Headscarf schmeadscarf.

While my scar is still healing I can't get it wet. Which is fine, that's exactly what umbrellas were invented for and it's much easier to keep the top of your head dry in a shower than, say, a knee. Although I am looking forward to a proper shower.

But while it's still crusted in blood and so visible, it doesn't seem appropriate to walk around in public with the frankenscar (©Bournie 2012) showing. Cue head covering debate.

At the fireworks I wore a woolly hat (who sent the mystery hat?!), the same as everyone else so I didn't stand out - there's one positive to winter. But once inside, most people take off their woolly hats, so I need to have something on underneath. To minimise screaming and running away from me.

Last night was the first such occasion, and I was quite nervous. It can't come as a surprise at this point that I was worried about how my head would look. This was the first meeting of people outside my house, and that seems to make a difference. What would I wear on my head?

The options were:

1. Woolly hat and don't take it off - my preferred option but most socially unacceptable. Also, it may get very hot, and the person behind me may not be very happy to watch a gig past a massive orange bobble.
2. Woolly hat with scarf underneath - tricky to get the hat off while keeping the scarf in place, and who knows what the scarf will look like when you get there.
3. Headscarf only - although that isn't possible as my hair is like velcro still, so I have to put a scarf on under the scarf to allow it to sit right, it's a complicated business. But this seemed like the best solution.

Argh, I have always been envious of people who can accessorise successfully. You see people who look like they've just thrown on a massive necklace and artfully tied a headscarf as they run out the door. I have spent hours trying to achieve the look, and that was before. 

*Unrelated rant alert*

Also at the moment we are embroiled in a "negotiation" with BT. Our internet connection keeps dropping so they've capped it to 200K. Yes, 200K. There is an engineer coming on Wednesday, apparently, to fix the dropping but in the meantime we are limited to one webpage at a time, as long as it has no images on it. There are three people living in this house, all with high internet expectations. Mum can't read her course work, Olly can't watch his chess videos, and I can't do ANYTHING on the internet that I used to spend all day doing. It is very irritating.

*As you were*

At the moment (for reasons I won't go into...) I can't scour the tinterweb for instructions of complicated headscarf tying, so I just made it up. That actually might have something to do with it. It was SO irritating. It kept spinning around on my head, and actually restricted my head movement so I had to turn my whole body to look at people. Which is difficult in a three way conversation with two very tall people. I nearly just ripped it off, but I didn't.

I wonder what I would do if I was a man. It occurred to me that once the scar is healed it is much easier for a man to blend back in, but it must be hard to find a covering for it during the healing process. 

Anyway, new solution needed. Possibly miracle scar healer and magic hair grower.

A goal in mind.

They told me in hospital that it's good to have goals to work towards, as a form of motivation to recovery. I kind of went "yeh yeh yeh, let me go home" and brushed them aside as I felt I had no shortage of motivation.

I think they meant physical achievement goals, like getting back to jogging, and playing the drums - but my favourite goals are about experiences. Like the fireworks night at Brockwell Park, originally my surgery date was the 2nd November - the same day as the firework display. Obviously there was no chance of me making it then, but even when the date was moved forward, it seemed unlikely. There was half a chance I would still be in hospital, and I wasn't sure what I would be able to cope with noise-wise... fireworks are loud.

But I made it! I was really proud of myself. I was determined to at least try, but walking to the bus stop totally wiped me out so I started to think perhaps I wouldn't last. When some scally started playing music out loud on the bus, we had to get off. Things weren't looking good.

In the end it was the thought of donuts that kept me going. We had a really good time and once we were there I was fine. It was good to be out doing things again, together, albeit in a slightly different (and more subdued) way.

I paid for it the next day though, I couldn't get out of bed. I was exhausted, beyond exhausted. I have never run a marathon but I imagine that's what it feels like the day after. I was bruised! But it was worth it - for the sense of achievement as well as the brilliant time we had.

