my journey to health and well being via exotic destinations

in which I take one step at a time


Cartoonist Annie Tempest draws me my own personal cartoon. What an honour! more too the point, how funny. That's what it feels like when id do my tummy jabs....

Cartoonist Annie Tempest draws me my own personal cartoon. What an honour! more too the point, how funny. That’s what it feels like when id do my tummy jabs….

It is now exactly 48 hours since I went into surgery. The first 24 hours passed in a morphine-fuelled haze, interspersed with doses of paracetamol and anti-inflammatories. I recall texting like a maniac at hourly intervals as I was coming round – apologies, probably all gibberish! Then deleting all sorts of posts from well-wishers on FB as my fingers were just too fat and disobedient. I would wake from a doze and find a half finished text with random letters in the text box…as yet unsent (I hope).

Tommy and Olivia trying to cheer me up!

Tommy and Olivia trying to cheer me up!

After 24 hours of fasting a good English breakfast sets me up, but the pain is omnipresent and there are tubes sprouting from all orifices including a couple of holes in my leg. Private hospitals seem as short-staffed the NHS as I seem to wait for all sorts of things – for instance the drain removal is eventually carried out 3 hours later than scheduled and today the physio has not come at all! This is rather annoying as I have been dosing myself up with morphine in preparation for the former and so by the time it happens I am off the planet!

Tommy to greet me as I come round

Tommy to greet me as I come round

I am both fascinated and frightened when they remove the bandages prior to unplugging the drains. “This might be painful. First I will cut a couple of stitches, then count to three, and you take a deep breath and out it comes!” I breathe deeply, and feel nothing. “Is it out yet?” Happily both are removed painlessly. And when I am brave enough to admire my leg with fresh dressing on, I am amazed, despite the fact a large chunk is missing, it is neat and virtually unscathed.

my neat little leg

my neat little leg

Today, day 2, we decide to try and walk to avoid the risk of an embolism. The first attempt is terrible, the pain excruciating. However I cannot lose the catheter until I can walk to the loo, so its a vicious circle. When Tommy and Ross come in we try again and its much better. Soon I am unplugged, have made a reacquaintance with the loo, and am having a lovely shower and a clean nightie (thanks Hilary)

A few visitors pop in and out, I sleep, but the real progress is in the almost total diminution of the pain; only a slight pulling of the stitches when I walk but I think that’s to be expected. And I even took some steps on my own.

Once I’ve got the physio sorted I fully intend to be out of here…

Author: vickyunwin

I am a writer and traveller. Our darling daughter Louise died on 2 March 2011, aged 21 ( and I started writing as therapy. We never know how long we have on this earth, so I live for every November 2013 I was diagnosed and operated on for a malignant soft tissue sarcoma in the calf, followed by 6.5 weeks of radiotherapy, so am embarking on a different kind of journey which you can follow here. I also have another site with my blueprint for health and well-being.

6 thoughts on “in which I take one step at a time

  1. Fabulous news Vicky! Well done! So happy pain subsiding and hope your physio turns up soon. Love and hugs. Xxxx PS. Cartoon is great 😉


  2. Thank you Vicky. You are an inspiration – your attitude can help anyone going through similar, now or in the future. X

  3. Amazing progress.

  4. Hi Vicky Good leg! Hope you are back walking easily soon Viv and M

  5. Well done Vics, we’re looking forward to having you back in Mana soon. Stretch will tailor-make some walks just for you!
    Lots of love and a hug from us both.

  6. It’s such crap you have to go through this Vicky. For anyone in the same situation though – the Gods forbid, though there must be some – it would be an enormous help to read your story. Small comfort, I know, but you’re a better (man) than I Gunga Din to get this all down. Love from all the Craggs.

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