Pseudo-physio, real shower

After my wash, there’s a knock on the door. A new nurse walks in
and is surprised to find me up and about. This, it turns out, is the
physio – but she doesn’t introduce herself as such. She asks whether
I’ve got a dressing gown, and I have – hidden away in my bag, which
she fishes out of the wardrobe. I take the opportunity to grab more
books at the same time, as I’ve finished the one I was reading
yesterday (Forever War).

All dolled up in my tatty blue dressing gown, the nurse walks me
along some corridors, actually taking me in a big square around the
ward. Walking’s fine. Not perfect, but not painful either. She tells
me that someone will take me up and and down some stairs this afternoon.

After less than five minutes we’re back at my room, and that’s my
physio done. Oh. I was expecting more than that.

One of the other nurses tells me I can have a shower, and finally
takes out my line, taping a wad of paper bandages tightly in place to
soak up the leakage from my hand. She also changes the dressing on my
wound, to a waterproof one. There’s a little blood spotting, but I’ve
been regularly inspected and everyone’s happy with my progress.

The shower’s pretty good. I’m surprised at how flexible I am
considering the surgery was just over 24 hours ago, but I take it
easy. I drop the soap once, but using the magical power of knees I
bend down and retrieve it successfully.

The shower leaves me feeling a bit more human.

The nurse is taking some post-shower obs when Andy Shire pops in.
We have a good long chat, and I demonstrate my amazing new ability to
walk without pain.


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