So, it's all about balance once again - I should still do the things I really want to do, but be aware that I need to schedule in recovery time. And I may feel a bit rubbish afterwards.

Which leads me to tonight. Am so excited. Not least because I thought this would be something I was sure to miss, but given I came out so early it's back on... yey!

Jake, my brother-in-law, is playing at Shepherd's Bush Empire. It would have killed me to miss it, I pride myself on being a true fan and have seen Jake play all over - but this is massive, Shepherd's Bush Empire!

It's a brilliant goal for me to have. Firstly, obviously, I want to be there for the experience - it's something I really want to do. And secondly it's a goal that will make me feel like I'm part of the real world again, doing things that normal people do. Even being out and about will contribute to that. And I have the feeling that if I don't make it all the way through, it's the trying that counts. Being motivated to give it a go in the first place.

We're planning a military style operation to get there early and scope out where to sit. I am worried about noise mainly - crowd noise and background music in the run up to the acts. Worst case scenario I show the bouncers my frankenscar and ask if they can let us back in at the last minute. Gah am so excited.

Watch this space.

Actually watch this instead, hope he plays it tonight it's my favourite (after Freddie of course).

Pavement terrors.

I can see now why people get scared to go out, and used to being in their own home. Yesterday we went to the Brockwell Park fireworks. (It was awesome - I love fireworks. And we had donuts - I LOVE donuts, the ring ones with just sugar on that you only get at fairgrounds... hmmm).

I have been going to the grocery shop every now and then, or to the doctors surgery. But this was altogether busier and darker and much more scary.

Children are terrifying! They're so unpredictable and change direction at the drop of a hat. My legs aren't working properly at the moment and it feels like I'm wading through treacle just to walk, I'm so exhausted. Changing direction is something I need to work up to, and stopping and starting. So walking down a packed pavement suddenly becomes a high alert situation.

It's frustrating being overtaken by someone two foot tall. I kept causing blockages in the packs of people trying to get home, and that only added to the stress.

And it made me envious of all the energy everyone else had. People were out jogging, gah - when will I be able to jog again?

In fact it has spurred me on to get better, but it made me think about how vulnerable I felt. And all the other people that must feel just as vulnerable. I will look out for slow moving people in future - you just can't tell what's under their mystery hat, causing them to move carefully and slowly.

Nothing.

It's been easy to write so far. I've had things I want to write about, but I knew this would happen.

When I'm feeling down I generally just go into hibernation until its over. Then write about it briefly, no one wants to read about being down. Least of all me. There's nothing to write when you're down.

But, in thinking this in the early hours of the morning (when I write in my head for later), I realised there was in fact a point to writing down that I had nothing to write down. Firstly to log it and remain true to why I am doing this. And secondly to look at it objectively.

Then I had something to write about, and immediately I feel better.

Why am I down? It just doesn't make sense. But then when I think about it there are reasons: I feel exhausted all the time and it's frustrating. I feel guilty and dependent for everything that everyone's doing for me. I'm covered in weird spots, as if I don't look like a freak enough already. I'm bloated and uncomfortable. And I feel guilty for feeling down.

Which leads me on to why I'm still really lucky. Nothing has changed, I just had a bad day. Not even day, couple of hours. To be expected. And just like that, I've typed my way out of it.

Feel better now.

The scar is exposed.

Well, I'm glad that's over. As the appointment at the doctor's got nearer I got more and more nervous, but I was comparing it to waiting for surgery and it just felt funny - laughable - to be nervous. I think that will be a good tactic for the rest of my life, nothing is as bad as waiting for surgery.

It really didn't hurt having the staples removed. One of these days I'll actually believe someone who tells me something isn't going to hurt, but not just yet. There were 34 staples in total, they just looked like normal staples - sitting in my head. I'm glad I couldn't see what was going on, but Oliver took photos and I've looked at them now.

