This morning Team Crutt set off for a hospital in Oxford where I was dropped off for my knee operation. I got there for seven and spent a good hour and a half reading, writing and trying not to doze off.
Then things moved along a pace as I put on a rather fetching gown and was wheeled along a corridor, taken up in a lift and wheeled a bit further to a room outside the operating theatre. The general anesthetic was injected and I began to wonder just exactly how it would feel to suddenly fall alseep in the morning. The nurse knew I was a musician and asked what instrument I played. There was a funny taste in my mouth but instead of asking about what it might signify I replied, "bass guitar."
I opened my eyes and discovered I was in the recovery room, feeling cosy and warm. I had an electric blanket arrangement on my chest and a friendly nurse approached to take it off and offer me a cup of water, with a straw. I felt really good. Once someone told me the time (an hour and half after lights out) I presumed the short but deep sleep had let me rest well. My knee, well, both knees were pain free too. Great. Then the consultant arrived and explained I wasn't feeling pain because of the drugs I had been given. I could, it seemed, expect quite a bit of pain later.
Then I was wheeled back to the regular ward where some wonderful nurses brought me biscuits, toast, yoghurt and coffee. Before long I was dressed again and chatting with the physio about exercises. J picked me up in the early afternoon and here I am, home and a bit groggy. A restorative game of Coppit with Freya proved to be a bit much though, since her brother insisted on grabbing the playing pieces and throwing them around the kitchen. I know my limits.
Thanks to a health service that works, some highly trained and caring staff, some thoughtful text messages from my pals, my fab family and the right attitude - I can now go to bed. That is, if I can stop falling over my crutches. Oh, and so far no one has noticed the surgical stocking mismatch.