Your maternal grandmother, Julia and I are gardeners. I’m using the simplest meaning of the word as neither of us owns a garden. But we’d love to. We always talk about our love of earth and ground, having it in between our fingers…
Growing up through boarding school, we were assigned plots of farmland. I had ten farm beds and worked using a short handle hoe, the type that requires you to really break your back. It took time to appreciate the land, nature, life and survival. it took time to find peace and enjoyment in outdoor solitude. I would love to own a farm I don’t necessarily have to live off of, a farmhouse.
Today, however, Julia and I garden without a garden. They have a well-lit top-floor flat in Riga which welcomes pot plants, unlike our ground and lower-ground duplex where plants forcefully come to retire and die. It’s a cemetery. Many have come, but very few are left. And it saddens me. So I stopped buying them.
The last time she visited, I got a bay tree delivered not long after she left. Its leaves are still green on the prison-cell size patio. It’s pretty low maintenance and I haven’t had to do as much as I would with other flowery plants. I’m pretty happy looking at it every day though.
In general, I love craftsmanship and using my hands. I’ve imagined myself living in Japan, under the tutelage of a shoemaker, tailor or carpenter. Every time I look into who I am, and the things I like, I rekindle a fondness for solitary crafts (and activities) that require as few people as possible. I’m a loner.
Ah! That’s how! I remember why she bought a bay tree. I was slow cooking some oxtail – it’s a staple in this house – and didn’t have my usual dried bay leaves to toss in. This was her answer to it. An endless supply of bay leaves.
Just a sec, the door just buzzed. I should get that. I think the Crosstown doughnuts are here.
You’ll meet Rozalia soon. She’s best friends with your mother. She’s organising a baby shower today at the house. In fact, she’s in a cab on her way here. I’m speed typing so I can get ready. She needs my help… To be honest, I am unsure what needs doing. There are guests coming so I’m anticipating some light catering.
So this morning around eight – I don’t sleep much – I saw, for the very first time, a fox snoozing on the fake grass astroturf next to the bay tree. For reasons currently unknown to me, it’d dug up a hole in the pot housing the bay tree, emptying the ground on the turf in a neat pile. So odd. Even weirder it did it today. I also have no evidence the fox is the culprit, just piecing 1 and 2 together. Anyway, gotta go.
PS – Is that a little human nature artfully drew on the bottom centre of the bay tree pot? I’m seeing things.
Southborough lost another cup final last night. That’s the third one I’ve lost now. Played three, and lost three. I didn’t even collect the runners-up medal. We played a lot better though and I can live with losing the way we did.
To make matters worse, however, one of our teammates broke his ankle around the 85th minute, falling over from a shove in the back on the byline. The ambulance quoted two hours arrival time. That came down to twenty mins when we lied saying, “he has a head injury, stay with me Jimmie…” We lost the game chasing it in injury time. Double blow. FML.
He’s been sending us pics from the hospital. The one this morning shows him still kitted, bloodied shirt from a gash on his forehead (sustained during the same game). He’s a warrior.
I left almost immediately after the game. When I finished my first meal of the day, it was about 12:55 am, after fasting for over 26 hours. I had the worse muscle cramp in my sleep. I’ve had many but this one was painful, very fucking painful.
Liza’s currently in Portugal with Rozalia. She literally just messaged me as I’m typing. I’m picking her up from the airport late this evening. How much do you want to bet it might be a subtle reminder? Let’s see… Hahaha! Here goes her message…
Checking you are still picking me up tonight
I won’t be leaving the house until then. Given we have our final game tomorrow and have to win to get promoted from our current division, I’m going to do my best to recover. Every muscle in my body currently hurts so I’ll throw in a sports bath somewhere along the day. If I can.
Hopefully, when you look around the house, you’ll stumble across some of my awards. Football has given me smiles, plenty of them, a social network, and kept me in shape. I don’t like gyms so it’s been a way more pleasant and cost-effective substitute. I was fortunate enough to be exposed to alternatives at boarding school while in Cameroon. The same school my dad went to, Sacred Heart College in Mankon, Bamenda.
