Is it a man thing?

When Husband is unwell he speaks very quietly in an "I'm too ill to raise my voice," sort of way. Is it a human thing, a man thing, or a Husband thing?

I had to point out that although he's had his heart repaired I haven't had my ears repaired and he needs to speak UP if he wants me to hear. Especially as he has a habit of muttering to himself and I don't know whether I need to listen or not.

That said, I am the last person you want to nurse you. I helped change his dressings today. I had to lie down twice. And they're very neat wounds, only a little bloody-looking and bruised.

* * * * *

Wales against Scotland today in the rugby. I am wearing my lucky Welsh dragon socks. Last time I wore them Wales played well. They didn't win but they almost could have done. I did wonder if I should wear my Welsh lady socks instead but the risk is too great.

I must show you GrandDaugher2's (age 9) entry for a school art competition.

Can you believe she didn't win? Didn't even place?

Nothing much to report

Now Husband is home he's spending his days as he did pre-op i.e. playing computer games in his little room upstairs. He doesn't require anything so I'm just loafing about, being on-call.

Think I'll start a new jigsaw this afternoon. Do you remember when I used to be a writer? Now would be the ideal time to pick it up again but the mental block is strong. I'm still dry-mouthed and coughing a bit so I guess I'm not completely well yet. (I'm keeping at arm's length from Husband in case you're worried about him.) Although I can't really use that as an excuse as I haven't written since well before my cold started.

Gosh, my glasses are filthy! Smudges all over them. 

Scrolling through Twitter I found this amazing piece of art. 

Driftwood organs, anatomical study by Tony Fredriksson

Not enough pizazz

So three weeks to the day since we headed into A&E Husband came home again having been chopped up and repaired, with a new valve (a bit of cow) and a double by-pass. 

What I can't get my head around is the fact they took a vein out of his leg, from ankle to top of thigh, to do the by-pass, replacing the dodgy arteries in the heart. "But what happens to the blood? If you remove a long piece of vein where does the blood go?"

Apparently they seal off the cut veins and the blood just magically finds an alternative route. Which all sounds very dubious to me.

From NHS websites:

What is vein harvesting?

Vein harvesting is a surgical procedure that involves removing (harvesting) a ‘spare’ healthy blood vessel from another part of your body (in this case, your legs) and using it as a graft in your heart bypass surgery. The blood vessel discussed in this factsheet is the great saphenous vein (a long blood vessel in both of your legs that runs from your ankle to your groin).  

Again I am a bit concerned by this idea of a 'spare' blood vessel. It looks fairly major to me. And it still doesn't really answer the question of where the blood goes. I suppose they know what they're doing and I probably shouldn't have googled it. Too Much Information for an easily queased-out fainter like me.

* * * * *

Daughter had made me macaroni cheese for dinner so I asked Husband if he wanted some, and, if so, if he wanted a baked potato or anything with it, the anything being fairly limited as I hadn't stocked up for his return.

He said, "No, just the macaroni cheese. I don't want much." He paused. "Well, perhaps some peas with it?" Another pause. "And some bacon?"

He's used to two three-course meals a day. It's going to be a shock coming home. Although I did make him a custard tart. Narrower and thicker than the last one and far more successful.

* * * * *

In Husband's discharge notes it said this:

I guess they would have preferred a bit more pizazz.

Last minute change of plan

I'm not cooking for Zac's today as . . . drum roll . . . Husband is coming home this afternoon!

He's coming straight from HDU so skipping the normal ward bit. Probably for the best with the risk of infection from. By coming home it's only me he has to avoid!

I checked the NHS website and it says people with colds remain infectious as long as they have symptoms. I'm still snuffly and sneezy so will have to be restrained in greeting Husband.

When he was in the ward with norovirus the nurse said, "It's air-borne and very contagious." Can you imagine the will-power it took to refrain from saying, "Shouldn't that be infectious not contagious?"

I didn't. I was polite. I know very little about anything but I do know about that.

* * * * *

Seen on Twitter.

He underestimates women. Having a husband, children, and a home, doesn't make us insensible. I could name several blogging friends to prove this point.

