One week on

One week after the operation the wound is healing well, to the satisfaction of the nurses treating me each day. Apart from passing bouts of tiredness, which may be fall-out from having had a general anaesthetic apparently, I can carry on a low level of normal activity. Sitting for any length of time is not possible, not so much because of pain, but the energy draining sense of pressure on my perineum and the core of my nervous system. Instinctively the body reacts to avoid this, so if I can sit upright, it's never for long before I have to move, which can be tiring in its own right.

I have been trying to think of what sort of difference the surgery has made, despite the difficulties of coping at the moment, and it's this. If you have a rotten tooth with an abscess in it, waiting to see a dentist is a painful nightmare. After tooth extraction comes a huge sense of relief, despite residual pain from the cavity which still has to heal. For me, that kind of relief was what I've been feeling ever since the operation. Healing and the restoration of normality on this occasion will take several months however, not a couple of weeks.

Martin phoned this morning, to say that he was suffering terrible abdominal pain and has diagnostic scans and tests today at the Royal Gwent hospital near where he lives. Kidney stone? Gall Bladder? Or something else? I hope they find out quickly.

This afternoon, I walked to a home the other side of Victoria Park for a bereavement visit to prepare for the funeral of an 89 year old, next week, who had been a widow for nearly half her life. Her two daughters welcomed me and talked about their mother, another of that second generation of young women who went to work at the end of the war after leaving school, stopped work to have children and restarted of necessity as mid-life widow, rising up the ranks of the Civil Service, with only local secondary schooling behind her. Bright, no doubt, but apparently well schooled without benefit of privileged status. A modest unassuming life with admirable achievement running through it. I get to tell a little of her story, when we lay her to rest. Such a privilege, yet again.

In my down times afternoon and evening, I have started watching a new euro-crime Channel 4 series called 'Greyzone'. This dramatic story of hostages, terrorism, drone technology, and a collaborative Danish / Swedish police effort to foil a plot is set in both Copenhagen and Stockholm. It tells of the life of a single mother who is an executive computer programmer, working in the former city while living in the latter. A long haul job with ten 45 minute episodes, but promising so far.