I didn’t (and still don’t) have the wrists for tennis but I like ping-pong, and your mum and I get stuck in when we find a table. She’s quite good, and it’s a bucket of fun playing with her. I tried basketball and never returned after spraining a finger. Plus, I wasn’t tall let alone the tallest. But I was always known for being a good footballer. I love the game. Coming up against different opponents, the physical and mental challenges, the memories… It’s a great buzz.
When I was between 11 and 13, playing for a local club in Douala and killing that left flank, I got scouted. Some men showed up at my mum’s petit shop, (which still stands today) asking if I could be taken into a club and given training, coaching and opportunity. I am paraphrasing based on how she played it back to me. She said no. In her mind (and the minds of many parents from her generation), her sons would be doctors, lawyers or persons with “real professions”.
I always wondered what my life would be if she’d said yes instead. And no, I wouldn’t trade my life today for anything else. It’s always just a passing thought. The greatest gift your grandmother ever gave us, something I’d like to instil in you, was the ability to look around. There are opportunities everywhere. The last time I visited, I bought her a deep freezer. She was selling ice to the community the next day. That’s who Regina Bih Ngwa was. Someone who looked around.
“People in our neighbourhood don’t have ice”, is what she said to me. And just like that, she started a side business and turned a liability into an asset. This is without knowing the meaning of either “liability” or “asset”. Before long, people were knocking on our doors asking for ice. I only wanted to prevent the household from throwing food away, to preserve instead for a rainy day. She was looking beyond that.
During the pandemic, she and Lyn were sewing face masks and selling them. They couldn’t even keep up with the orders. And there are several examples throughout her life, from early childhood, farming with her mother and selling the produce at markets.
This mentality runs in our blood, your blood. All of us kids who spent time with her inherited this approach. So from Judex, Manu, Lyn, Junior, or Carl. We’re just updates for the new world, V2s. I heard Judex say, “Look around, if there’s no bread in your community, you should think about opening a bakery. Just because you are a Lawyer doesn’t mean you can’t own a bakery. I am a businessman”. His day job is what a hammer is to a carpenter. A tool that lets him build things. Same applies to the rest of us. She did her ultimate best (with very little) to sharpen our tools and prepare us for life. And my word did she do an outstanding job!
I continue to find it extremely onerous dealing with my mother’s passing. It’s so difficult, impossible to do without being completely engulfed by saddnes and dolour. She was everything to me, and to us. I just need to take a moment…
Likewise, I hope to instill this mindset in you, from as early as possible. You can be many things, many labels. No single attribute should describe you wholly. So don’t be afraid of wearing many hats. Wear the one that fits the situation. And wear it with panache and integrity. You are a man human, a builder of things.
So my promise to you is this, if you pick up an instrument, I’ll try to get you into music school. Your favourite toys will be the basis for things to expose you to. The freest you can be is to live off your passions. And I want you to be free. Truly free. No bigger goal can be achieved in life.
I didn’t plan for what this post has become. But so is life. It’s a journey and sometimes it will take you places you weren’t planning to go. When that happens, embrace it and be fluid, always looking around the entire time. Your mother will tell you that I’m a massive planner. Things without plans are dreams. And dreams aren’t real. To realise them, there must be a system in place to support them. At the same time, however, I try my utmost best to be adaptive with my plans. You’ll need to find that balance.
Alright, I better wrap this up. What I actually wanted to say will go into the next post.
Your mother has been thinking about names for you. She brought it up some weeks ago. To be honest, I’ve addressed it passively. But she’s been giving it a lot of thought. She brought it up again last week. So we had a long discussion about it. My view then and now is that you can be named at any point. It’s OK to not have one when you’re born.
Contrary to that, she wants you named before you get out. It’s no issue at all so I can swing either way, flexibly. She wants to call you Feodore. (I think this is how it’s spelt in Russian). It’s not the worse name. Not at all. But if this happens, people will call you Feo. We have close friends who’ve named their kids “Leo”. Both names sound too much alike and I think we can be a bit more original. I also have a friend I went to school with called Theodore. We can do better.
Liza was very fond of her grandparents. They played a major role in raising her. You should hear her go about her grandmother. Ask her one day. What she was like, and how she got by surviving the war and upheavals of her time. I’ve only heard bits so I am equally as interested if there are tales to tell.
