After 25 days in hospital, it feels good to be free. I felt very tired when I got home on Wednesday afternoon and, to be honest, have felt shattered ever since! I have had some good times with the family in between the naps. That’s the best thing about being at home: being able to see the kids as often as I feel up to it. In hospital I was limited to, at most, a couple of hours a few times a week because the logistics didn’t work on days that they were in nursery.
Jennifer was very excited to see me. Leo smiled and then wandered off to get up to one sort of mischief or another. He currently has a love for putting things in the toilet. Nice. He didn’t like being held by me in hospital, not least because he’s become a real Daddy’s boy, but also because it’s not much fun being held (constrained) by someone in a bed when you’re 11 months old, have learned to walk and are feeling like you need to explore! He held his arms out to me yesterday, though, when he was incarcerated in his high chair and I was standing next to him. I recognised that I was being used, being the closest one who could free him, but I’ll take that!
Seizure wise, it’s been 50 hours since I had one (i.e., I’ve not had one since I got home). I hoped that they might be easing as the last two I had in hospital were limited to my foot and below the knee, rather than spreading up my entire right side. While that is great news, and gives me a chance to restore some energy and movement, I’m not quite counting my chickens. After all, I went three weeks without one before the two-hour seizure four weeks ago tomorrow.
I lost a lot of movement four weeks ago after the aforementioned two-hour seizure. However, I had recovered some of my downward ankle mobility while in hospital and yesterday I felt the first flickering of life in my toes (again, downward only). So we are Moving on Down, but in a good way. I’m walking short distances (as in, no more than 10 steps) without my splint, so that makes it easier to get around the house and gives me independence in getting to the bathroom. That gives me one over Leo, who is way ahead of me on the walking front and is whizzing around the house, opening doors and drawers, preferring walking to all-fours.
Yesterday, inspired by a five-year old boy, Jennifer “pimped my splint” with stickers kindly sent by the five-year old’s mum:
…(Man) At Last
One of the reasons Mr H had encouraged me to leave hospital was that he was keen for me to meet the oncologists he had spoken to about me. Oncologists are not keen on meeting people until they are discharged from hospital, grouping them collectively (whatever the reason for being in hospital) as not healthy enough to cope with radiotherapy and chemotherapy.
Mr H had suggested that if I was still a patient he could perhaps persuade the oncologists to meet but that it would be easier if I were to be discharged. Having confirmed on Monday that, all being well, I was to leave on Wednesday, I have already received a letter confirming that I have an appointment on Tuesday afternoon with an oncologist at the Freeman Hospital. (For those unfortunate not to live in and around Newcastle, the Freeman is the other main hospital in the Toon.)
Despite the seizures and extended stay in hospital, and depending on what the oncologist says, this keeps me on track with the initial estimate of starting radiotherapy around four to six weeks after my surgery.