Out Of Hospital.......

Out Of Hospital.......
Hospital can be a bit of a strange country, or continent like Africa, if you are not used to it. I have to count myself lucky that my only previous experience of a hospital stay was nearly sixty years ago, a little matter of appendicitis, but that luck made the experience all the more strange.

Anyway, the operation to remove a cancerous tumour from around the join between my intestine and colon was successful and for that I have to thank the medical staff, who were uniformly (no pun intended) excellent in every way. The oncologist said that the type of cancer was hereditary and, since there is no history of that on my mother's side of the family, I presumably have my father to thank for that (though hardly his fault). He, anyway, died too soon for cancer to get him. The surgeon was confident enough of his excision to propose no further treatment.

I really have to thank my GP for discovery of a cancer that otherwise may well not have shown up for a long time. Eighteen months ago, when I had a blood clot in my leg, he insisted that it could be an early sign of cancer. I've no idea how this connection was made but it was the investigations he then instigated that led to discovery of the cancer at a very early stage. I had been hoping he would call a halt when the first investigations showed nothing but am now very glad he persisted.

The food in hospital, unfortunately, was diametrically opposed in quality to the medical staff. Maybe that was to be expected in a hospital but surely not so much in a French one. But then if you take even well cooked food, place a plastic lid over it and leave it for 10 minutes or so, the result might be the same. The stale steamed smell as I took the cover off brought back long dismissed memories of aircraft food at its worst.

But what made the greatest impression on me was my now intimate understanding of the terms “stir crazy” or “cave fever”. And that was after a stay of a mere 10 days, the first four of which were in intensive care and therefore made relatively little impact on my consciousness. My tolerance for boredom isn't generally too bad; I don't find it difficult to drift off into a reverie. However, even with my PC at my side as well as music and books, I found it very difficult to cope with 24 hours a day of relative inactivity. It's not even as though I normally lead a strenuous life; but being tied to a bed, a chair and a room (even a quite pleasant one) and for effectively a week only really did drive me close to stir crazy. It was a new experience for me and made me all the happier to be out of hospital. The feeling of the cool breeze on my face as I took my first steps outside the hospital was something I will remember for a long time.

Friends
Two brilliant friends, Steve and Jo, not only saw me to and from hospital and visited me there but organised an email round-robin to provide news of me for other friends in the village, most of whom phoned or visited. It was a wonderful idea of theirs, one that worked extremely well. I suppose that, given the number of successful web enterprises designed to bring friends and acquaintances together, it shouldn't surprise me that it worked so well. Perhaps it shows that, despite having worked virtually all my life in IT, I am not really as much in tune with the new electronic age as I should be.

I returned to find the grapes overhanging my balcony almost ripe and showing a bumper crop. I shall sit on my balcony and enjoy them this year much more than in previous years. Steve and Jo also kept my plants watered while I was away and seem determined to ensure that I recuperate as prescribed rather than in the more haphazard way that is my wont. This evening, my cursory TV viewing was interrupted by Montserrat Vilalta, a neighbour (and originally a refugee from Franco's Spain) who insisted I come to lunch with her after she has been to the Buis market on Wednesday, to see that I am properly feeding myself. She must be nearly 20 years older than me.

What it is to have friends!