Although it didn't hurt I still got squeamish and had to stop to lie down with my feet in the air. I disappointed myself as there really was nothing to be odd about, but I suddenly went very hot and fainty. The nurse had to get me some water.

The scar is impressively gruesome: it's funny that it was Hallowe'en. There is blood, as you'd expect, but apparently it is healing well. It looks very bumpy to me, and very visible. I'm not sure it would be fair to walk around with it exposed (now it's not Hallowe'en anymore) until my hair grows back a bit more, I wasn't far wrong with the frankenstein reference.

Still, it feels good to have the plasters off and getting air to the scar will only help it heal faster. I'm looking forward to being able to wash it, although that will still be a while away yet. It does feel a bit more fragile, psychologically, without the staples in but I think I just need a bit of time to get used to it again.

And the winning number...

34! Luke Gannarelli!

I'm trying to decide whether to put a photo up as it's quite gruesome. Any thoughts? Rest assured, we all counted them as they came out - the nurse thought we were mental as Oliver took quite a lot of photos. But she also had a count to make sure.

Luke, I owe you a Twirl (I didn't keep a staple for you...) - congratulations!

Driving licence: surrendered.

It's gone. There was an almost comedy moment as I let it go in the postbox when I didn't want to. But I can't drive anyway, I just don't have the concentration.

Feel a bit sad though, I like driving.

Jenkenstein. On Jenowe'en

If only there was a fancy dress opportunity for someone with a whopping great scar across the top of their recently shaven head to walk around scaring people... I'm thinking of trick or treating tonight on the way back from the surgery - brand new scar exposed. I could make a killing.

I'm actually quite worried about seeing the scar. It was in most of my dozing dreams last night. Yesterday I kept looking things up on Google to do with staple removal and scars, then closing the window before they had chance to load. (That's possible when you have such a rubbish internet connection that it's comparable to the dial up from a remote village in Southern India).

I definitely wasn't ready to see it before now, but some intrigue has crept in as well. But mostly I'm just worried that it will be not healed, and a mess. Maybe I'm just squeamish. It will be nice to get the plasters off and be able to see the shape of my head again. But what will the scar look like?

Think I'll be thinking about it most of today.

Symmetry of time.

I went on a course once about personality types, and was identified as a type of person who remembered dates. I've been thinking about dates a lot recently, and the weird symmetry of time.

It was a year ago yesterday that Oliver and I decided to get married, over Sunday lunch. It was such a good decision, and Oliver was on Jen-sitting duty yesterday, that I think that set me off thinking about the year we've had. It's been a great one, 2012. We've done some brilliant stuff and this is just a weird part of that.

It was a year ago today that I started my new job at Pearson. I feel quite bad about the fact I hadn't yet been there a year when this all kicked off, and they've looked after me so well. But it is a marker of the passage of time.

And then there's the whole tumour business. It was the 1st October when we went to see the GP (I remember asking Olly to send a pinch and a punch email to Tristan as I knew he was away and would forget. It made me laugh through the pain). Before then, we had no reason to believe this was anything more than a bout of migraines, it was less than a month ago.

Today is the 31st of October, I am taking the last of my drugs today and having the stitches removed from my head. It will all be over by 6:15pm tonight.

October 2012: tumour month.

On about hair again.

For all I went on about my hair when I had to get it cut, I don't mind it now. It's growing on me (boom boom).

I feel more comfortable with it all shaved off than in some fashion style that didn't feel like me. And although it's still a bit of a shock to catch sight of my almighty cheeks in the mirror at first, it doesn't feel  that weird. In fact it's weird how unweird it feels.

It's cold though, I can detect the direction of air flow by moving my head. And it feels like velcro, getting hats on is a right palaver as the material just sticks to my head. And I've got to be careful of touching the plaster as there is still such a risk of infection.

