7.30am, I’m sat in the day-surgery ward of Queen Elizabeth Hospital Birmingham and I get called through. There was a small crowd of us, all waiting for different operations. Mine today was an operation on the nerve in my left arm, just below my elbow. This is an experiment, I was assured that things could not get worse but it may make my hand a lot more responsive.
I took photos of the pretty coloured sky, the infamous fruit stall outside the hospital, a steeple that poked up through the trees and looked great against the sky. Today was going to be a great day, I could feel it and I wanted to remember those moments as we walked towards the ward. ‘We’ being me and my taxi driver, coffee buyer, my extra bit of memory when faced with medical specialists, my wonderful Momma.
We went through, I was allocated a staff nurse who showed me to my bay. Bed number 55, that was me. Another nurse came and sat with me to ask relevant questions an find out specifics for the day. My doctor came to my bed-side not long after and prodded my hand and forearm to assess how much movement I have since our last appointment. He was amazed, he began to laugh (in a friendly and surprised way) and looked towards he colleague. They both agreed that the movement and nerve co-operation had increased enough for them not to worry any longer and therefore, I wouldn’t be needing an operation.
I was shocked. Mom was utterly surprised. They said that there had been a very small chance this could happen but there was ‘nil’ response last time and my wrist could not bend. I can now rock out, as I can put my fore-finger and little finger up at the same time, something that was impossible and painful until now.
There are still more operations to go, but that’s one off the list. I’m amazed.