I had been allowed (healthwise) to leave the hospital on Sunday, but alas I didn't have a way to get home, so Monday it was. Another lovely shower, breakfast, medication. The gynaecologist came by and this time I remembered to ask the things I had previously forgotten. Not only that: I wrote it down, so I wouldn't forget! The nurse came by to change the dressing on the wound and finally I was able to get my clothes on.
Ehm... yes. Get my clothes on. Now, I should have brought jogging trousers or some such, but instead I had jeans. Big jeans mind, but my belly was swollen from surgery and there was no way I could close the zip and the button. I went on the hunt for a solution and found it in some cloth that was tied around the button hole and then over the button. Perfect. At least now I could walk around (in moderation) decently.
The car came to pick me up and drive me about 500 meters. I had been in the quiet and smallish women's clinic, now I went to the noisy and large main hospital. There I had to wait for the bus that would take me home. Of course you might say: but wasn't there a bus on Sunday and there was. But that would have been the ordinary public transport bus, this was the Health Express. Kitted out with two nurses, room for bedridden patients, wheelchair bound patients and walk on-walk off patients such as myself.
At the local hospital I was picked up by my colleague who drove me home where my Mum was already waiting, not quite with dinner ready, but almost. I had visited the pharmacy before going home and had received an amount of pills that had to be taken once, twice, three or four times daily! A bit of a puzzle, but we got there in the end. After dinner we watched some telly, I helped with the dishes and went to bed early.
At home. At last!
To be continued...