Her grandad was called Edvard. Yes, with a ‘v’. But everyone called him Edik. I think he was Polish. I feel like you’d have questions to ask if you carried this name. So I like it. Those questions will reveal things like “Edik used to test Tupolev planes by flying them and switching off the engine to see what happens”. Knowing your ancestry can be a guiding compass. It can change a person. I would know. But of course, you don’t have to carry his name to find that out. You just need to be curious and inquisitive enough.
When I bought a sewing machine and told my mum I was sewing and doing my own repairs because I was fed up with the lousy tailoring I was paying for, she said, “Oh that’s in your blood, your grandfather was a tailor. In his heyday, he went as far as tailoring army uniforms”. That gave me more than just positive affirmation, instantly. I felt a sense of belonging, that I was simply doing something innate. Moreover, I didn’t have to carry the names Joseph or Ngwa to feel it.
When you dig into your history and bloodline, remember that these characters were imperfect beings. The time was different and the culture was different. You might find things which in your era would seem worthy of the guillotine. They did despicable things. For reasons best known to them. Worse case, you might find yourself with the name of someone you no longer want to be affiliated with. You can’t run away from your past by simply changing your name. You can’t run away, period. But you can become a better person if you wanted to. Your past isn’t always your future.
So it is equally as important for you to have an identity of your own. To come away from the shadows of those long gone and to write your own legacy. You need a white canvas to do so, to create your own history such that one day, people will look back and form an opinion of who you were, whether good or bad. Another path that starts with you.
I did however call my dad to inquire about the pillars in his life. His grandfather was called Ta Wanchambi. He was from a tribe called BaMendakwe, which by birthright, we all descend from, you included. “Ta” in Pidgin English means “Pah”, which translated means “Father”. In a tribal setting, the older you get (typically with a family of your own), or put a positive imprint on your community by doing “great things”, people start addressing you with “Ta” before your name. It’s a male title. Unlike “Mr”, you don’t automatically get one for being a man. So he was Pah Wanchambi.
As my dad put it, the name “Wanchambi” means “warrior, leader, or General”. Your mother and I agree this would be a great middle name for you. We also have your grandfather’s blessing to use it. You’re a bit young to be called Ta but we don’t like Wanchambi as a standalone. We like the sound of Ta Wanchambi. And that people could call you Ta-Wa as they did him.
So as things stand, your name is [something] Ta-Wanchambi Ateh.
We just need to figure out what the something is. I’ve just been speaking to your mum, promising to “do some thinking”.
It’s been a beautiful Saturday, sunny. Liza and her mum are out basking in it. I’m at home, on the lower ground. My broken leg is raised on a cushioned wooden-legged stool. The pain is about five on ten and rising. I feel a tingling sensation shooting up and down between my knee and ankle, where the bone broke the skin. I have The Northman projected but the light leaking in is making it hard to see, even with blackout curtains up. To be fair, I only have curtains across one set of double-glazed doors. There’s quite a bit of light bleeding in from the other patio door. It also doesn’t help it’s such a dark movie. So far anyway. I am paused at [46:36]. You’re probably thinking “broken leg? WTF is he on about?”
We played our last league game last Sunday, on a well-kempt astroturf at Gordon’s school. We were 5–3 down and a complete shambles on the day. But in hindsight, we’d just played the most demanding game of the season on Friday, the cup final. So the fatigue, injuries and missing players were on display for all to see. I’d scored a goal to remember to get the game level at three apiece. A clean strike hit so true. And it flew into the top right-hand corner. “Top bins” that’s called. The goalie didn’t move, rooted. He jittered slightly to his right but could do nothing about it. Not long after, we conceded two cheap goals.
In the 86th or so minute, Charlie played a through ball which I ran onto. I remember seeing the onrushing keeper and feeling a firm challenge. As I was landing, I caught a glimpse of a dark red mist on the lower part of my yellow socks. I knew I was in trouble. I was in fucking trouble.
Before long, I was crying on Benny’s lap, “I cannot break my leg”, repeatedly, punching the turf every time. Craig (the Eggman) was over my shoulder. I think he put a coat or something over me. He wouldn’t let me move or look at my leg. Blair was next to him shading the desert-like sun away. I heard calls for water after I batted off some purple drink. “Trust me, you need to drink this Kil. It’ll keep you hydrated”. I think that was Ben again. So I drank a bit of both.
