I’m back at the hospital, again.
Honoria has returned! Whilst I was away she gave birth to a baby boy, Francis. He is six months old already. Honoria’s face lights up when she sees me. I feel the same way. “Did you have a lovely holiday in Australia?” she asks.
Mr H cuts me out of yesterday’s bandages. I’m free. But not for long. He produces a strip of soft pink elasticated fabric about 30cm wide. It has velcro fastenings on each end. “What’s that?” I ask. “You know when people have abdominal surgery?” says Mr Hadjiminas. I nod. “When it bursts, this is what we use.” Having planted that hideous image in my mind he then gets a giant needle and injects some kind of steroid into my back. Mr H and Honoria each take an end of the big pink binding. “I don’t think we’re going to get her into it,” says Honoria. “Oh, yes we will,” ripostes Mr H. Mental note: must cast these two in the Chemo Chic Christmas Panto. They pull and stretch it tightly around my entire upper torso. My breasts are squashed flat and, if that wasn’t bad enough, my stomach is forced downward creating a wobbly muffin top. Chemo Chic this thing definitely is not.
“We may have to do another steroid injection but keep this on for a week and see how it goes.”
Back at home it’s already beginning to irritate. Ben has come round for dinner. “Can you just unzip my dress and try to pull the velcro so that it’s not rubbing on my skin?” Ben obliges. He is like my brother but I can’t be asking every passer by to adjust my surgical appliances. And I still haven’t solved the problem of how to have a shower.