Will Gortoa [The Anatomy Of A Stroke]'s photostream  

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Large On Black [Is currently treading water after replacing the image: hopefully the correct link will resolve soon. Although you can just click on the image itself to see the larger version. In fact, I'm not even sure why I bother with 'On Black' now - surely everyone knows that?! : )]

Time for a change of mood, methinks. : ) [Note: Images swapped from yesterday!]

I actually took this image at the same time I did the 'scar' image/s of my dad. A bit of a contrast!

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Dad found himself back in A&E earlier this week.

I believe it's called Münchhausen's syndrome; when someone enjoys the medical attention so much, they seek out a little more. So, seemingly not content with the daily physio visits, dad now has an occasional district nurse visiting, too. Maybe it's the uniforms?

He was out in the garden and went to come up the two steps into the house by placing the walking stick just inside the back door onto the small mat. As he transferred all his weight onto the stick, the mat suddenly slipped and he crashed to the ground, bashing his shin into the concrete step.

Normally that would hopefully be nothing more than damned painful in a fleeting moment, which it was. But when you're on blood thinners, the smallest gash can now become the Trevi Fountain - minus the beautiful location and Italian accents.

So, with my step mum left hosing down the kitchen to avoid it looking like a crime scene, dad sets off to the local A&E with a helpful neighbour. Simple. Uh, no...

First A&E has 4+ hour wait, so it's suggested they drive to another. Eventually get seen at the second one and is told the skin is too thin [on his shin] to stitch. They use paper stitches and tell him to come back if the blood seeps through. An hour later he's back! More paper stitches and pressure pads and told to keep his leg raised for two days.

Up to that point, it had been a good week, though: walked nearly half a mile with physio; werewolf scar healing well; neat [expected] rainbow bruising down his chest; and one notable small victory... using some pipe insulation to make the fork easier to hold means he's virtually back to eating a meal the conventional way.

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"I've never been so pleased to see a ceiling," he said.

Virtually the first words out of his mouth when my step-mum and I went in to see him after his operation late on Thursday evening.

After the relative high of leaving hospital and getting home for his birthday last week, this week was all about the build up to his carotid endarterectomy. And as the week drifted by, dad drifted a little further within himself; the risks and understandable fears of what was quickly galloping towards him looming large.

The morning of the operation began early, the hospital taxi duly arrived. My step-mum apparently offered to carry his bag. He politely declined, picked it up himself, strode off down the path, into the waiting car and away. My step-mum, slightly shocked, waved at the back of his head. He didn't say goodbye. He didn't look back. It's astonishing to think that could've been their last moment together.

Later he shrugged the moment off, "I don't like goodbyes. Besides, I was being positive. I had every intention of coming back." He's an unusual character all right, my dad.

The scar and associated bruising, as you can see, make him look the victim of a particularly brutal werewolf attack. However, given the relative invasiveness and delicacy of the operation, his recovery, again, is quietly remarkable; also a wonderful testament to the skills of the surgeon, Mr Neary. [Who, the day before, was so calm before the operation, he sat on the edge of the desk talking to my parents swinging his legs back and forth like a small boy.] You've got a special place in the hearts of this family, Mr Neary. Now, pull your socks up, tuck your shirt in and go tidy your room!

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