It's All Gone Quiet Over There

So finally. I've waited eight months for what the surgeon at the Royal London hospital has said should be the last operation to fix the damage to my shoulder, which was shattered in a collision with a car in March 2010 as I cycled home from a Climate Camp meeting. By the this time tomorrow, I'll be pacing around a hospital waiting room, hoping there aren't too many delays.

The past weekend has been thoroughly disjointed; trying not to think about how many things have been left unfinished at work and reminding myself that nightmares are just... an over-active imagination, nothing more. On Saturday I also had an indication of what to expect if the surgery fails to significantly improve the mobility of my useless left arm. Some weeks ago, using cash saved over the last year from rarely going out, I bought an a big comfy armchair, the first piece of furniture I've purchased since I moved in 14 years ago. In the morning it arrived, two days late, but the specific instructions about my inability to help carry anything up two flights of stairs had not been passed on. It didn't help that the attitude of the driver (a Scouser) was so defensive, making it quite clear it was obviously my fault and certainly not his.

It was a horrible reminder of what I may be forced to expect in future: complete dependence on the incompetence of others and an inability to easily adapt to difficult circumstances. It's hard to imagine what disability is like until it's experienced first hard.

Neither was it the best idea to go and see Never Let Me Go, an immensely sad, dystopian parallel-world drama where cloned children are raised so they can be harvested for their organs. Not for the presence of the notoriously wooden Keira 'Ikea' Knightley - who was actually quite good, or at least refrained more from confusing pouting with acting. - but because of the hospital scenes where characters discussed how long they had left before 'completion'. Nobody likes reminding of their mortality and I was squirming in my seat as two of the main characters limped in discomfort around hospital corridors and were wheeled into operating theatres for the last time. It's definitely worth seeing - but probably not 48 hours before surgery.

So finally. From tomorrow, I won't be updating this blog for a little while but all being well, I hope to be back in about a week's time. My Mum and Dad are staying over at my flat, so at least it will be spotless by the time I return home. And I may - eventually - be able to sit down and write in a big comfy chair, if the damned thing is ever delivered.

UPDATE - 2pm

The Royal London rang to say my operation has been cancelled. I'm gutted.