I asked for someone to call your mother. Crying my words out, I begged for the caller to be as calming as possible, re-emphasizing she was pregnant and didn’t want her to stress or panic. Ben and Egg assured me everything would be fine. When Charlie got on the phone, I asked to speak to her. I tried to play normal, “I sprained my ankle” and said I was going into hospital as a precautionary measure. I surprised myself with how succinct and believable I (thought I) was. Probably the shock and a strong willingness to not get her worked up in the slightest. I now know she immediately pressed Charlie for the truth, which came out. Bless him. He was holding back tears. I think that’s when they sorted out the logistics of who’d drive the car “spaceship” as it is now known.
Liza and Julia are back. They can see my screen from the open-plan kitchen so I have to be very careful and sneaky from here on out. Your mother just asked what I’m doing. “Roaming the internet”, I said. That seems to be enough as they’ve gone back to unpacking the groceries they brought back. I think they’re making themselves something to eat. It’s 5:05 pm.
It’s Sunday today and I just resumed writing. The ever bouncy, ever buoyant, ever chatty Valentina who helps us clean is here. She swore me to secrecy when she told me Liza didn’t handle the news too well. She was visibly distressed, in tears and had to be calmed and sat down. I was trying to avoid all of that.
As I was pinned down to a stationary position, I recall getting everyone to hush so I could voice something about having Google insurance and how it could help me medically. Charlie later told me how baffled he was that I had the presence of mind to think that logically at such a time. But my thought process was simple. I had broken my leg – fact. With that in mind, I needed to find the best possible solution to my predicament. I’m pretty sure I later asked the paramedics again if private healthcare could alter the type of care I got. To this, they said no. I was their best option, all things considered. That held true, even in hindsight.
After Jimmie’s double-ankle break Friday just gone, I figured the ambulance would take an equal amount of time to get here. And my goodness did that take an age! But I was wrong, thankfully. I later gathered, that one happened to be passing by. I don’t think it took more than twenty minutes for the paramedics to arrive at the scene. And thank fuck for that, bleeding out the way I was. (It was an open fracture).
I remember the sound of scissors, cutting through my gear and welcomed the freeing sensation of socks and pads falling apart. “How bad is it?” I don’t remember the witty remark that followed. It must have been Entonox I was inhaling and exhaling. I stopped for a moment because it made my mouth extremely dry.
In all honesty, I don’t remember the series of questions they asked me. There were so many that day. Ben handed me a handful of tissues. I immediately knew what to do with them. I was drooling like a puppy. The paramedic – I detest myself for forgetting her name given how nice she was to me – said to someone, “he’s never been sick or to the hospital before. So he’s quite upset about this”. Based on that recollection, I must have answered some questions about my medical history. Some of the purple drink must have spilt on my arm. I remember Ben responding with this when asked why my arm was sticky. They needed one to run an IV.
They tried to move the leg, from the break downwards. I screamed. Then in came a question, whether I was happy for them to cut through the boot. I said yes and heard a brief round of jokes and laughter about how many Mizunos I had, Charlie (I think) went “he’s got many, cut away”. Right now, those ripped ignition red Morelia II Japans are in my kit locker outside our flat. The Morelia IIs are my favourite boot, of all time.
I don’t know where from, but Barnie appeared and sandwiched my palm into his, the perfect grip. He kept talking to me. He’s one of the greatest characters and leaders I know. What a legend. I hope you and his son grow up to know each other and become friends. I’ll do my best to make that happen.
At my one o’clock was Sonnie, Barnie’s brother. He winked at me, half-smile, and didn’t say much. But it was enough. I understood him perfectly and winked back.
The ketamine made me drowsy. I thought to myself, best to keep inhaling that Entonox – I definitely didn’t know what it was called at the time – “because if they’re cutting through your boot, they’re going to lift you next, any time now. And you wouldn’t want to feel that pain”. So heavy breaths in, and even heavier breaths out.
