Drained

I guess I should add a disclaimer here, along the lines of 'don't read this post if you're just about to eat a meal', because it probably isn't for the squeamish, but after days of hanging around with nothing much, seemingly, happening, I was whisked off at literally thirty seconds notice early this afternoon, to be ultrasound scanned, have a hole drilled in my back and a chest drain fitted. The way it was done did, I suppose, prevent me from sitting around worrying about the prospect, although sitting bent over a medical couch knowing someone is, effectively, going to stab you in the back at any moment, albeit under local anaesthetic, is one of the more unnerving things I've experienced. The anticipation was worse than the actuality, though, and the device is now doing its job - a litre or so of rather vile looking red gunk has emerged already, with more, it seems, to follow. Given that the consensus amongst the doctors for more than a week has been that the fluid needs to go for me to get markedly better, the fact that something is actually being done about it is welcome, even if the practicalities are a bit uncomfortable and gory. Short term pain for long term gain - I hope!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B