The Wait

It was confirmed.  I was going to rehab.  Ok it was only for a few weeks and it would be a limited programme but I was going.  The problem now was that I had a surgical wound basically running from my just below my hip right round and into my groin.  I had very big thighs! I used to joke that it was from years of sitting on the sofa watching rugby.  The hole was 16 inches long, 8 inches wide and just as deep.  I had very big thighs!  The nurses used to have to put their hands right into my leg to pack it with dressings.  They’d start with me on my back and then turn me on my side and just pack and dress the site on a daily basis.  It was a long process. 

The issue now was that in order to be able to do any rehab I’d have to sit, but I couldn’t as I couldn’t put any pressure on the wound as that would either delay the healing process or extend it by causing more damage.  I had to wait. 

Further surgery was considered.  A plastic surgeon was called to see if it was possible to stitch up the wound, to quicken the healing time, but it was decided against.  Other treatments were tried.  There was something called a VAC.  Basically they packed the wound site with sponges, created a vacuumed seal over them and used a gadget to create a constant vacuum as it seems negative pressure promotes healing.  This worked for a while, but due to the location of the wound it was difficult to get a vacuumed seal and after a number of months it was felt that it had done all that it could and we reverted back to the original packing of the wound.  By this time the wound was indeed much smaller and quicker to dress but still not closed enough for rehab.

The significant thing about all of this was that I was on a surgical ward.  A ward designed for short stay patients.  People on the ward usually stayed for a few days.  Sometimes a week and were gone and the next lot of patients in.  There were a few that would stay longer these tended to be ones with terminal issues.  Ones having palliative care or waiting for a hospice bed.  These were the people I was getting to know – or not know as the case usually was.  Our beds facing each other knowing that their lives were coming to an end - waiting for it in some cases.  Whereas I was waiting for mine to begin.   I’m embarrassed to say I’ve forgotten most of their names now.

Weeks and months past.  Finally I was told by the spinal consultant that I’d be moving to the rehab hospital.  She talked about weeks after the move and mentioned Christmas.  I thought she was talking about me being finished rehab and home for Christmas.  I was wrong.

On 12 October 2009, 175 days after entering hospital I made my first trip outside to the fresh air but this trip was only to take me to another hospital.