Anyone who has had to suffer a prolonged stay in hospital knows that a visit from the nearest and dearest is absolutely vital. One, to keep up the moral and two, to return you to a normal person after the onslaught of institutionalisation that comes with being ill and in the care of others. Today, although i’ve had visitors in the previous days, I’m inundated with those closest to me and it’s a godsend.
The passage of the day was difficult as everyone is emotional and as serious as my condition is I’m petrified of giving them more to worry about. So it’s a case of “putting a brave face on” and smiling. So when all the hubbub dies down the smile vanishes and the books they’ve bought me lie unread and I’m coming down hard. That descent is not made easier by the opening ceremony of the Euro championships which don’t include England. Thanks to the useless Steve McClaren. What all England fans will remember is the umberella and I’m trying to think of a metaphor for my condition but am struggling to find one.
The evening closes with me doing my exercises on my hand with frustration being the winner. My arm and hand stubbornly refuse to move and as I strain and strain the cramps in my leg begin. Eventually when I’m exhausted to the point of tears I give up.
I fall asleeep to await another day, and maybe another set of frustartions