogie Howser, M.D.? Not For Me

When I was in the pre-anaesthetic waiting area before surgery last week, the assistant hypnotist checked my medical history and inserted a cannula. As at every other stage of the prisoner transfer process, she asked me to confirm my date of birth and then exclaimed that we were born in the same year.

My immediate reaction (which I fear I was completely unsuccessful in covering up) was one of horror that someone so young (!) could be granted any medical supervision over my well-being. I then remembered that I’m not as young as I don’t even feel.

Perfect Day

Presumably because the anti-seizure medication has been steadily increased, the seizure frequency dropped markedly on Wednesday (I went eight hours at one point without an episode). I was also a lot less sleepy throughout the days. Desperate to see my girl, and confident enough that I would recognise the signs early enough to ensure Jennifer was taken away from me before I seized the day, I therefore saw my girl today for the first time since putting her to bed on Friday evening.

There are no words to describe how good it felt to share cuddles; play with toys from her her new Playmobil Noah’s ark; look at my beautiful little lady; and, exchange “I love you”s in person. There is simply no better reason to get up in the morning.

Flashes of Mediocrity

I’m apparently in a “sub-clinical seizure state”: hasn’t it always been thus? It would explain a lot. I’m likely to be staying in hospital for the rest of the week. Not only do I need to get the seizures under control, I need a degree of control over my right side that means I won’t risk spraining my ankle, leg or anything else.

Compared to the zero leg movement of Saturday/Sunday, I’ve made a lot of progress: Every Little Helps. I can move my right leg at the knee ever-so-slightly and can stand briefly when leaning heavily on two people. After one 50cm trip out of bed in the previous four days, I made it several metres on Wednesday (albeit mostly on wheels) and I sat in a chair on four separate occasions, which only set off a seizure once (albeit a very impressive one, if I do say so myself).

I’m therefore letting loose and ramping up my expectations for Thursday. As I’ll be having my staples removed at some point, I think the time has come to wash my hair for the first time in over a week. My hair is at least ten times more disgusting than it was at the end of a week on Mount Kilimanjaro, and it was so rank then that I washed it three times in a row as soon as we got down off the Roof.

On top of living out the great unwashed during the last week and adding the electrode glue of yesterday, it doesn’t help that I have a couple of hot flashes each day. I don’t actually get a temperature (I’m checked enough to be sure), it’s just a nice little quirk to add to the mix that I get really sweaty. Tomorrow is another day, though, and the time has come to give a damn!

Not least because I’m hoping that Master Leo will join me for a visit on Thursday. It’s not fair on the other inmates to bring the human foghorn onto a ward full of ladies with poorly heads. I’m reasonably confident, though, that I can make it to the day room to claim my first lion hug since Friday. What could be better?



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