If it’s not the physio who wants me to give 3 almighty huffs followed by a cough, 2 laps down the hallway (it dawned on me why my mum called me turtle) … and then 3 deep breathes every hour … or the nurse who needed to refuel the drip … or the food delivery service guy … or the pair of nurses where one reads my wristlet band while the other hands me a dose of pills …
I could possibly give sleeping a go.
My son Ben, bless his heart texted me from downstairs to let me know that he had purchased a Cappuccino. Great, the very last thing I want right at this moment. So I chugged it down with appreciation. Thank you son.
Later tonight the surgeon came in to evaluate my condition and suggested I could be home tomorrow. I just knew the extra lap would pay off, no pain no gain, yup that’s me. He also left me with a couple of Polaroid shots of my chest cavity, explaining in detail the story behind each picture. I accepted his version that the foaming gue was infection, but did he have to burst it while it was still inside me with his soldering iron.
I was seriously wondering if that was an ‘oopsy’ moment.
The white sausage like piece of meat is the Gall Bladder and apparently the shape and size of this one suggests it’s filled with explosive devices, so the surgeon is careful positioning it for the right camera shot. Immediately below it and surprisingly, that’s my liver, the surgeon said that it looks very healthy. I feel sad that the months of alcohol abstinance must have turned it into a monastery. Cheer up old fellow, I’ll have a glass of wine after this.
I wanted to upload another groovy pic of the gall bladder oozing all of it’s bubbly goodness, but the family jeered and boo’ed at this proposal so I was left to battle my conscience. Do I upload it for the shock value or for educational purposes? I’ll sneak it onto the blog at a later time [insert evil laugh here].