Depression

My second day of waking up in hospital was a Monday.  Being that it was my own room they didn’t really bother me.  They would come round all the wards around 8am and wake everyone up to change sheets and give them breakfast but for some reason they always waited a bit later for me which I was happy for.  Breakfast consisted of a bowl of rice crispies with milk and a slice or two of toast and jam.  The toast was horrible. 

A little while after breakfast the doctors were doing their rounds and came in to see me.  They told me I’d have to wait another day at least. They needed to consult a surgeon to see if he thought it would be best to operate.  This scared me a lot.  It was at this point I started to realise just how serious it was.  The chest drain and the tube going into the middle of my ribs made it serious enough but I thought that would be the end.  Now they were talking about operations and it terrified me.  They said the surgeon would see me on the Tuesday so it was at least another say.   For these first few days I thought I only had a couple of days left in there, then each time someone came to check my progress I’d be told it would be longer. 

I don’t know if it was the realisation of the seriousness or that combined with the cocktail of drugs but I started to get very depressed.  When my mum came to visit me I tried to stay positive so she wouldn’t worry but within 5 minutes I started to moan and cry about how my life was over and things would never be the same.  My mum has supported me so much during my whole life but the love and support I got during that time in hospital was priceless.  She was amazing.

As the drugs they were giving me took hold I started to just lay in bed in a bit of a daze for most of the day.  The times when I could focus and wasn’t drifting in and out of a drug slumber I would just sit there thinking about what I was doing with my life and if I would be able to run again or be properly fit and healthy.  I really knew nothing about my situation and nobody told me anything about the future of people in my predicament.  I just sat there watching rubbish TV and reading magazines about people climbing or hill walking and wondering if I’d ever be able to do the same. 

Looking back now I can see how much of an effect the medication they gave me was having.  It was some strong stuff and I only really perked up when my family and friends came in.  Even just going to the bathroom was a real struggle.  Not just because I had a drain to carry and a tube sticking out of my armpit but because there was a mirror in the bathroom.   Looking at myself in the mirror was horrible.  I was skinny and pale.  The meds were making me feel out of it all the time but now I had even started to look like a junkie. These were definitely some of the worst days of my life.
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