Most of Thursday and Friday are a blur. My parents visit on the Thursday; my poor Dad, fresh off a plane from Pakistan, makes a beeline for my bedside as soon as I am round. DH comes back Friday morning but I inadvertently give myself two shots of morphine and stop making any sense at all for a while. I can understand how people get addicted to this stuff - it makes you float away, although I don't get any of the nice dreams that others I know have had.
Friday's big events are Getting Out of Bed and Eating Food. A small army comes to execute the first: the physio and two nurses. It takes an age to unplug me from the various devices. We are talking about a distance of less than a metre from the bed to the chair, something that 48 hours ago did not present a significant challenge. Well now it might as well be Mount Everest, and I even have the oxygen supply. Sit up - ok. Stand up - yup. And sit down again quick before I fall down. The picture in my eyes is breaking up like a satellite signal in a thunderstorm and it takes 5 minutes before normal service is resumed. Back to bed then.
A nurse persuades me that the second is a good idea although the idea of putting anything in a digestive system that's just been redesigned is a bit scary. Leek and potato soup - that should be ok; there doesn't seem to be curry on the menu so no need to rise to any serious challenge. I can barely eat half of it before my stomach is full. No solid food in four days seems to mean my stomach has shrunk to the size of a walnut, but it's a start.
I Skype home. DS is not bothered, but I have to remove the oxygen tube before DD is comfortable speaking to me.
Sleeping is difficult and seems to be the result of morphine/exhaustion rather than in accordance with any pattern. This is not helped by the pain in my shoulders which is, I'm told, the reflection of trapped wind in the bowel cavity as the surgeon pumps air in to get a better look during the procedure. Nor can I lie on my side which is my usual sleeping position, as it feels alarmingly like the wound will split. And there's still the regular obs to be done; Saturday night sees a lovely nurse who seems to get that I need cleaning up without asking so when she comes to check on me she makes sure to clean me up too, which makes me feel more human. For some reason I don't want to read books and watch tv so I go for my iPod. Sometimes having a preference for rock and metal is not a good thing, but I do have a small stash of folk music and the soothing tones of The Unthanks seem to help me drift off.