‘No, Mrs Corbett. Face infections are serious. We will operate in the morning.’
It is now Friday and I’m still here, in room eighteen, of the Risby ward, with a dressing on my face and my arm hooked up to an IV tube. But now the pain is gone the whole thing is starting to feel kind of luxurious – like being on an airplane. I have a postcard sized portion of space. A buzzer. An overhead light and all my meals brought to me on a trolley.
What more could I ask for? I even get to spend the whole day in my pyjamas.
As I’m heading to Aberystwyth in August, I have been using the down time for a bit of a Welsh language revision. I have my SSiW lessons and flashcards on my iPhone. Season one of Gwaith Cartref on my MacBook. And plenty of Welsh books and dictionaries. This morning I finished reading my second ever Welsh Language novel: Parti Ann Haf.
She pulled a dubious face. ‘The Doctor said IV for a couple more days, at least.’
So, what could I do? But smile and pull out my next book: