It’s Chrismas Day morning and I’ve just been brought breakfast in bed. I’ve had breakfast in bed every morning since my op on 19 December, so no change there. Today, though, I’m in my own bed rather than a hospital bed and it was brought to me by my elder son rather than by a member of the hospital catering staff.
So, yes, I did get home yesterday as planned. The breast and plastic surgeons had both been by 8am and declared me fine to be discharged. At some point later yesterday morning/early afternoon, the final drain was removed, I had a shower (seated), dried myself (harder than showering) and got dressed.
It was rather an emotional day. I had a “this is all too much” few minutes in the shower; showering and drying were only marginally less difficult than I’d feared they’d be. I burst into tears as soon as Andy walked into the room when he came to collect me at around 3pm, I cried again when we left hospital and then again in the car on the way home. And again watching Mamma Mia on TV at home later – at the same point I always do, though, so maybe that doesn’t count. I’ve been fine since.
And yes, we did play Chris Rea’s Driving Home for Christmas in the car on the way home. How could we not? This has a special resonance for us which goes way back to the couple of years in the late 1980s when Andy was a radio journalist in Birmingham and worked Christmas Day mornings. When he’d finished reading the lunchtime news, he’d hop in the car to drive down to London to see me. He’d get the DJ who followed the news to play Driving Home for Christmas “For our newsreader Andy, who’s on his way to London to see his girlfriend, Maureen”. Ah, the romance.
Have a lovely day, everyone. It’s good to be home.