At the moment the plaster gives a little clue as to why I have a shaved head, and soon the scar will be visible... eek. But as soon as it starts to grow back a bit it may look as if I've chosen to shave it off, I wonder if my feelings will then change.

In the meantime it's a relief. And liberating. And really quite cold. But I like it!

Good days.

Someone told me I should chalk up every good day as a good day at the end of it, as a good day was a good day. They told me it more succinctly than that but I like it.

The thing is every day has been a good day so far. I can really see my progress - the noises in my head are far less frequent today and it feels like my head is much more aligned. I got some proper sleep last night for the first time in ages, and have had a lovely day with my dad, which I never would normally get to do.

Today has been different though as I've been so exhausted. It's the first time I've felt unable to get off the sofa, and I've pretty much been sleeping the whole day. I think it may be to do with the new feeling that my head is healing and I can relax a bit more when I put it on a pillow. I can actually let go enough to sleep. And I feel much better for it.

If I keep progressing like this physically I'm confident I can get my strength back in no time. There is some weakness in my right arm but it comes and goes. It happens mainly in the mornings and makes wielding cutlery difficult. I have my rehab in the form of a knitting nancy - it really works! And typing too, which I am doing a lot of.

The thing I need to work on is my concentration. If there are two noise sources in the room I can't focus and my brain gets jammed. Sometimes my brain jams itself and I just can't take in new information. And I lose words, which is disconcerting. 

It's early days but this is something that I need to get back. 

But a good day is a good day. And this has been another one.

Staples and scars and a sweepstake.

I made an appointment this morning at the doctors surgery to take the staples out of my head. It's on Wednesday and suddenly that doesn't seem very far away.

I realised that I have been kept quite sheltered from the goo and mess of surgery. When I woke up I was clean, and apart from bruises on my wrists from the cannulas, there is no sign to me of the carnage that must have gone on. There was the drain... but thankfully that's now gone.

The scar is currently covered by a series of plasters, which look quite neat and tidy. I made the mistake of looking at some scars on the tinterweb before going into hospital and scared myself silly by the frankenstein nature of them. I have never thought of myself as the squeamish type before this but suddenly when it's your own head it seems different.

I'm not worried about the scarring long term, just how it looks while it's still healing. There must have been lots of blood and goo - what if it is all still stuck there when they take the plasters off? And will it hurt? Jeez I am such a wimp with pain anticipation.

So - to the important bit. I'm holding a sweepstake for how many staples are in my head. Would you like to participate? Strictly speaking it isn't a sweepstake as you don't win anything. But you get to have a happy glow that you helped distract me from the thought of staples being pulled out of my scalp.

This morning before college mum stood on a kitchen chair and took a photo of the plasters on my head, for you to study, with interest. This must have been a good photo opportunity in itself. See below:

Place your bets... NOW! Either leave them in the comments or contact me direct and if enough people reply to make it interesting then I'll put up a table. It may become more of a voting thing, I haven't really thought this through.

Update: see entries so far here - http://henriettafish.blogspot.co.uk/p/sweepstake-entries.html

The after effects.

I talked a lot before surgery about my fear of pain, and everyone kept telling me that it wouldn't hurt so much but I didn't dare believe them. In my book it's better to manage my expectations down so everything's a bonus.

But it really hasn't been that bad. During recovery and the first night the nurses carry out obs every two hours, and part of this is asking for pain levels out of 10. From the beginning I found it hard to gauge the pain in my head - it was strange and transient. Was it surface pain from the wound, or deeper pain from the depths of my brain...? (I know that there aren't any pain receptors inside the skull so this isn't possible but it felt like it sometimes).

I was wary of pain, so I took all the pain relief on offer, and that worked.

But I was aware I was masking the problem. I wouldn't get a handle on how painful it was until I turned down the painkillers. That was a scary thought. Turns out it's absolutely fine, since I've been home I've taken two paracetamol by way of painkillers and that didn't even do anything. I have weird pain in my scalp as you'd expect from any cut, but it isn't that bad and comes and goes. It's actually starting to itch now more than anything. It's comforting to know that I have a big bag of codeine at the ready should I need it.

