Blessings
There’s nothing like a stint in hospital to make you both feel sorry for yourself and count your blessings.
I had major abdominal surgery on my birthday last week. The first surgery I’ve ever had and I very much hope that it’s the last. Being me, it had to be a drama so 1.4 litres of my blood decided to go AWOL during surgery and a senior consultant was rushed down from hospital Mount Olympus to keep me alive. I knew nothing about that until afterwards, of course.
I’m a fit, healthy person with a particular, localised and now surgically resolved medical problem so two days after my surgery, the doctors discharged me with a bagful of pills and a list of stern instructions. Since coming home, I’ve been fine – I tire easily, move awkwardly, find it hard to concentrate, but I’ve been out every day with my partner, walking the dogs. I’m going to get back to my WIP today. Not sure how that will go but it’s time to get on with it.
I’m too feeble to play with my birthday present from my dad – a beautiful vintage plate camera. Too heavy for me right now but I look at it, touch it, smile.
I’m lucky. I’m strong. I have a wonderful family, a fantastic partner, great friends. The woman in the bed opposite has a very different life and I guess I’m writing this blog because the memory of her haunts me. She was in her late 40s, a shy woman with a sweet, gentle smile. She has one of those bodies that look badly put together – all sort of floppy and soft, the proportions not quite right. Vulnerable. She didn’t have any visitors. She persuaded the nurses to keep her in hospital for another 24 hours after the doctors said she could go - because she lives alone and she was afraid to go home.
I’ve got a boyfriend, she said. Smiled shyly. She’d met him on the Internet. Not a prince, she said, but not a frog either. A truckdriver, away up north somewhere. Doesn’t know she’s in hospital, that the cancer’s back. Might put him off, you see. She’s only known him a month.
I’ve written about her here because because because
Because I know I will never write fiction about lives like this. They are too sad for me. Not the momentous, powerful, raging sorrows of tragedy but a between-the-cracks sort of sad, the sorrow of tender lonely lives that burn with such delicate light we often don’t notice them at all, not even when they blink out and are gone.
I hope that the man who is not a prince but not a frog is wise and kind, that he sees that delicate light and that he cherishes it.
Litopia is the winner
I think you could...
...write fiction like this. You took me right into that ward, I 'knew' the lady you were describing and I ached for the lorry driver to be a good 'un, just as you did. Superb writing, Crowe, if you wanted to write fiction on this kind of character then I think you'd do a great job of it.
Sorry to hear about your operation. Look after yourself and do lots of writing while you recuperate and much less lifting of heavy pans and washing up - ok?
Speedy recovery to you
Your hospital roommate brings to mind a quote from Mother Theresa: Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the worst poverty of all.
You described the situation so well. It really is a between-the-crack sort of sad.
Anyway, may you be surrounded by love all the days of your life. Wishing you a speedy recovery.
Sincerely,
Deanna
Well
That kicked me right out of my pity party. Thanks, Crowe.
Lovely
I'm happy to hear that your recovery is going well and just wanted to comment on what a beautiful post this is.
Best wishes.
Oops
Fond wishes for a good recovery
Sara: I noticed you hadn't been around lately and assumed (stupidly) that you were on holiday. I hope your recovery goes well. Take it a day at a time and your strength will gradually return. Be kind to yourself. I, too, have been in hospital a couple of times in the past year and have been similarly moved by the lives of those I was privileged to spend my time with. Everybody had their individual story and those who were the most seriously ill were always the ones who were most stoical, gracious and interested in others.
Take your time
to get better Crowe. It's not just the surgery itself that you need to recover from, it's also the affect of the anaesthetic. Lovely story about your neighbour and, you never know... never is a big word...
I'm so glad you're back with
I'm so glad you're back with us and okay.
Thanks for sharing the lonely woman with us so we can hug her on the internet. I hope her boyfriend turns out to be a real good 'un.
Get well soon, you. x
Really pleased you're back.
Really pleased you're back. You took your writer's eye to hospital with you... what a touching and poignant glimpse. Nicely observed, movingly and compassionately written. Absolutely wonderful!
Happy birthday!
Sorry it's late. I echo the comments above about looking after yourself and looking out for others.
Lovely, if sad, story about
Lovely, if sad, story about the woman, Sara. Good to hear you're on the mend.
Glad to hear you're on the
Glad to hear you're on the mend! Surgery is never fun. Be kind to your body.
And thank you for sharing the story of the woman in the opposite bed. It was very touching.
How moving
Crowe,
Great to 'see' you back here and to know that you are on the mend. The crisis during the operation sounds very scary, even if you knew nothing about it at the time. Do take it easy mentally and physically - these procedures can knock you more than you think.
And such a moving story of the woman opposite. It's good that we've noticed her too now, even if she doesn't know it. She would thank you for that, I think.
Ah Sara, I'm sorry to hear
Ah Sara, I'm sorry to hear you've been sick. Give yourself time to get over it (an operation takes it out of you) and being in hospital is, in iself, debilitating. Don't try to do too much and think about yourself.
Get well soon,
Love,
Sue
sad
Crowe - I kinda guessed something was up. You weren't around for a few days and I will admit that I was a little worried. (How strange.)
Hope you're feeling better as you read this.
The tale of your bed-neighbour was very touching. The tuppenny sadness of real life.
M.
Get Well Soon
Oh, Crowie! What an awful thing to happen on your birthday of all days! Hope you're taking good care of yourself. It takes time and lots of TLC to get over surgery.
But you're right, there's nothing like a visit to hospital to show you some sad cases. Very moving blog post.
Cheers, Sandra
Happy Birthday
Here's to many more...You don't always get what you ask for (on your birthday), but sometimes you get what you need - Rolling Stones, I believe.
Hope you're feeling better now
I'm sorry to read that you've been so ill. It's at times like this when yo really need your family and thier love and support. Everything else fades into insignifance.
Your writing is beautiful, it says it all.
I hope your feeling a bit better now, getting stronger every day.
Take care, and take each day one step at a time.