13 April (retroactively)

I'm home. My anaesthetist hasn't prescribed me any tramadol (active ingredient: morphine) so I'm in a bit of pain. Chris was my roommate's name and he lives in Hillcrest. We spent a lot of the morning talking about things it felt like we'd already discussed the night before.

The sleep didn't really happen, most of the night was spent in a haze of nurses visits and attempts at unconsciousness. I'm not sure whether the night makes nurses scarier, but neither of those attending evacuate the syringes of air before they plug them into me. Part of the night is spent worrying whether or not I'll die from air bubbles in my veins.

The nerve block loses effect somewhere towards the end of the day. I'm fully aware at different times of the number of holes that now prosper along my leg. The pain is bad, but not severe. I still don't know why my anaesthetist didn't think I needed tramadol, my nurse even checked when I was discharged if there hadn't been a mistake (apparently it's standard) but no. No morphine parties to be had. For the moment I live in the spare room downstairs. Saira, Samwee, Graeme and Lewis visit bearing gifts and moral support.