The more interesting after effects are the sensation of movement and imbalance inside my head. It's hard to describe but everything feels very lopsided. It isn't constant and every now and then something shifts in a very disconcerting way and I have to wait for my head to reacclimatise. Sometimes is doesn't.

And laughing really is weird. It's nice to notice how often you really laugh, although frustrating when you can't let yourself. I feel lucky to be laughing so much at a time like this! When I laugh my scalp moves in such a way that I think it's going to get stuck in the wrong position. I guess it's the scar pulling, and will get better soon. Stitches are due out on Wednesday so hopefully it will be healed enough by then.

Today my head has in general felt a bit more stable, and centrally balanced. I suppose it's got a big change to get used to  - there is a space in my head where there wasn't one before and a loose bit of skull that needs to knit back together on one side, so it's no wonder that it feels a bit lopsided. It's amazing I am walking around at all, let alone feeling as strong as I do.

I'm still waiting for the new found amazing skill, that I was convinced I would acquire through head trauma, to show itself. It isn't a language, I've checked. It could be eating judging by the amount I've put away in the last two days, although strictly speaking that wouldn't be new found. Hmm wonder what it could be...

Did that just happen?

Something that keeps fleetingly occurring to me is the sheer enormity of it. Then it goes again.

It first happened the night before surgery, in hospital, like I got a glimpse of the situation from another point of view. Then it was gone again.

After, it kept surfacing again but I put it down to the morphine. The horror of what just happened... have I just had something pulled out if my brain? Did they really just open my head?

In the shower in hospital I had a moment. I wept with relief. I'd survived. I'd just managed to balance on one foot while washing the other and that's always taxing, but it seemed ridiculous to be showering, and balancing on one leg, when I hadn't been sure I was going to be able to move said leg at all. 

It was a happy moment, but ridiculous too. I had to hold on to the wall and weep. And then laugh. I'd survived.

I think it will take a bit of time for the enormity of what's happened to sink in. It's ok to write about how you're processing experiences, but it doesn't mean you're actually processing them. Argh.

Surreal still, I guess.

Not a good night for a car alarm.

After the excitement of being set free, I wasn't sure how I would feel.

Physically, I'd kind of got used to the tight feeling of the bandages (although I couldn't feel my ears), so when they came off, my head felt loose - like lopsided. It moves when I laugh, I'm not sure which part of it moves, but it definitely moves. And when I raise my eyebrows. And it feels heavier on the right.

I guess it will take some getting used to and it will start to knit back together soon. But mentally I also wasn't sure how I'd feel.

It was amazing to get home and see Neville and be among my things again. Mum had made the house really nice and washed everything that I might even think about using for sterility. It was incredible. Beka came over and we had a lovely evening just reeling in wonder. What a month! Then I went to bed. My first night without the bandage, how would that feel?

Turns out pretty weird. I can feel pulsing in my head, I'm convinced you could see it if you look hard enough, but lying down made the bone creak. It wasn't unpleasant unless combined with the pulsing - which made it... rhythmic...

In hospital I don't think I dreamt. As we went to bed I was extra cautious with my head placement (to minimise rhythmic creaking) and surprisingly dropped off easy enough. Only to wake up at half past two - in hysterics.

There was a car alarm going off outside that I had been dreaming was an alarm in theatre. I don't have specific recall of the dream but it was clear that something had gone wrong and it was to do with my head. Poor Olly. It's been years since I had a nightmare.

It's good to be home :)

That was quick!

There I was sitting on my bed with my legs crossed when my support nurse appeared and proclaimed "you're going home!". Behind him lurked a nurse who whipped off my head bandage while I reeled in terror at the thought of my skull coming apart (it didn't), they threw a bag of drugs on the bed and stood there, hands on hips, grinning. What was I waiting for?

