As I got off the train in Leeds City Centre, I felt a sensation of impending doom. There was no real reason for this, but I asked myself, "Can I really be this lucky? As I walked through Leeds, I felt a knot in my stomach which was being quite persistent. As I walked back in to the hospital, my previous visit came flooding back, as I looked up the ramp to the wing I needed to be in.
As I sat in the waiting area, I racked my brains to try and remember the CT scan from the day after the operation. Had I spotted anything that might be deemed untoward? I didn't think so. Could I read anything else into what the registrar had said? Maybe...he had said that they thought they might have left an odd cell - could that be bad news? I wasn't sure. In short, my mind had gone into overdrive.
When I was called into the consultation room, I was greeted by Mr Ross. He had a calming influence, by virtue of his softly spoken manner, and calm assured nature. Mr Ross had nothing but good news - they had been happy with the surgery, with my recovery, and most importantly, with the CT scan. I was in the clear...for now.
This was a little over six weeks post-op, and I was unsure what guidance I would be given about my return to work. The three main things on my mind, were the three things that were conspicuous by their absence - driving, work, football, and beer. There was no room for negotiation on the driving front, but I checked anyway if he had any reason to believe that I wouldn't be fit to drive when my six months were up - he didn't. He was also happy for me to return to work when the occupational health people were happy.
To my surprise, he was also happy for me to start playing football again, but on the proviso that I didn't play it in a manner that would put my head in direct impact. I assured him that I couldn't bring myself to head the ball at the best of times, so wouldn't be putting it in any immediate danger. I was interested to know that there was no evidence to suggest that impact would cause the bone repair to lose its integrity. Mr Ross explained that four metal plates now secured the patch of bone in place, and that it was unlikely to go anywhere.
As for the booze, I had quite enjoyed a spell of enforced sobriety, and had sampled a number of zero-alcohol alternatives to actual beer. I was surprised by two things - the large number available, and the lack of pubs that saw fit to put them in the fridge. Beer, just how I like it - alcohol free and warm. Mr Ross told me that alcohol would lower the threshold at which I could have a seizure, but in light of there being no warning signs, that I should be ok as long as I didn't binge drink. I tried to resist the obvious joke about habitual drinking being the way forward, and failed completely.
On this last point, my situation had highlighted a little bit about modern drinking culture. I was amazed how many occasions were marked with drinks, compared with how often I would actually want a drink. It pointed towards the modern tendency to use alcohol as an emotional crutch, and I felt fortunate to not crave or need the help. My sleep was healthy and natural, and my head was clear on waking up every morning. On top of this, my new found totally rational fear of headaches made it perfectly easy to resist, or to know when to stop, as the alternative held too many painful reminders. The prospect of mixing my drinks and waking up with a blinding headache filled me with dread.
The consultation ended, and I went on my way happy. My next appointment would be in two years, and in the meantime, my GP would see me through my return to real life. Normality was so close, I felt like I could almost touch it. I contemplated this as I walked back to the train station, and started to make phone calls. I called Lydia, my Mum, and my boss to start with - I shared the relevant information, and contacted occupational health at work to find out how they wanted to re-introduce me to the fold.
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