Today is day 11 of my visit to hospital. On weekdays, I'm busy with Physio so time passes but today is Saturday and time drags. The fellow in the next bed has pneumonia and is really struggling. In fact, everybody here seems to be at death's door so, but if I wasn't depressed before, I'm very glum now.
The routine of four-hourly 'obs' is tedious and my fingers are sore with all the punctures of blood sugar testing. I feel like a fraud; I need to exercise my right leg and hand but I'm not sick. I can't see why I'm taking up a hospital bed which might be better utilised by some other poor soul.
Marilyn comes in every day which is great. I tell her to go home but she tells me she doesn't like the emptiness of the house. Clearly I'm good for something even if it's only to provide company. I suppose after 50 years you get used to each other.
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