Wow.

So let me recap the past few days. It's a shame I wasn't strong enough to capture the thoughts down as I was going through them but I'll try to give an open overview as possible. This may read like a list but I think it's important to try and remember everything.

After being told I was first on the list at 2am on Wednesday morning, I felt relief. That the waiting was nearly over. In the morning I was showered and gowned and ready when mum and Olly turned up and we sat and waited. They came for me about 9am, all the nurses said goodbye and good luck and it was all I could do to smile.

But first I had to have a quick CT scan... while I was waiting in the corridor my surgeon told us there were some operational delays in theatre so to take me back to the ward, my heart sank. Then a VERY poorly man was wheeled out the scanner in front of me and I wondered if that was what I would look like, after...

Back on the ward there was a chatty woman next to me which I didn't appreciate. I'm afraid I was quite rude, demanding that my curtains were pulled in her face. In her face. The dye they give you during a CT scan made me feel weird (more weird than waiting for brain surgery?) and I started to get anxious. I just wanted to get the waiting over. But I didn't want to go through with it. I wasn't feeling very brave.

Finally they came back, and in the lift I started to get hyperventilatey, Olly held my hand and we just looked at each other. This was it.

They wheeled me into a waiting area and put a screen up with fish on it. Earlier I had been explaining to the lovely nurse that was with me how my three year old niece thought I had a brain tuna. This seemed very appropriate and we laughed, then suddenly I was crying. Dammit. I didn't want to cry now. But it was over soon and I held it together. It was only because she was nice to me.

Then I was in the theatre. I tried not to look at the equipment too much and to focus on the anaesthetic going in. It seemed to take forever and they were sorting through paperwork while putting cannulas in... I got the impression there was some hold up and I'd dozed off.

Then when I came around I was still expecting them to be fiddling about with it. But there was my surgeon and they'd done it! I was so surprised! And relieved, it was over... and I'd survived!

It's hard to remember what happened in the recovery ward although I definitely have a vision of my surgeon bounding around telling me that it went really well, and more importantly he managed to shave my entire head except for a tuft the he could't get to because of a clamp. I remember thinking that was the last thing I cared about but it was funny and sweet that he'd taken my request so seriously to shave as much off as possible. He was clearly buzzing after surgery.

I wasn't in recovery very long and they were pleased with my progress. So about 5pm I was wheeled back to the ward. I could hear mum in the corridor and suddenly there they were in the lift. Olly! And mum! I don't know what we did, it was all a bit too much.

I slept a lot for the rest of the day, I don't remember much until someone reminds me - so it's in there but  not at the surface. I forgot Flora was there until the woman in the next bed asked me yesterday if that was my nephew (haha takes after me) who visited. Then I remembered her being there, very strange.

That night I was in and out of what felt like consciousness. Olly stayed with me until 11pm although I was pretty much uncommunicative. I couldn't understand why he kept grinning at me.

In the morning I felt better. I had breakfast in the hope that I'd get stronger quicker, but it made me feel a bit nauseous. I was worried about moving. They'd given me some pain killers in the night but I was terrified of moving my head in case it hurt. If I stayed completely still I could still pretend that nobody had sawed open my skull. There was a very tight bandage on it that felt like it was totally holding my head on, but I was worried about moving.

The day shift came on and they tried to get me out of bed so they could change the sheets. As they sat me up, I caught sight of my drain (draining liquid out of my head), and that freaked me out. Some, what felt like bubbles and suction and liquid moved - inside my head - and it was very disorientating. It was very hot in the ward and I couldn't cool down. And I was still feeling nauseous from breakfast.

I felt better after I vomited and it was lucky (or unlucky for them) that mum and Olly arrived just before my performance. I decided not to try and move until I was ready, after that. The drain was due to come out later that day and I felt like I would prefer not to move until then.

