Chintz, cannulas and hot milk...

Well, where to begin.  I guess with an apology for the delay in posting.  I know it’s hard to believe, but I have just been so busy that it’s been difficult to find the time to blog.  Honestly, the days just fly by! Up, shower, physio, work, lunch, visitors, more physio, more visitors, dinner, chill then sleep.  It’s exhausting!

So, back to the beginning of my stay here at Lynden Hill.  Leaving Royal Berks was a real emotional wrench in the end.  I think I’d become almost institutionalised during the time I was there.  I also felt very safe in that I hadn’t been forced to confront the level of my disability outside the context of the hospital, so doing that in a taxi on my own whilst strapped into a wheelchair was tough.  Cue lots of tears and drama, but I got through it.

Lynden Hill was an entirely different kettle of fish to the hospital.  The first hurdle was getting over the fact that I was surrounded by chintz and very grand people who were 40 years plus older than me.  I’m not joking, every other fecker here is really, really posh and really, really old – for those readers in Henley, think Phyllis Court for the infirm. (thank you Crystal).  The highlights of the day are lunch with other oldies, afternoon tea in the drawing room, a turn around the garden and their evening cocoa.  I do have to admit that I’ve been seduced by the evening hot drink and have started to enjoy a hot milk most evenings with my book ;-)  I know, I know, I need to get out of here very soon…  Now I’m sure they’re all lovely, and I have nothing against posh elderly people, it’s just that I feel I need more positive, upbeat energy around me to help drive my recovery forward. 

Posh oldies are not doing that.  The physiotherapy they provide here however, is.

My progress has been nothing short of amazing!  Mainly due to the fact that the neuro physio here is a sadist.  No really, she is.  A lovely one, but a sadist nonetheless.  She had me standing up on day 2 here, on a normal exercise bike by day 5, working on my abs and core every day (I didn’t know I still had core muscles buried inside me ‘til now) and attempting to kick a football back to her by day 8!  Kick a football for God’s sake – I can barely support myself in a stand without toppling over.  I’d like it noted that the potential inability to support myself has nothing to do with vena bena, as I’ve knocked that on the head while I’m here.  The therapy is just too demanding to risk anything affecting my balance or awareness – which I suppose is a good thing.  I’d love a nice Marlborough sauvignon blanc right about now though….

The other highlight since I last updated feckmindedness is that I’ve had my third batch of chemo.  Yay, that’s halfway through!!!  It went well once they’d found a vein to cannulate – it took a while i.e. 3 hours!  Lots of prodding about, poking and pain (insert prick jokes here) or as the lying nurses say "sharp scratches".  Sharp scratch my arse - it was bloody agony as they gouged around trying to get one of my "narrow, deeply set veins" to co-operate.  Once they got the cannula in though, it went smoothly, so fingers crossed the good guys are beating the shit out of the bad guys inside me as we speak.  I need it to work if I’m going to get back on my feet again.

That’s all for now.  I’ll post again once I’m home in 4 DAYS!!!  I’m excited, nervous, intimidated and optimistic all at the same time.  I’m sure the sumptuous meal and gorgeous bottle of vino Mr. J. has planned for my homecoming will help to deal with any wobbles (whether they be emotional or physical) I might have …