Last night ended with a shitload of brie and parma ham crammed into an organic baguette, consumed in solitude at 2am after an evening of songs and belly-laughs and the odd, hastily-brushed-away tear. They're catching me off guard at the moment, and they don't always come sweeping down the hill in droves on horseback to demolish my exposed left flank. Quite often they come slowly, in single file, as if each one has something important to say before it goes over the top.
It's been a week and two days since G went into hospital, and Ward 14 already has that familiarity about it. A place can very quickly become infused with people who spend a lot of time there. It's not always a comforting thing- Ward 14 hardly feels like home- but by the third visit there was definitely a lowering of defences. No need to survey the whole room anymore: empty cake foils go in the bin at the end of the bed; the window opens on the right; the hand gel on the shelf smells nicer than the one on the wall, and the switch by the door turns the nightlight on.
There's a nurse called Carrie Pillow (great name for a nurse) who came to do his obs. this afternoon. There was some noise from the machine she was using, and because his head was raised and she was standing just behind him, he obviously couldn't hear her very well. When she asked 'any pain?' and he said 'no thanks, love', she inclined her head, then looked up and did this big, warm, closed-mouth smile, like she could taste the mirth.