The woman across from me told me to be careful catching the drain as it really hurt. Then she screamed  and wailed loudly when hers was taken out, so although I was looking forward to it being taken out I was slightly apprehensive, to say the least. In the end it wasn't that bad. And a relief to be free of it. They removed the remaining cannulas and I was promised that I could have the catheter removed on Friday morning.

(For the record, the catheter wasn't that bad - a bit uncomfortable when you catch it but worth it to not have to get out of bed for the toilet. And removal was fine too. Don't know what I was worried about.)

By the end of Thursday I was feeling really strong. Mum and Olly brought me in some food and I felt stronger still after that. I was desperate to have a wash and get in my own pyjamas but I still had the catheter in. I vowed to be up and about in the morning. That night I think the anaesthetic finally wore off and I stopped falling inexplicably asleep at the drop of a hat. I spent the night dozing and was awake from three, impatient to get the catheter out and in the shower. I was convinced I could do it.

The nurse took it out at 7 (I was clock watching!) and I had a weetabick for breakfast - I was in bed 1 so they came to me first, I didn't realise how much currency Weetabix has in the Murray Falconer ward. As I waited for the codeine to kick in I got a visit from the Occupational Health team. They said they'd come back in half an hour and we'd go for a walk... I started to psyche myself up.

The day shift came on then and wanted to change my sheets, I thought this would be a good opportunity to get out of bed. They said to take my time but I was surprised how easy it was - I was stronger than when I went in! But I was moving my head carefully and staying very upright.

This gave me confidence for when the Occupational Health team came back. We walked down the corridor and up two flights of stairs, down again, around the ward and back. They were very pleased and said as far as they were concerned I could go home today. Hurray!

The ward round doctors had said I could go home Saturday or Sunday so I wasn't getting my hopes up - but I resolved to impress them with my mobility, just in case. And went for a shower. Oh what a relief to get into my own pyjamas, and feel clean again. It was like coming back to life. I knew when I put the gown on that it would be a marker to get back into my own clothes, but it felt better than I was expecting.

All day, I kept sauntering up and down the corridor asking for bed pans - they were measuring my output as you can't go home until they are happy you are passing enough - showing off. When I put my mind to it it turns out I have an unrivalled capacity for water drinking.

Then my support nurse turned up and was really impressed. I told him about the possibility of going home today and he went to ask the surgeons. What service.

So here I am. At home. It's so good to be home. It's funny how well I feel, I've been eating well and getting my strength up, but I'm hyper aware of my head position at all times. It feels weird to be so well recovered already.

When I came out of hospital last time I had a bit of a euphoric period followed by a down period so I'm just playing it by ear. But for now, wow, who'd have thought I'd be home literally 48 hours after being returned to the ward after brain surgery?

Morning has arrived.

I slept absolutely fine, was woken just before two for my obs which weren't at all intrusive, and was told I'm first on the operating list which is a massive relief for me. I just want this done now, the longer the wait the more my brain thinks and I have reached about saturation point for that now.

So here we are, it's 5:30am and I'm awake. I will be thrown in the shower at 6am with some special stuff I need to use for hygiene and infection prevention, pre surgery. I've also been supplied a gown for surgery, some optional plastic pants (thoughts anyone?) and some stockings. I will look forward to changing back into pyjamas, that will feel like a nice thing to do and a bit of a milestone I think. 

While I'm showering the nurses will change my bed to ensure everything is clean as possible and then this is where I'll be until they come for me between 8am and 8:30am. Olly and mum will hopefully will have made it down to say hello. And goodbye. I feel fine now, like I'm totally ready, but I know when I see them I'll cry. I don't really want to cry as it's pointless and I don't want to cause a fuss and upset everyone else but I can't help it. Always been a cryer it's irritating. Am actually having a little cry now too, just to myself. If this was a film then it would be a good time for a little cry.