I said to Ben, “Benny, look at me Benny. I think I’m passing out. But before I go, make sure yours and Charlie’s are the first faces she sees when she gets here. She needs to be kept as calm as possible.”
I don’t know how I got onto a stretcher. But I felt the lift off the ground. No pain. Free of it. There and then, I thought how awesome it would be to film this sequence, but from my perspective, instead of the onlooker’s. I was thinking about it like it was a movie.
Ollie’s face was the last teammate’s I saw before the ambulance doors closed. He was really struggling emotionally, pushing his tears sideways. He and Jus are people you want to hang around with, normal and full of laughs. They’re great company. I told him not to cry.
Anything could’ve happened on the way to A&E at Frimley Park Hospital. It’s all a blur. I was pretty high though. I know I said thank you a lot and tried my best to retain and address my helpers by their names. So I kept looking for badges or asking for names upfront at first contact.
1–2–3 and I went from stretcher to bed. Just like in House. At least that’s how I remember it. I was still lying on my side.
I have hazy memories of what was discussed and murmured in the background. Time seemed to fly by. Medics came and went. To summarise, I needed surgery which could only be done at St. George’s hospital as Frimley didn’t have “the full expertise in-house to handle my level of trauma”. But I also wasn’t fit for the ambulance ride. They had to prep me for it.
I woke up on my back to that feeling of having a warm towel on your face, except it came from my leg. Yvette still had her eyes down. Her chalk-white fingers were fiddling with my leg. It looked like she was finishing off a clay pot. There was a team around her.
They made a temporary cast so I could travel safely to St George’s hospital.
I don’t know when X-Rays were taken, but taken they were, pre and post the temporary cast on my left foot. I could’ve sworn I was never moved during my entire stay. Ketamine is a helluva drug. I’ll leave it at that. I do however recount a member of staff requesting confirmation that the scans had been forwarded to St George’s hospital.
Your mother made an appearance somewhere along this timeline. They wouldn’t let Charlie in. She seemed very calm. What I now know was partly a front. I think Char did an exceptional job turning down the heat though. He’s great at that. I told her I was so sorry.
They advised Liza not to travel with the ambulance, concluding it was pointless getting there that early. It could take hours for St Georges to reassess and drum up a plan of action. Surgery could also be the following morning, instead of that night.
Two fine fellows let me ride in their ambulance. They even let me pick my own music. I opted for Pacho’s playlist.
– 6:53 pm, Tuesday, May 17
I felt a niggle in my good leg. Until then, my right leg still had socks and shin pads on. The paramedic was kind enough to free me. The niggle went away. We had a great conversation talking about work-life balance. He said he loved his job despite the hours and relatively lower income. We spoke about my work delivering software within financial services. We both agreed on how lucky we were to work in fields we were passionate about.
1–2–3 and I went from another stretcher to another bed, this time at St Georges. I couldn’t control my bladder any longer so I told a passing nurse I needed to take a piss. I’d been contemplating how that would work but gave up on the awkwardness of what was to follow. I just needed to go.
Her reaction was in no way odd. She must have had that request about a million times. It then dawned on me, of course, they’ve thought about this, of course, there’s a process in place for piss takers. She disappeared and came back with a couple of disposable cardboard urine bottles, pulling the blinds on her way out.
“The bones need to be straightened”, a doctor explained. “We have to pop them back in to assess the level of damage before making a call on a surgical procedure”. He also confirmed surgery would be the following morning. I think this decision was taken partly because Liza had fed me a couple bananas. It was the only meal I’d had all day. I was ravenous.
The operation would have to establish whether I needed plastic surgery in the first instance to repair the damaged skin before a second surgery to insert the rod. I think I updated Liza after that.
My diction isn’t expansive enough to describe what I experienced during the surgery. I’m at a loss for words. It felt like being in a box, a capsule of sorts. Better yet a pod, completely enclosed. I couldn’t see myself. It kept descending in big explosive chugs. I thought I was dying. It wasn’t at all painful and I remember thinking, if this is death, then it’s not all bad. I thought to myself, what a shame I can’t go back to tell anyone not to fret about it. Death is quite alright.
The white ceiling slowly got into focus. My leg was extremely sore like someone had been swinging it about like a baseball bat while I was too helpless to do anything about it. And they had.
