I'm sorry my last post was a bit difficult to read. Writing it helped exorcise some of the things which happened. Reading it probably wasn't much fun.
The intensive care unit provides a follow-up programme over the course of a year to help people who've been treated there. Apparently 90% of patients suffer nightmares and hallucinations and some people can suffer for a long time afterwards. So I'll definitely be going to the appointments. My time there seems blurred now but every now and again something will trigger a memory I'd completely forgotten.
The rest of my stay in hospital was easier and positive in many ways. I was moved to a respiratory ward where I shared a bay with five other women. Some had serious health problems and some had been in hospital a long time. One thing struck me instantly: I didn't ever hear anyone complain. There was a strong camaraderie between us: illness was something to be shrugged off and joked about. Anyone having a bad day would just say they were looking forward to the next day being better. In the outside world we like to moan about everything: nothing worth watching on the telly, temporary traffic lights and changes to Facebook settings. But in more adverse situations things are different. The nostalgic part of me likes to think that's what things were like in the Blitz. Although that could be nonsense.
I was so happy to be home, but I knew it would bring challenges. Seeing the children again was overwhelming but I knew my absence would make things hard. Fington is still struggling. Suddenly his Mummy went missing for nearly two weeks and now she's back. I can tell he's worried about becoming close again. He's behaving badly and it's hard.
There have been moments I've started feeling sorry for myself and that's a trap I know you shouldn't fall into. Hearing the children playing up because everything's different and lying upstairs in bed powerless to do anything about it is hard. But then illness is hard and recovery is hard. Who said life was meant to be easy?
And I'm going to get better. Sometimes people don't get better. Being ill like this has changed my life forever and it's stretched me to my limits. How does anyone cope when they don't know if they're going to get better? When they get told they won't? How do their loved ones cope?
Thank you to everyone who's commented since I've been back. I keep meaning to reply to the comments and visit some blogs. I thought I'd spend lots of my recuperation time online but it hasn't worked out like that. For some reason illness has left me with the concentration span and endurance of about 20 minutes. I've tried some half-hearted online Christmas shopping but just adding stuff to a basket and trying to enter a card number is exhausting. I'll need to lie down on the sofa when I finish this.
Intense Debate Comments
