Road to Recovery

Day Six of recovery and Andrew is in the Park...

The peaceful tranquillity washes over me as I take in the beauty of Llangunnors evergreen. The morning light breaking through the tree's, mist silently hovering above the playing fields, my dog taking a crap on the grass... Milo! You couldn't wait until we got home could you? He looks at me with his big brown eyes the same as anyone would look at you whilst relieving themselves, 'Dude seriously, some privacy?'

Oh well, I suppose the bending will help with the circulation, yet it doesn't make the big black bruise down my leg any less painful. It feels good to get out, get that fresh air into my lungs. Though every step rocks me with fear, that I'll feel that ectopic beat that has tormented me these past months, that un-synchronised misstep within my hearts rhythm that sends it tunnelling down the path of no return.

With each step I hope that it won't be the case. The signal up here on the mountain carries the same strength as the caffeine in a hospital coffee... and I'm not sure what I'd be more upset about if my heart kicked into one of its episodes? That the past surgery was for nothing and I was back to square one or that I'd have to drag my body through the wet grass of the misty playing fields like some kind of commando who should have been kicked out the helicopter long before it left the cadet school.  And then there's the dog, it's not like I've got myself a Lassie here, who would run immediately to alert the neighbours of my peril... 

'Whats that boy? Andrews stuck down a well?... Oh, Andrews unwell! Quick show me, John! John! Get help!'

No, I tell my dog I need help and he'd happily sit there licking my face. It might have been more beneficial for me if I'd have gotten a Husky or one of those St Bernard's where I could just hang onto his neck and he could just drag me home. Unfortunately my little Cavalier King Charles can barely drag his big floppy ears along without tripping over them...I didn't quite think this through.

But nevertheless each step also fills me with great hope. There is no missed beat, quickened heart rate or any divergence from my pace makers stabled rhythm (as of yet). Yes my thigh where they fed the tubes feels like its had a knife grinding away against the bone, my chest holds all kinds of discomforts which seem to come and go as they please and the painkillers I've been consuming to fend off the pains make me want to do nothing but sleep. But at least the shoulder pain that plagued me so heavily has since faded into a passing ache, that's reason enough to celebrate at the moment. So Milo, fetch me that stick and let us march into the days of glory with our heads held high, and the hopes and dreams that perhaps, maybe even soon, everything shall be right again... No Milo, thats a sock.