Before the memory of the hospital experience fades entirely, I thought I’d make some notes on life inside the institution.
Clockwise from top right
Vanity Fair – what a treat to read this uninterrupted! I had a subscription for ages up until five years ago. It made me all nostalgic for life pre-children.
The pink cushion – one of a pair – to protect my underarms for the first few days post op. They were a gift from the hospital’s women’s auxiliary and considering I threw away all the padded coathangers and knitted teddies they gave me when I had my babies, I’m relieved to actually get some use from one of their very thoughtful donations.
Bed goes up, bed goes down control. It wasn’t until the penultimate day that I found the legs go up, legs go down function which took comfort to a whole new level.
TV goes on, TV goes off control.
Compression socks to prevent DVT. They also prevented dignity, comfort and self confidence. Just above them is the equally demeaning ID tag, one of two. For the purposes of the photo, I ripped this one from my ankle. A surprisingly difficult feat.
Tupperware containing PG Tips tea bags. In the lead up to my admission, the thought of several days without a nice cup of tea was a genuine source of anxiety. The lovely tea lady was very happy to oblige my quirky English ways.
Menu card. All the cliches about hospital food are so very true. Like airplane food from 20 years ago…incredibly uninspiring. I made my selection with a ‘tick’ and only realised on the last day there was an instruction on the card to ‘tick for a small portion’. How else are you meant to mark a box?! I lost 2kg that week.
Mini packet of biscuits – why are these always inedible?
Macbook Pro and wifi card = sanity saved.
Cancer Council’s leaflet. “I’ll leave this in the hospital, with the cancer.” thinks I. Hmm…
Home made trail mix, a gift, much appreciated in the absence of proper food.
Here are some more pictures of life on the inside and if you’ve a strong stomach you can check out this pic of the drains doing their thing.