From half marathon to hospital

Today I joined the not so merry crew of ill people and worried relatives crowded around a TV screen to watch the rugby.

We sat huddled in our PJs with drips, the nurses bobbing in and out to find patients missing from their beds – and all sorts of jobs to see the score.

I can safely say that I’d rather have been watching it somewhere else – and not feeling like I wanted to have my head in a toilet.

To say the last few days have been an emotional and physical roller coaster would be an understatement. I’ve gone from one of the biggest physical achievements of my life, feeling incredibly happy, to having a drip in my arm, sobbing in a ball and a confused mess.

In just 48 hours I went from half marathon to feeling like a half baked cookie – doughy and underdone and well totally unpleasant!

Something is wrong with me, know one really knows what, but that’s nothing unusual.

It’s something to do with my ovaries and fluid (that’s what they’re seeing on all the scans) and it left me in so much agony on Tuesday and Wednesday that I was whimpering like a wounded dog every time I tried to walk.

Like an idiot I left it until that stage before I went to the GP – she sent me to what is the most ridiculously large hospital in Wales.

Three days later I’m still here. There’s been laughter, dizziness, joking, crying and well confusion and nothing has come out of it but to reconfirm that I’m in shock.

The weirdest thing is how much people are obsessed with Winnie, they are so fixated on the fact that I once had an operation they can’t get past it. I mean dear god that could mean something else is wrong with me!

I thought the days of this were behind me – I’d served my time and all that and this has been an unexpected curve ball when I was feeling fit and well.

I’m sat here worrying while nothing goes on, as per usual of a weekend, listening to everyone moaning around me and finding myself joining in.

They can never ever feed me in these places and Winnie has gone mental – I know weight will start falling off me and my legs already feel weak.

But the plus side is in the moments of positiveness I hear the funny hospital banter and laugh. 

So far we’ve laughed at the nurse who somehow drenched herself head toe in the shower and came out looking like a drown rat, the consultant who purposely buys two of the exact same but different coloured shoes to make a talking point, and a lot of normal crude hospital poo and fart jokes.

Having visitors is lovely, but when they leave is hard. It does make you want to cry (ashamed to say I do) that they’ve seen you that way, that you can’t leave with them, and that they’ve gone and you are alone with the machines and the lack of sleep again.

I know I’ve been through so much worse, but all I know is that if I don’t get out of  here in a few days I’m going to loose my mind.

But for now I’ll just sit and wait and think – at least they can’t stick a camera up my arse!