Recovery has its good days and its bad days. In the morning, it was definitely a bad day as a lacklustre physio session resulted in blood tests, ECGs, blood pressure readings galore. A senior nurse came in to check Dad over. She wore a dark grey uniform. Honestly all these nurses and therapists have different uniforms, different colours, it's very very confusing.
As Dad ate lunch he suddenly murmured, "It hurts." What hurts??!! "When I breathe." More checks made by a nurse. After a nap, a young pretty girl came over and introduced herself as the Senior House Officer (you what?) She checked dad over then went off to get his blood results. "Quick, get my shaver!" ordered Dad, making himself more presentable to the pretty doctor. Honestly!
"Completely normal!" she said when she returned. "Your blood is completely normal. You're the only one with normal blood on this ward!" At these magic words, dad visibly perked up and felt better.
Later in the afternoon we had a surprise visit from my brother's wife and their daughter who is 9 months old. It was wonderful to see them and having a big-eyed curious baby on the ward felt amazingly fresh. The parallels between babyhood and old age are striking. Needing help to be fed, to be cleaned, to be clothed. Bouts of erratic behaviour and misunderstandings. When dad practises his walking in particular, he likes to compare himself with his granddaughter. "Just like Aimee," he'll say. Or on good days, "better than Aimee".
We all went outside to partake of sunshine and fantastic views of the city. A little freedom at last.
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