MOOMINS M.C.

The discharge would have to go down as one of the most unpleasant I’ve come across, apart from that one time in that lady boy bar in Thailand.
Firstly, I was told that I may be discharged next week.
Then I was told that it may be Saturday and finally on Thursday, I found out that I will be going on Friday.
I was suitably ticked off about this complete disregard of me in the making of this decision.
The nurse who informed me was smiling.
I think she wanted me to reciprocate.
I found it utterly impossible to do that, as all I could sense was a really bitter taste.
After quietly and internally counting to ten and thinking of the most obscene and appropriate expletive to expel from my mouth, I said:


“And how exactly do you imagine I will carry my six months worth of crap from the taxi into the house?”


“What about your housemates, can’t they help you?”


“You mean the ones that will be at work?”


I just had to make the point that although the discharge is more than welcome, the timing was lousy.
My housemates were aware of the possibility of my coming home on the Saturday so transferring my six months worth of crap from the taxi into the house would be as easy as say, running into a semi trailer.
Not on a friday afternoon.
During a meeting with my doctor I was told that the reason they want to so unceremoniously boot me out on the Friday was because they can't do admissions on the weekend.
Now I know that in the last month there have been 36 fatalities in this state, so if there are 8-10 serious injuries requiring hospitalisation then that's a lot people needing beds.
And seeing as I'm just killing time until the pelvis specialist makes up his mind, I might as well do it at home where I can actually get some sleep, don't get woken up by noisy nurses and patients and my stomach can quit being used as a daily pin cushion. ( I don't know how diabetics do it to be quite honest, my gut is all lumpy and bruised from the daily anticoagulant injections )
I guess my biggest beef is that after 6 months in there, they could have given me a bit more notice than one day.
In order to ensure they could get rid of me. the decision was made to send all my six months worth of crap home by courier.
I thought that would be ok, so I took off home at 3 as the courier was picking everything up at 3:30.
After numerous phone calls to the hospital and the couriers
Four hours later he finally turned up.


So here I am.

Finally out of the hospital.

After all that.



It feels weird.
Especially when I know that I'm home, but not in the way I hoped for or envisaged all that time.
I know I'll probably have to go back in to the chop shop.
The specialist was talking of wanting to see a current CT ( appently only the x-rays were booked for today, but why should ANYthing have gone right today ), but also letting me recover more from the last surgery before going the hack again.
Have to wait again


.