Less than 36 hours to go until knee surgery of doom and I am getting more and more anxious.
I've tried incredibly hard for the last five months to carry on as normal and stay positive but now that the day is almost here I am terrified. Not least what I should take to hospital with me, but how long I will be in pain for, how long the four wounds are going to take to heal and worst of all, whether the operation will actually work. It is technically experimental after all since they don't actually know for sure why I'm so sore.
I received a letter from the NHS the other week apologising for not seeing me within their twelve week target. I don't know if that made me feel better or worse. I know the pressures they are under so am not resentful. My knee on the other hand seems to have taken on a personal vendetta and has gotten incredibly painful just recently. It's like hot needles appear out of thin air sometimes, but it's probably just in my head because I'm stressed. Stressed or not, I can't sit still for long, house chores seem to take forever and my poor dogs must hate me because I can't walk far either. It's a good job bubbles in the garden make them happy.
Still, I'm determined that surgery is the right thing to do and I just want it over and done with now so I can get on with healing.
Luckily, my husband and mum are going to be here to take care of me, and my friends and colleagues have been very supportive.
Tomorrow is the start of #heartunions week. I am Prospect representative at my work so am going into the office with cakes and freebies to share in some success stories and hopefully gain some new recruits. After all, without unions I probably wouldn't get sick pay for the time off work I'm going to be taking and they do so much other good stuff for all us too. If you're not a member of a trade union, please think about joining one so our voices continue to be heard... Especially while Mrs May is still bludgeoning on with Brexit. But that's another story. Ttfn.
Dear Ella. I'm so sorry. Sorry that we didn't know about the cancer sooner that ended your two biggest loves: eating and catching toys. Sorry that we rushed the decision to put you to sleep, sorry that we didn't give you a little more time in the sun. Sorry that I didn't think to take you to the toilet before we went into that awful sterile room for the last time. However, I'm not sorry for all the years we had with you. Yes, you were very dog reactive and so strong in your younger years that you pulled me over more than once. But the twelve years of love you gave us all, with your head butts, kisses and games we played will bring us joy forever. Ziggy is being so brave, but daddy and I are not. I can hardly see to write this through my tears, but I needed to say goodbye properly. You were such a beautiful girl. I don't think we'll ever know someone so clever, stubborn and pretty. Your independent radar ears and your silly smiles. Your singing ...
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