Sorry I haven’t posted for a while but the process of hurry up and wait has been the way of things currently, hurry up we’re close to removing the drain, no, wait let’s give it longer to be sure. Although I understand and agree with this approach, which will leave me much fitter going home, certain as one can be that no complications will occur, it is a real drag to go through. The drain is showing fewer and fewer bubbles going through and the air in the tissue is clearly dissipating, so with a bit of luck and a test clampage tomorrow night, I may get the drain tube removed Monday and will go home a day or two after. I say maybe because you never know.
In the meantime various things occur which deserve a mention. I have discovered a quick draw game that keeps me happy when I have to pee. My bottle hangs in a little cage off one of the trolleys in the room and only hangs by a hook affair at that. As the urge expresses itself I test myself to see how quickly I can draw the bottle without knocking everything over. I will say I have had some success but I’ve also had to pick various items I’ve knocked over from the floor.
Don’t tell me I don’t know what it means to be a gunslinger!
The past few days the morning physio guy has been arriving early, around 7.30am. Although I don’t mind this as I’m on the verge of rising anyway, it means we have to fight the battle of bad breath. He arrives, slim, short hair, about the size of a beefy cox in a regional college rowing team and I’m his first appointment. He gets right to it, massaging my chest and abdomen between sets of breathing exercises, breathing his ripe cheesy breath at me as I try to turn away without being too obvious about it. When I do the exercises I exhale just close enough that he knows I haven’t had time to brush my teeth and I award myself points on how far he turns his head, one point for each 20 degrees. He gets points for novel ways of breathing on me, for example his lean in while massaging my shoulders to nose breathe down my neck. On the basis of three days I would say I’m slightly behind but he’s had a lot more practice than me.
Breakfast has taken a turn for the better now my nice brunette has returned. She always gives me extra butter and jam with my petit pains. Now you might think that petty or irrelevant but it’s that kind of thing that sets you up for the day, though it could lead to a shiv in the ribs in the showers if you boast about it. Yesterday’s ridiculous fantasy came when I got two breads that were still stuck together. I imagined them brothers and once I’d torn them from each other, one had to watch as I tore his sibling apart, slathered him with fats and fruit and ate him, knowing all the while that was his fate too. The brunette this morning was being followed around by a new recruit, blonde, petite with big glasses, very cute. She looked like a rabbit in the headlights with all the information being given her but the brunette is very conscientious so I’m sure she’ll get a good training.
I have been watching a fair amount of telly of late, which by and large is pretty rubbish. The French love their games shows, bright, noisy and cheap to produce. One thing you see here that I’ve not seen much of elsewhere is the audiences being led in impromptu sing a longs by the hosts, a lot of that goes on and is kind of sweet. I’ve been watching plenty of sports, under 21s European championship football, most of the petanque world cup, which was actually quite riveting once you’ve got an idea of the rules and how it’s played. At the moment the women’s rugby 7s is on from Clermont Ferrand, with Australia, Brazil, England, Japan, Fiji etc. taking part. It’s fast and furious and I can well understand why the games are only ten minutes long, it loks like hard work. Australia have just finished their first half 21-0 ahead of Fiji.
Favourite moment so far in telly terms was waking up in the small hours and turning the telly on while I waited for some painkillers to take effect. A film called The Sicilian Clan was on, starring a young Alain Delon and an ageing Jean Gabin. It was all in French so I wasn’t getting all of it, something to do with both a heist and that Alain was romancing Gabin’s girl. The great thing was the style of it all, sharp suits, stylish 60s interiors and these two great actors, one coming up the other fading, acting their socks off. I looked it up later and it was made in 1969 and interestingly was shot in French, Italian and English versions at the same time. Anyway it pleased me no end, plus they had Citroen DS cars as well and those are beautiful motors.
So, for now, a plus tard.