Pre-operation preparation – 13/02/2018

This episode of my blog was going to tell you about getting ready for hospital on Sunday, ready for Monday’s surgery but the truth is there’s nothing much to say.  We’ll pack a bag of clothes and bits and pieces and that will be that. The hardest part of getting ready will be getting rid of the body hair that will be in the way.  The French don’t allow shaving – wet or dry, blade or electric and nor do they allow lady-like creams.  It’s epilators only I’m afraid, so we’ve had to buy one just so I can have nice smooth skin, and I’m dreading that more than anything – the thought of having all those hairs yanked from my skin is not appealing at all.  I also have a very real problem with getting to my armpit – I can’t lift my right arm any higher than chest height so getting that instrument of torture under there will be tricky.  As for the actual operation – well what’s to worry about?  I’ll either wake up with a robo-cop arm or I wont wake up at all, and to be quite honest not waking up wouldn’t be the end of the world because there’s no pleasure living like this (other than boring you all stupid every week with these missives!).

The operation is the least of my concerns.  My main concern right now is my Dad, who isn’t well at all with cancer, and me knowing that I wont get to see him again before it’s too late.  I speak with him every week and can hear him getting frailer every time we talk but he keeps telling me how he’s planning on jumping on a plane and coming to stay with us for a while.  The fact that he hasn’t jumped on anything since his last hip replacement probably 15 years or more ago is neither here nor there, he has his dream and if it helps keep him going I’m all for that, but I am struggling with the reality that I’ll never be able to see my Dad again.

Travelling in my condition is actually quite an ordeal.  When we came to France initially at the end of July 2016 we got caught up in the problems at Dover which meant we slept in the vehicles on the motorway outside Dover.  What we had planned as a 2 day journey with a night in a hotel became a 3 day trip which absolutely wiped me out.  The first thing Karen did when we got here was to call the Doctor, such was her concern about my health.  Fortunately I wasn’t that bad – swollen ankles and a bit bunged up – nothing that wasn’t soon put right by some rest and diligent nursing – but what it did do is convince Karen that driving backwards and forwards isn’t an option.  We had to return to the UK in October 2016 for some hospital appointments but driving was even less of an option than coming because we didn’t have the benefit of brother-in-law Pete to drive the van like we did when we came (cheers Pete – much love).  Consequently we decided to fly from Limoges to Stansted and stop in a hotel for a couple of days while we did what we had to do – Stanmore, Bart’s and Whipps Cross hospitals plus a trip up North to see Dad and the families.  We borrowed an adapted van off the Barbara Bus charity at Stanmore for the week and had help from an old chum called Chris Shellard who picked it up, picked us up from the airport and then dropped us and then the van back off when it was time for us to go home – top man in anyone’s book I’d say.

Logistically travelling to the UK was a nightmare.  The van was arranged by phone, easy enough, the hotel was booked on-line, again easy enough but then Karen had to ensure  my daily nursing was arranged, a hospital bed arranged and delivered and a patient hoist arranged and delivered.  That all took time and expense and added to the complication of actually traveling.  We flew with Ryanair – no big deal if you’re able bodied but believe me it wasn’t as easy as we were led to believe when we spoke with them to arrange things.  For a start Limoges airport is tiny, and I mean tiny – it’s only got one baggage carousel and there’s only one gate for boarding or disembarking.  It also means that you have to use a set of steps to get on or off the plane – which is obviously a bit of a problem for yours truly!  Not to worry though – the Sapeurs Pompiers are there to help – and 2 big burly lads picked me up and sat me on a strange little seat that had a set-up of 3 wheels each side in a triangular arrangement which allowed the chair to roll up the steps – sort off!  I was strapped in to the chair by 2 belts that crossed over my chest, except one of the straps was broken so I felt just a little bit exposed!  The contraption just about squeezed down the aisle and then the firemen lifted me  into my seat.  My poor shoulder was in agonies by the time they’d finished and Karen was in tears for me because of the way I was being man-handled.  The flight itself was a doddle – it’s only an hour and twenty or so – and the Stansted end of the journey was easier in that I was put on a lift so we didn’t have the palaver with the funny chair, but I was still lifted out of the aircraft seat onto a wheelie chair so had to put up with more tugging and lugging and hurting.  The return journey was pretty much the same, obviously in reverse, but the fundamental conclusion we came to was that air travel for people like me is not enjoyable and in truth hardly practical – we couldn’t take my electric chair and were restricted to using a push wheelchair all the time we were in the UK. Since then I’ve done a little bit of research and it would seem that we should have been able to get my electric chair on – but Ryanair weren’t very forthcoming at the time.  One for the future maybe?

I was under the weather for a week when we got home – it really knocked the stuffing out of me and not something either of us would want to try again – but then I have Dad to worry about.  I talked with Dad again when we got back to France and explained all the problems we’d endured and it was soon after that that he started talking about coming out to us – I think Dad was being just that – my Dad trying to look out for his lad, doing what Dad’s do because, well just because that’s what Dad’s do for their kids. When the time comes I’ll have to think again but in the meantime I’ll keep calling him, even try a Skype call or some thing similar, and hope for the best.  He understands why but, more importantly, he knows I love him and miss him and that’s the important bit.

Talking about love – it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow so make sure the person you love knows you love them.  I’m taking the one I love out for a meal at Le Coq D’Or – as described in an earlier blog – which I know will be superb and then it’s my birthday on Friday.  We’re eating out again to celebrate that particular occasion, this time more modestly at Les Soleils, and then it’s on to starvation rations prior to going under the knife.  It’s going to be a busy couple of days one way or another!

By the way – we’re still covered in snow and it’s just started to snow again – Christmas has been and gone but we’re living in a Christmas card picture – and it’s a beautiful sight to see.

I’ll keep you posted next week but for now, be good and take care.

Jem