The life in the diary – VII

Fiction

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February 9, 2013

My surgeon finally showed up this morning. I was trying to eat the magnificent(!) hospital breakfast; pancakes with fruit. I asked for tea, but all I was offered was apple juice. Ok. Fine! Apple juice it is.

Swallowing still hurts; I am not having a great time trying to eat or drink. For some reason the nurses keep bringing me ice water. Each time I ask for just plain water. I do not even require filtered water. Just tap water. Cold amplifies the pain in my throat. Knowing how busy and lovely these nurses are (well, most of them at least) I feel horrible for returning the ice water.

My voice is not getting better. It is so hoarse, so low pitch. I am discouraged. Will it be okay? Will I be able to speak as I did before? I feel sorry for myself. Profoundly sorry… One more thing to do ask to my surgeon. Considering the current state of my voice, I am not even sure I can talk to him. Shall I write my questions down? “will my voice recover?” “what is next now?” “can I get a doctor’s notice for my work?”, “when will be the stitches taken out?”, “when can I get discharged?”

When my surgeon finally showed up, I got tense. well, what did I expect? He will tell me things that are important and certainly not as ordinary as a grocery shopping list! I straightened my back and looked at him anxiously. An experienced doctor would know the meaning of these looks. And he did. Smiled and asked me how I was. I said I was okay and continued to look at him, inquiring information. If these eyes could talk. They certainly would say more intelligible things than me. Arghh.. Anyway, enough with being childish.

When he spoke, though, I wish I had continued being childish.

He said I was not going anywhere anytime soon.

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The life in the diary – VII

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