Late December 2010 London
BLOG 52: home again
OH looks around at the newly tidied and re-organised study. The random collection of books and knick-knacks previously cluttering the shelves, have been replaced with plastic boxes, neatly labeled with their contents. The floor is clean and cleared of piles of old magazines and catalogues. The desk is clear with regularly used items placed within easy reach.
We wait with bated breath.
“Yes” he murmurs, “Now I want to lie down.” And turns slowly back toward his bed.
Sons are close behind – they know of the efforts of Daughter and me to re-organise his study, and my concerns as to his reactions. We are stunned. Is this my OH?
Of course, I was hoping he’d be delighted to see his brand new, spick and span study – to finally realise what I’ve been on about over the years. Sons are smiling, barely able to conceal their mirth. I can’t believe it. He hasn’t even noticed! Maybe when he’s adjusted to being back home and recovered a bit more, he’ll at least notice some of the changes and hopefully be very glad of them (or be furious! – either way, it would be more like the OH of old). Anyway, I tell those smirking sons, I’m proud of what we’ve done: transformed chaos into such a nice, ordered little office. . . but also, I admit privately to myself, quite relieved that he hasn’t reacted badly. On further reflection, I'm not even sure of this - maybe any reaction, positive or negative, would have been better . . .
“How about a cup of tea?” I venture, “lovely home-made tea!” But it’s too late; he’s already lying down on the bed and his eyes are closed. We three sit down for a cuppa and gaze at OH who is already asleep on his downstairs bed. Older Son says, “at least you won’t be having to go into the hospital everyday, Mum!”
Now that he’s home and out of the hospital/rehab environment, I can see more clearly that there is a long way to go before I have the old OH back. Even so, I reassure myself, he’s come a mighty distance from being in Intensive Care, when we were concerned that he might never recover. The important thing, I tell myself, is to temper my expectations. I feel sure he’ll recover in his own good time. I remember one of the doctors telling me that they can’t tell whether the use of prolonged multiple anaesthetics will have had an adverse effect on the brain until at least six months afterwards. Mobility and other aspects will surely improve with physiotherapy, effort and exercise. I must be patient.
Another niggling concern is his voice – that whispery hoarse voice doesn’t sound at all like OH. It not only sounds like a very old man, but a very old man with laryngitis! My OH has always had a clear, strong speaking voice and, for that matter, a good singing voice (unlike me). This continuing hoarseness is making me even more sure that somehow his vocal chords have been damaged by the breathing apparatus given during his time in the ITU. When I have asked about this at the hospital, the doctors pooh-poohed the idea that any damage could have been done. I’m not so sure. After all, it’s now nearly three months since the operation.
Sons agree: as soon as possible I should make an appointment for OH to be seen by a specialist in ENT to have his throat examined. No sooner home, than I’m thinking of returning to the hospital. I’m so sick of hospitals. But. . . bearing in mind that gaining an appointment might take a while, I may as well get started. I reach for the phone. Here we go again -
. . . to be continued . . .usually posted on Thursday
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