As Saturday drew on, I had my visiting time, and used the rest of the time to work on getting past the next obstacle - convincing the doctors to let me go home. I was visited by the ward's doctor who enlightened me with two big pieces of information. Firstly, that I would be sent for a CT scan, and secondly that he saw no reason why I shouldn't be allowed home that night if all was well.
The latter came as a massive surprise to me, given that I was less than than twenty-four hours post-op. He explained that if there was no sign of infection, and providing the physiotherapists and occupational therapist were happy, I could go. This was cruel. What he hadn't explained, was that physiotherapists and occupational therapists like weekends off as much as the rest of the population, and that the ones left over we're stretched. It was one thing that I would be strong enough, and mentally agile enough to pass their assessments, but completely another thing to actually lure the combo to my bedside.
Obviously though, I had a CT scan to attend before that ball could start rolling. Shortly after the doctor's visit, a porter came to my bedside with a wheel chair, and escorted me through the rabbit warren that was LGI. It had all the hallmarks of the basement of the building. My basic understanding of medical imaging techniques told me that MRI scans (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) used powerful magnets, and had been the neurologists' first choice. I was being sent for a CT scan this time (Computerised Tomography), which I understood used x-rays and no magnets. I had been told that the piece of bone that had been removed had been replaced and secured with metal plates and screws. I could only assume that magnets were off the table from now on.
As the CT staff saw to me, I was told that they would be injecting me with a liquid, along with the words, "You'll have a warm sensation, and it might feel like you've wet yourself, but in all probability, you won't have." Great - in all probability. I had been quite excited about my new found ability to take myself to the loo, and hadn't been pre-warned about this. The truth was, from being escorted down to the imaging area, to actually being seen, I hadn't expected quite this kind of wait, and was in fairly desperate need of the toilet. I was helped on to the plinth, and was injected with the solution. All the years of physical exercise weren't wasted, as I hit the stop-valve and held it. Enter warm feeling...I held my breath as it passed through me like a wave. I allowed myself to relax a little - mostly because I couldn't hold my breath any longer. Success. I'd gone with probability, and avoided an accident, but I won't pretend the urge to let go hadn't crossed my mind.
The scan was over, and as I sat up and was helped back to my chair, I caught a glimpse of the computer screen, and was surprised to see that my brain had indeed filled that space left by Ivan. I couldn't help but marvel at the way in which my brain had sprung back into shape, and there was no sign of anything else untoward to the untrained eye. I knew that the success of the operation wouldn't be determined now, but in the longer term, but it was heartening to see the powers of recovery that my brain was displaying.
I was taken back to the ward, and unsurprisingly, didn't catch sight of a physio or OT all day. Even if I had, I wouldn't have been able to catch them!! I focused all of my efforts on goal number one - an unassisted visit to the loo. My next couple of visits had showed a marked improvement, but still with assistance, but number three was here, and I was ready for action. By action, I mean a slow shuffle across the twenty yards that separated me from my nearest convenience. I was used to getting myself out of bed now, but wasn't too hot on balance just yet. I focussed completely on the task at hand, and successfully negotiated my way to the toilet. I was grateful to have somewhere to prop myself, but my overwhelming feeling was happiness, as this was more symbolic than I had realised when I'd set off. This was the first real taste of independence I had experienced since the operation, and it looked good for my forthcoming physio assessment.
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