Well, I saw Sarah in hospital yesterday and now I find she's coming home in the next hour or so. I guess that's good news, but it seems a bit quick to me.
She looked pale and tired yesterday, but in good spirits and optimistic. She particularly asked me to thank everyone who posted their good wishes here – I printed out the pages and gave them to her in hospital. (Also, I want to thank Spike for his help while I was trying to set Sarah and Dave's PC up with MSN.)
One thing occurred to me while I was sitting there in the hospital. In the outside world we're all so obsessed with the sanctity of the human body – minor cuts and grazes and the smallest drop of unexpected blood from the most insignificant break of the skin are occasions for great fuss and bother. That attitude goes right out of the window in hospital.
Sarah lay there with a plastic tap plugged into the back of her hand and a clear plastic tube in her side, draining the operation wound into a bottle on the floor. These gross invasions of the self were treated by everyone as perfectly normal – even to the extant that the drainage bottle had been provided with a cloth carrying bag, by the looks of it handmade in the same colours and fabrics as the bag your grandmother used to keep clothspegs in. Seeing the gory tube disappear into the very homely bag was a very strange contrast between the gothic and the banal.
Anyway, she's home now, or nearly home, so that's all done with. Next worry-date is Thursday…