I want out of here

Back upstairs after the afternoon physio I felt the first floor has got even madder than ever. We now hae the three lost wanderers: Madame 114, the fat lady who never stops talking, and the man who accosted Mme Lacombe. I have now seen him: he, weirdly, wears a cap, and unfortunately, unlike the other two is not confined to a wheelchair. Other people have now told me he has walked into their rooms too and I think there was an incident in the night where the staff had to firmly take him back to his own room. These are all medical rather than post-op patients, and we people coping with our knees, hips and arms would rather they were not around. At the same time, it is good that they are given the freedom. I would not like to think of them shut in a room.

But this, the poor food, the shortage of physio staff and my sudden leap forward make me want to get out of here sooner than the scheduled date, the 12th November. I’ve had enough. I need to get back to the real world. I’ve got cleaners doing the house tomorrow, and a friend turning on the heating and ready to collect me when I want.

Didier said he could see no problem. But now I have to go through the administrative hoops. I have apparently to make the request to a nurse tomorrow morning, who will in turn pass it on to the doctor. One complication is the payment for the ambulance in ten days, scheduled to take me first for scans and then to see the surgeon in Montpellier and then home. I don’t want to have to pay for this out of my pocket as it is a huge amount.

I also need to get some bits of equipment, like a lavatory frame and elevated seat, and a second grabber, for when I’ve dropped my first grabber. I remember this as being essential last time round and, given that this time round my right knee is knackered, following the usual routine for bending at the non-operated side knee and stretching the operated side leg behind won’t work. I’ll order the equipment tomorrow.

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