So SA is just about done with his latest stay at Her Mandeville’s pleasure where he has had surgery to improve the function in his left hand. A tendon has been taken out of his fore-arm, cut up into a few smaller pieces and put back into his hand leaving a nice set of zig-zaggy wounds around his thumb. A fortuitous absence of embolisms and some impressive healing has meant he will be returning home this week with his new, slightly improved thumb.
No, he will still not be able to hail a cab or signal you a “yes” from across a crowded bar but he will be able to hold my hand and pick the larger crumbs out of his chest hair.
SA has been bored out of his mind this time round, no congas and no gin-addled cougars to seduce. The highlight this time was shaming a large group of youths into taking the stairs rather than the patient lift down one floor. Score 1 for The Crazy Wheelchair Dude.
Even the regular conversations with a nurse about her forthcoming (and apparently totally unnecessary) boob job aren’t really interesting enough to make this final edit . . .
SA has missed me and the kids more than he thought possible and is desperate to come home, if for no other reason than to not have to do the good byes at the end of each visit. Kids are unpredictable, sometimes they get upset but mostly they just don’t give a shit which actually hurts more than when they do.
SA misses our daughter’s constant posing, dancing and singing (I on the other hand would happily chin Meghan Trainor if I ever met her). He even misses the one-sided conversations he has with the kids on his arrival home from work which consists of questions asked by an interested Daddy met with shrugs and grunts from two kids who actually just want you to get the eff out of the way so they can carry on watching Horrid Henry. Our boy’s dinners last about 2 hours, what with the complaining, procrastinating, tears and bargaining interspersed with the odd bit of eating. SA actually misses this too.
I am looking forward to resting my voice a bit, letting someone else scream “TEETH!!!!!” And “BED!!!!” repeatedly from downstairs in the evenings.
I plan to drink wine in front of the tv in a more relaxed state – that is without being wracked with pangs of self-loathing because I am the only adult that’s in the house should there suddenly be a tornado or alien invasion. I am especially looking forward to this being the case in the evenings and not just after school pick-up.
I am not going to miss the trips backwards and forwards across the Chilterns and spending more on parking in each visit than I would on a particularly cheeky red. And if for any reason SA or I should pine for the wards at any time, I will just make us both some vegetable Cup-a-Soup.