Last Tuesday, I woke up at 6am for my last cocktail of intravenous antibiotics. Breakfast, then at around 7.30am, my three doctors and a nurse came to change the bandage on my scar. The scar is dry and the stitches look ‘nice’. The surgeon's assistant, who does the stitching, attaches great importance to the appearance of the scar. She always mentions that it is the only external sign of the operation and that, if the scar is not beautiful, the patient may have doubts about the quality of the operation in the body.
A nurse and an assistant then come in to remove the central catheter from the neck. A stitch is used to hold the catheter in place. The first step is to remove the stitch, then extract the 17 cm-long catheter. There was some bleeding, but after compression, the bleeding stopped and a bandage was applied. The operation was over, painlessly.
After a shower, I pack my bags. I was given a list of medicines to take and material to change the bandage myself. I said goodbye to the staff, who were very friendly and professional. I was then taken to hospital reception, where I ordered a taxi. On the way, we stopped off at my local pharmacy. Since the change of ownership, the quality has dropped: the staff are uninterested and lack empathy. Of course, they don't have the medicines in stock. I have to take 6 antibiotic tablets a day for about 12 weeks, so that's a lot! On top of that, there are painkillers, anti-inflammatories, anticoagulants, and so on. After long negotiations, the pharmacy finally agreed to deliver the drugs to my home, as neither I nor my mother are mobile. They've just sold me over CHF 1,200 worth of medicine; it's the least they can do...
The taxi continued on its way, and we arrived at my mother's house. From the street to the front door, there are steps that I climb on crutches. Then, to get to my bedroom, I had to climb some more steps, as it is on the first floor. I'm settling in, because I'll be staying here until mid to late November, until my flat is finished.
This house belonged to my grandparents, and I often came here when I was a child. I have lots of fond memories of it. When my parents took over the house, I was living in the United States, so I never lived here with them. However, I do have a room here, which I used when I came back to Switzerland on holiday or on business trips with my Swiss employer, as I worked in the New York branch. It's a funny feeling coming back here and living with my mother after all these years. Needless to say, she takes good care of me at 94 years of age.
The antibiotics have a soporific effect, and I'm lying down most of the day. I also have to avoid putting load on my leg, so lying down is the best option. I'm keeping busy as best I can. I had a long text to correct for my former employer, so that gives me something to do. A fellow biker from Zurich is coming to visit me on Tuesday, and on Wednesday I'm going back to see my surgeon. He'll remove the stitches, change the bandage and make a new cast.
This morning, I changed the bandage. It was dry and not inflamed. Doing it myself isn't easy, I'm missing a hand! But in the end, it's fine. When I'm back in my flat, Deniz will be able to help me, as he's used to this kind of work.
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