Early Assumption

Monday, we walked with Rachel to the coach station in Sophia Gardens, said our farewells. Her flight to Phoenix is from Heathrow, early Wednesday morning, but she's visiting a friend in Gravesend until then, and making her way to the airport very early, for a seven thirty check-in. We then walked on to Barker's coffee house in Castle Arcade, to meet Graham and Eleri for a chat. It's the first time we've been there, and we appreciated the intimate ambience, although the piped music was a bit too loud if you're trying to converse. 

Sleep on Tuesday night was much disrupted by wound pain and discomfort. I seem to be having one or more good nights, then a bad night. It's impossible to work out what I do exceptionally that sets off bleeding. Daytimes, I have very little trouble with the wound, but the nights are worryingly mixed.

This morning I went by bus to celebrate Mass at St German's again. It wasn't as convenient as it used to be, since the 61 bus no longer crosses the city from Pentrebane to Splott, but turns in the centre and re-traces its route out o the west. I had to get off in Westgate Street, walk through to a St Mary Street stop to pick up a number 11, which took me to Longcross Street. Only a quarter of a mile of walking but enough to leave me with a sodden rain jacket.  

As Fr Phelim is still on holiday there's no Mass of the Assumption tomorrow, so we anticipated the feast. Christian tradition tells several different stories about the death of our Lord's mother, not based on scripture. What they have in common is the sense that her departure from this mortal life is a source of wonder, joy and mystery, at the end of a life fulfilled in trusting God's Word in every sense. When I was thinking about what to say at a brief homily at Mass, it occurred to me to reflect on the contrasting experience of our own mothers' deaths. It was safe to do this as all the worshippers were old enough to have lost parents a good while back.

Peter and Hilary gave me a lift back to Pontcanna, and dropped me off at King's Road GP surgery, as I'd obtained a 'book on the day' appointment, to discuss with a doctor my concerns about the erratic behaviour of my wound over the past week. The result of this was a walk over to UHW's Surgical Assessment Unit, and another six hours wait there, being interrogated, getting a blood test, and finally a physical examination with a young surgical registrar at the end of his shift, all kitted out in his surgical scrubs who, I suspect, was aching to finish work.

The triage nurse was the same woman I'd seen on December 21st. She recognised me as a walked in, and could hardly believe it's eight months since she saw me last. Thankfully, the Unit wasn't as busy as last time I was here. My blood condition tested out OK, and the surgeon said there was no sign of anything anomalous or any infection that he could see. The hyper-granulation didn't seem to concern him, ans he said that I could expect blessing as long as the Seton's suture remained in place. I didn't really get answers to the question of why the outbreaks of pain and discomfort were so random, or what I could do to mitigate this. I'm just left with having to tough it out until operation day.

Yet again I succeeded in catching a bus which took me the long way to the city centre for another bus to get back home. I could have walked much quicker.