The Boy Done Good
He’s home, and apart from a bit of an ache that seems to leave with Calpol, he’s doing great J
I managed to get to Manchester on Tuesday to be there during and after the surgery. As usual, watching him coming round afterwards was horrible, watching him writhe and cry and point at the door (which was actually a cupboard) to tell the recovery nurses that he just wanted to leave. That’s the part of hospital visits when you feel like you need to pull out every single parenting trick you ever learnt, from reassurance, to distractions, to firmness, to silence, all at the right times. Not to mention pulling off those cemented-on ECG wires and trying not to look at the three canulas running into his hands and foot (I am so squeamish when it comes to those things).
However, by the time he was wheeled back up to the ward, he was sat up drinking juice, eating jelly and chatting. Soon he had downed a belated lunch and when I left at 4:30pm, he was repeatedly asking what time tea would be arriving J
Then, the biggest surprise of all, he was discharged the next evening and came home late on Wednesday, not Friday as we had anticipated J