Winding down

I was hoping to start my next report on Dónall’s progress back to life with a new photo to replace this one which is five days old, to show how much better he is. In the past two days he’s been freed from nearly all the drains and pumps and drips that have been supplementing his vital organs in the aftermath of the operation to remove a pancreatic tumour. That tube going into his nose has been removed now, he tells me, and removing it wasn’t nice — it extended the full length of his torso, it seems.

But I haven’t been able to go into the hospital and see him because two days ago I recognised the signs that I was coming down with a head cold. The tingling of unwanted microbes in my veins, the dry sore throat and the blocked nose were unmistakable. So, encouraged by Dónall, I gave in to the lethargy that went along with it. In Shirley High Street I invested in Lemsip and Strepsils, and picked up a couple of light novels from the Sue Ryder charity shop. I anointed myself with Sun Factor 20 and lay down in the ridiculously hot early April sun of the little back yard of the house where I’m renting a room. And tried to get over it.

Dónall and I have been talking on the phone every couple of hours so I know that he’s been told by the surgical team, separately and together, that he’s making great progress towards recovery. But our calls are necessarily brief because just holding up the phone is an effort for him, now that he’s mostly sitting up outside his bed.

A large male physiotherapist is accompanying him (to catch him if he falls) on walks in the corridors and staircase scaling expeditions that tire him out even more than talking. Eating and visits to the bathroom are beginning to happen more naturally, but there’s a lot of pain for him in any activity.

Tomorrow morning I shall be well enough to present myself, masked, at Dónall’s morning meeting with the surgical team, and try to take in the information I need to know about Dónall’s transition from inpatient of Southampton General Hospital to outpatient at the Royal Surrey, Guildford. He may be ready to be discharged next week sometime. This is no time for me to be winding down, but Dónall is rightly telling me to do it. Best not to break a mainspring at this point!

I’ve promised to trim Dónall’s beard again next time I see him. I’ll take another photo of him after that.