For the first time last night I felt brave, but it was still a false feeling as I don't have any choice in this. Anyone in this situation would be doing what I'm doing. But I think it was because I was properly scared last night, such a strange experience. I really don't remember a time I have been truly scared before. Maybe after this I'll be able to watch zombie films with ghosts in. I'll be like whatever - that's not scared, I'm going to get a cup of tea. Hope that happens. (I bet it doesn't though I'll be behind the sofa with a cushion whimpering at triffids).

I'm quite thirsty but obviously can't drink anything now. I am a bit nervous feeling, like before an exam or something but my overwhelming thoughts now are phew. It's nearly over. And there are no more nights to get through.

I can't post this as the magic internet has disappeared. But it is here waiting to be logged.

[Jen wrote that last night and then lost her internet connection so I'm posting it now instead - Oliver]

And so here we are.

This is really what I was interested in, how on earth was this going to feel? And suddenly here I am. How did I get here?

Time has been elastic. It has moved so quickly and yet it feels like it's been forever. A day lasts a week and then a week flies by in a few hours. And now here I am, in hospital, waiting for brain surgery. Life is very strange.

Have I really got a tumour in my head? It just doesn't seem possible.

Right. Well, I better try and capture some sense as well. I am feeling ok now, quietly calm. The ward is nice and the nurses lovely. I've just taken some pills to knock me out but I'll be woken soon anyway for obs, and then again a few hours later for pre-surgery shower. So I'm actually not too worried about not sleeping, there won't be time to sleep.

After all that.

I also don't feel alone, I have the internet for one thing (no idea how, or why, but it's really improved the hospital experience). And it's good to be writing. I also have Luis. Will get a photo of Luis up on the photo page at some point, he is a felt turtle from my sister, to keep me company.

Up and down then I suppose. I was definitely in a panic before, but now I'm back on track. I'm hoping I just needed to get it out the way and realise the depth of the terror, so that it would lose it's power. That may have happened or it may have just abated and is lurking around the corner. I'll find out.

Thanks for all the messages. It's been a bit overwhelming today so I've been keeping a low profile but I really appreciate the kind thoughts everyone has been sending. Thank you.

I'm going to hope the pills work now. Night night all.

All becomes clear.

I can't remember the last time I was actually scared of something. It's not like starting a new job, or worrying where the cat's run off to. I'm actually, terrified. I'm not sure I have ever even been terrified before and it's a very strange feeling.

My heart is racing and has been for quite some time. I don't seem to be able to breathe properly. I keep bursting into tears. And it's annoying that I can't stop it. I think that's the difference - usually I can talk myself out of anxiety, or nervousness, or worry pretty easily - this is unstoppable.

I'm not scared of being alone, I think that must have been an easy cop out for me yesterday. It's pretty obvious now (duh, I feel like such an idiot). I'm scared of someone drilling open my head. They're going to actually open up my head - that is just. Ridiculous.

I bloody knew it would all come out now.

I had a shower earlier and thought I'd wash what hair I have left for the last time, with nice shampoo. Half way through I suddenly realised that my head is never going to be the same again. It will be different. Scarred. Bumpy. With metal in it. How on earth had I not realised this before? I felt really bad that I haven't taken more notice of the shape of my head, as now it's too late, it will be different. Sorry head.

I'm going to have a massive scar when I wake up and bandages and a drain coming out of my head. That's a terrifying thought. I wish my heart would slow down.

A bed for the night.

Right then, the bed manager has spoken and my bed awaits. It feels a bit too real now and I've got the shakes. Luckily Neville is lying so completely across my arms as I'm typing that I can only move the end of my fingers, so I can't actually shake.

I have been busy today, bought some new pyjama bottoms and a travel toothpaste for the occasion, and have been studiously ignoring my list of important things to do. Except the council tax bill, I did that.

But the time has come. I need to have a shower and pack. And then get myself to King's. Here we go.

I wish I didn't have to.