This morning is a stark contrast to yesterday. If waking up yesterday had been black and then today was dazzling white.
I wake up feeling the best I have in a long time. I have no headache, I feel lighter and in positive spirits.
I discuss with Dr Chow about lowering my pain meds so I don’t feel quite so sick. We agree to ditch one of the morning pain killers that is notorious for causing nausea. This is a good start. I’m supposed to be on the cocktail of drugs until Christmas Eve but since last time I was frightfully sick for the three days following stopping the pain meds I have decided I will stop taking them on Friday so I can withdraw during the weekend and feel fine by Christmas Eve and Christmas. There is no way I’m spending Christmas on the couch with my head in a bucket and missing out on the Christmas feast. But like a naughty child I keep this plan hidden as I know she won’t agree.
As I am about to push down on the scale for weight loading I am a little nervous. This is my first time at 10kg and I wonder how much harder it will feel and cross my fingers I don’t faint. I’m supposed to go home tomorrow and I don’t want anything to jeopardise this.
It does feel heavier and harder to push down but my leg quickly adjusts. Nat distracts me with talk of her plans for Christmas and I am grateful for this. She tells me I should name my stump loader something. She suggests Lucy. It seems as good a name as any.
Dr Al Muderis pops in and I scramble for my list of questions, he seems in a hurry to be out of there so I just squeeze them in before he breezes out.
He says I can shower without bagging the wound if I would like, but Dr Chow has already said to wait at least a week before I do this as she is worried about the water getting in the wound and not drying out.
He tells me I can cut down the dressing to just once a day if there is not much ooziness or discharge. This is a relief as the skin on my stump is becoming red and irritated by the constant yanking of tape on and off.
Sanders teaches Mum how to do the dressing so she can change it at home and I won’t have to have a community nurse come by. She looks nervous as she yanks on the sterile gloves. She is far more delicate than the nurses. Its nice to not have your leg roughly yanked about.
On a trip to the courtyard I pass the ward manger and he asks me about my fainting spell on Saturday and says he has to write up an incident report. I feel like I am being scolded like a naughty school child about to be put on detention.
He also asks me about the leg and how much it will cost, whether I will have the same ones as Jaime and will I be able to do things like Step classes at the gym.
“God I hope so,” I tell him.
It makes me a little sad talking again about not being able to afford the high-end leg but it is still going to be a vast improvement.