Hi Twitter peeps.

This is my first time on the computer since my op and I thought I'd compile a diary of the weeks events. I'll be back on to annoy followers in the next couple of days.

Thursday 28^th

As the day progressed anxiety began to grow. In the evening I decided to deflect the prospect of the following day by watching a film on Sky. An hour into it, Janet popped her head around the door. “What the hell are you watching that for?” she exclaimed. O.K. Perhaps Schindlers List wasn't the cheeriest of films to watch but, well.

Friday and Saturday

I slept fitfully and was early for my appointment at the Leeds General Infirmary. From 7.15a.m. I was subjected to the usual barrage of pre op tests and finally walked down to the theatre at 8.45a.m.

I had the usual gowns, one with my arse sticking out of the back and another to cover it. Next time I was really conscious I was back in bed, somewhat doped, with drips attached to various pre-drilled holes in my arms. The consultant arrived some time later to advise me the op had been text book other than taking an extra 25 minutes to drill through my old appendix scar. All told the op took 3 hours 55 minutes. The rest of the day and night were spent in and out of sleep. They brought me a sandwich which I think was previously used as a door wedge. It remained uneaten and the tea undrunk as I don't go for the Castrol GTX stuff. One disappointment. There were no pretty nurses, they were all men so I was happy a bed bath wouldn't be needed.

Consultant came back at 8.30am and, despite having a temperature, (me, not him) he told me I could go home that afternoon. Joy! All the drips were removed except the drain. They wanted to leave that in a little longer. They called it a drain, I'd say it was a sewer. The bloody thing went from just next to my belly button to my side, about 12 inches. It was fun having it pulled out. Blood spurted. All normal I was told, and a pad was put over it. Janet came to visit at 2.00 and was as surprised as she was delighted to be told I could go. The nurse checked the drain hole. It could have done with a man hole cover on it. He cleaned it and put on a bigger pad. “It should be fine” he said. I didn't care. I just wanted to go home. I won't comment on the journey. I'll just say it was “difficult”. We are about 20 miles from the hospital but it seemed like 200. I knew there was a problem when I got into the house and turned round to see the dog licking up blood. My trousers were saturated and it was dripping onto the floor.

I got to bed and Jan rand the hospital for advice. “Bring him back” they said. I'm not exactly sure what my reply was but it contained the words “fuck and “off”. This is where our NHS is brilliant. Within and hour a district nurse was at the house, cleaning the hole and putting so much padding on I like like a hunch side. We were relieved. I felt like shit (by coincidence I felt like having one too) but I was home and there was no further talk of going back in. The rest of the day passed, somehow. As the blood seeped through the dressings, Jan put on new ones to soak it. We need a new mattress now. This one looks like a ritual sacrifice has taken place on it, that or an elephant foetus was aborted.

I got through the next day and Jan and I were walking on the decking at 3.15 in the morning on Sunday as I tried to make some part of my body feel human. Jan has watched the op on the Da Vinci site and she assures me there is no part of it where the patient is repeatedly beaten with a cricket bat. I shall have to ask the consultant.

I often wondered what it would be like to have a lunch box like Linford Christie. What I had in mind however was the size not the colour. It does look odd, a little like a dead conker. I hate being catheterised. Only a complete masochist would enjoy one. It is however privately amusing to sit and have a pee and continue conversation with friends at the same time. On Tuesday the district nurse changed the pads for a bag for me to bleed into. It was a Godsend as we could empty it with a tap and it didn't leak. It also had the benefit of providing a good quality boost for Sundays gravy. Wednesday morning the bleeding stopped. Another tick.

Yesterday I had the catheter out. I pissed everywhere. The nurse was pleased as she wanted to see a flow as opposed to me going into retention. I doubt I have peed myself laying on my back since was 18 months old, not even when drunk. It was a weird experience made stranger by then being given a huge pad to put on. I could have leaked from both ends and that bugger would have taken it. It got me home and I changed it for another. All I needed was a bottle with a teat on it and a baby grow and the whole George Dawes experience would ensue.

It is now Saturday 6^th at 2.18pm and the catheter has been out for about 28 hours. I got through the night dry. I still leak about one in three times when I stand but this seems to be a good position to be in so early. I had my first proper dump too this morning to take away another weeks discomfort. Offered last Saturday the chance to feel how I do now, I would have bitten their hands off. That must be a good sign. Writing this is a good sign as I certainly couldn't have done it yesterday. I even thought of two poor one liners, so I must be feeling better:

I was trying to think what the the term is for 6 foot deep was but I couldn't fathom it out

and

I love my wife's right leg. I also love her left leg but since she had a hysterectomy I haven't been able choose between them.

You try and think of something funny with a spike up your bits!