This morning, I had my first check up back at Stanmore after my 2nd operation last summer. You may remember that the team found another crack towards the top of the metal rod but said they would monitor it to see if any problems would arise. I feared that it had got worse because I kept leaning to the left and wasn’t sitting up straight. Also, during the whole heart scare back in November, the doctors discovered the crack and didn’t realise that my surgeon was already aware. This stuck with me as I immediately thought it might have increased in size, what with the massive concern Hillingdon was showing.
Understandably, I woke this morning feeling rather nervous to say the least. I can’t remember the last time I felt this sick. The pain was so intense that I cannot merely label it as ‘butterflies’. I even skipped breakfast, which is something I never do, but I just knew that being ill was a distinct possibility if I ate food. The Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital is not the worst but there is something about entering those gates which strikes fear into my body. Probably because it’s got an old-fashioned Asylum look and twice I’ve been imprisoned in there for what, at the time, felt like an eternity.
No one would ever want an operation but I seriously cannot go under the knife this summer because I have a busy one scheduled. May is all go with a trip down to Southampton to see Craig David. Then it’s Muse featuring Dizzee Rascal at the Emirates. Hopefully, I’ll be one of the 16 chosen bloggers to win a trip abroad in early June (I find out on Monday). The Wireless Festival at the Olympic Park is in July. On top of that, I have numerous writing commitments plus, I have joined the gym. For them reasons, now was not a convenient time to have more spinal surgery. So, I was anxious as to what this consultation would bring.
There was simply no need. The surgeon told me that my back had fully healed and there would be no need for a 3rd operation. The relief on my face was clearly visible, according to mum. I went from looking like I’d seen a ghost to a huge smile from ear to ear. Regarding my posture, the doctor suggested that it might be coming from the hips so he referred me to see a physio. My dad added that it could be the hereditary lazy way of sitting that comes with the Shorey name.
Obviously, I am ‘buzzing’ (as the kids say) with the news so after going for lunch, I treated myself to some new trousers and trainers. Another highlight was the surreal moment when I looked up to see Tony Blackburn buying some Reebok trainers (younger readers might need to Google him). He is a size 9 if you’re interested. Amazing how something trivial can be exciting to watch.
Anyway, I better go and get ready to celebrate in style at my hometown, Watford. Going back to where it all began.
Bye for now!