Sleepless night. Not a moment’s rest. Racing mind. I wake up with an elevated temperature and fear of an infection. Blood in the urine.
A new catheter and a massive pain in the genitals. An anaesthetic in the penis. A visit to the laryngologist after the incident with the fish and the Heimlich manoeuvre. Tubes up the nose and down the throat and a sore arse.
A visit from my new friend, a man I call the Maestro, an actor and director who brings me a cappuccino and feeds it to me through a straw. His experiences have been much worse than mine, almost unendurable.
Physios come and pull and push, prod and twist me. My body feels battered and broken. I was hoping today to write something more interesting and amusing today. I’m still thinking, but I am not in the mood for amusement.
Until tomorrow, dear friends, your writer,
Hanif
Hanif, I’m so sorry you had a bad day. It doesn’t matter how much you write, long or short your missives are precious like Sapphic fragments.
It's good for you to write about how it's going- for better or worse. I mean it must be good for you or you wouldn't be doing it and it's good for us so we can keep sending subtle waves of encouragement and affection, even though some of us- like me- don't actually know you except through your work. Much appreciation for the efforts your family make to post these entries.