It was a strange sort of time for me over the holidays. I got to see my sister and her children, and family, on Christmas day which was lovely. But there’d been something I’d been struggling with for a while now that ended up dictating the way everything else went. I’ll spare the details but, after complaining something wasn’t quite right for a while, and after visits to the doctor and a couple of calls to 111, on Friday I was admitted to hospital with, what I can best describe as, an infection in my knee.
First, they aspirated it; the doctor telling me they’d be able to tell by what they took out how good/bad things were. And, once he started filling his syringes, he was able to say that things didn’t look so good and that I needed to speak to the surgeon.
Which I did. They operated that night (well, at about 2am).
There are many things you notice when you’re in a situation like that – how brilliant the NHS is; how great the doctors and nurses and hospital staff are; how you should really, not go in for something like that on your own because it’s lonely and there’s no-one there to keep you calm or to keep your seat if you need to go anywhere.
After signing my forms and after the risks had been explained to me I… You know what, I honestly don’t think I’ve felt so scared in all my life. I know it’s probably an exaggeration that hindsight’ll let me laugh at (and I’m sure I’d have been better if I’d had some time to prepare and process things), but the thought that something could go wrong, that this could be it, that I’d not finish this book, deliver those workshops, that there was nothing else – it was terrifying.
Anyway, I had the operation and I woke up and they’re good things (although, what they don’t tell you is someone comes every half hour to take your blood pressure/examine you, so rest was at a premium). They let me leave after three days (as long as I was supervised – thanks, Mum) and I’ve been doing my best to not do much. To keep my movement down, to keep my stress levels sensible, not get re-infected and, mostly, sleep. I’m still super drained and not quite with it. I am still recovering.
So I missed the new year fun and all that but that’s okay because I am still here and I will finish this book and do all the things I’ve been looking forward to and, as soon as I’m back on my feet and I’ve shaved my face and can walk properly, I’m going to jump head first into 2019. Because I can. Because I, like everyone else here, am far braver than I thought.
(And, as an aside, I’ve not been checking emails so if you’re waiting for something from me don’t think I’m ignoring you.)