(But, on a lighter note, personally I can malfunction at any point! Although as far as I know it has not resulted in the destruction of civilisations.)

A race to the finish

Husband continues to do well; I continue to sniff. As Elder Son commented, it'll be a race to see if Husband recovers from open heart surgery before I recover from my cold.

It's not so much that I'm ill now as I am worried about whether I'm still infectious and a risk to Husband. That said I'm taking it easy and avoiding people. But tomorrow I'm back to cooking chilli in Zac's as Claire, our chef, has broken her wrist, and Stu is tending to his wife who's just had a skin graft following a serious burn. I'll be on my own cooking so I can just do it at my own pace - which I do anyway!

Today I've written an article for the Gower magazine - deadline tomorrow. I was halfway through it when I thought, "This is too boring to write or read," and began again. I think my second version is better though perhaps not back to peak form yet. By the way, here is the link to my most recent article. It's on page 26.

Nothing much happening really. After all the stress and hoo-haa of the past few months - well, year really - it's back to waiting again, but at least what we're waiting for is all good.

Latest jigsaw, London landmarks.

Operation Jellyhead

In my head it feels as if my brain is coated in a thick jelly and each time I move my head my brain bumps into the jelly and it makes a sort of schlurpy noise. Even when I'm not moving my head it feels echoey.

* * * * *

I discovered that I had taken out insurance on my theatre tickets! I didn't do it first time round but must have added it when I rebooked. Have I said this before? You'll have to excuse me. Jelly-head you know. Anyway I've completed a form and dropped it off at the doctors' to give permission for them to view Husband's records so they can write me a letter to prove he's not well.

I've tried to find out how to let the theatre know we won't be there and they could resell our tickets but they don't seem to want to know. But I tried.

* * * * *

Husband continues to do well. He has been moved from ICU to HDU and, in fact, the doctor said he could go straight to a normal ward but there was a bed ready for him in HDU and not in the ward. I'm happier about that. I am also amazed that he is only on paracetamol.

Because I'm still coughing and snuffly I won't go in yet and have to rely on phone calls but that's okay. I'll be seeing plenty of him when he's home and being looked after . . .

* * * * *

I sat out in the sun this afternoon to read my book. I was wrapped up warm as there was a breeze to one side, but I'm definitely feeling more human.

And I discovered these little delights lurking behind the trampoline.

* * * * *

I've also done a self-diagnosis on my finger. You know when you have your fingers bent in to grip something and then you let go? Your fingers leap back to their usually straightish position. Well, my ring finger has to think about it. I don't have to push it up but it definitely takes its time.

My careful research has led me to conclude this is possibly the beginning of a claw finger, usually caused by ulnar something or other, but I'm wondering if it is because my wedding ring is tight. I can twirl it round but can't get it off.

I haven't taken my ring off my finger since we were married forty-six and a half years ago but I'm wondering if I may need to. I shall consult the doctor at some point when everything has settled down, and get a proper opinion. 

Fat fingers. You don't think about your fingers getting fat, do you?

* * * * *

I watched All the President's Men again this weekend. I was thinking to myself that we need reporters like Woodward and Bernstein now but then I realised that we already know all about the misdeeds and the lies but it doesn't seem to matter these days.

What's wrong with that?

Husband phoned me last night. "Are you eating properly?"
"Yes."
"What did you have for dinner?"
"Um . . . ice cream."

If I can't have ice cream for dinner when Husband is in hospital when can I have it?

In our phone calls yesterday he sounded great; today not so good. Very tired and weak. I think the effects of the anaesthesia may have worn off completely. The physiotherapist tried to get him to march on the spot. He told her to go away. Which isn't like Husband. As Daughter said yesterday, he will not give in but will persevere until he can do what's asked of him. 

Recovery will be a long haul but it's begun and we can look forward to life again. With lots of holidays!

Once I stop being snuffly and coughy. Fed up of this already. I am a very impatient patient. 

Daughter brought me a box of Parisian macarons from her holiday. She said I could share them with Husband but I'm not sure if that's a good idea. Not in his condition. I may have to eat them all myself.