A deep sadness came over me. I found myself crying profoundly, calling out to your grandmother. “Mafor, Mafor… Mafor, where are you?” In these moments, I mourned her death all over again. Like Manu had just called with the news. Even writing about it makes me despondent.
My outstretched palm was filled by a nurse’s. She had a tattoo just above her wrist, a circle with tall skinny triangles around it. The sun. In my wooziness, I blah blah’d something to it, never looking at her face. But she listened nonetheless. And I could feel her kindness through her silence.
Liza and Charlie met me in the ward. It was late. So I begged them to leave.
– 9:06 am, Wednesday, May 18
Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much that night. More so because “Two of Amerikas Most Wanted” in our ward took turns screaming out their lungs, sometimes simultaneously.
The following morning, I was wheeled and handed over to some green people. I vaguely remember what we chatted about but we did laugh about something. The gist of it was, I wouldn’t be awake for the surgery. That did worry me tremendously. I was dreading a repeat of what I felt during the “pop them back in” experience.
A nurse walked up to me and asked how I was feeling. “I’ve been waiting for surgery all morning”, I said. I was so convincing she had to go double-check with someone else. I overheard some of the exchange. They both looked in my direction, “bless him, we had to keep him longer here in Recovery. He was in so much pain”. She came back to confirm I’d had the surgery. I said bullshit. I did and do not remember a thing. Thank fuck for that.
But then I started to notice symptoms to suggest the charade could indeed be true. The new dressing was the obvious giveaway. But I also felt the soreness in my throat. I asked what time it was and she said four. “Damnit! I need to call my wife. She’d be worried sick not knowing if this had happened or how it went”.
Again, I don’t know how I got to the ward. Your mother showed up with Charlie. She’d obviously thought of everything. She brought a change of clothes, food… The woman is incredible. None of that even crossed my mind. But then again, I’d never spent the night in a hospital. As predicted, she’d been calling trying to get an update before Charlie eventually got through. A nurse came round to check my vitals, as they do periodically. My oxygen was quite low so I was given a nasal cannula. (I had to google for the technical term). Seeing me with that thing brought your mother to tears.
The following morning, two physios turned up. “We’re students”, they both said, “would you like to go for a walk?” I figured they had to learn somehow so them being students didn’t bother me. Plus, it wasn’t like they were requesting to carry out my surgery unattended. We had a forgetful conversation about what field of study they wanted to specialise in. A few minutes in and another lady joined us. She had the “I know what I’m doing” look with a more settled demeanour. She was no student. In fact, she quizzed them for the remainder of the crutch test.
So it was back to school learning my ABCs, able leg, bad leg, and crutches. Those were the basics of how to walk with crutches. We did some drills going up and down stairs given the duplex we live in at home. They were in awe I could put some pressure on the “bad leg” just a day after surgery.
Crutch school went well. And rather unexpectedly, I was given the all-clear to leave that afternoon. I called your mother thrilled with the news. I was not looking forward to using the bathroom behind curtains while a stranger watched, not with all these noses in attendance. I’d already seen other patients take shits in what I can only assume were buckets of some kind. So yeah, I was ecstatic to leave. Your mum took my discharge papers, (which I still haven’t read thoroughly) when my bloodwork came back. I was given some meds to manage the pain and that was that.
The wheelchair ride leaving the hospital was bumpier than the car journey home. Mind you, your mother had only started driving in the UK when I had the accident, out of necessity. Talk about throwing someone in the deep end. She always swims to the top though. Charlie was in the backseat ordering food.
The days that followed were painful, trying and testing, and not only for me. Finding a routine and adjusting to a new way of life, albeit temporary, was a very grounding experience. In many ways, I am grateful for it. But no way do I want to relive it.
Your mother had a scan last Friday, among other health checks. I couldn’t go because… broken leg. So she took her mum instead. It was a great idea flying her in to help and plug the gaps (that I couldn’t in my condition). She insisted I have someone round in their absence so I hung out with Marc and T. You’ll meet those two before you can remember you have. We go way back.
Dr Erskine called your mother a “model for pregnant women”.
Work took you and your mother to Paris earlier this morning via train. She reports you guys have had a very busy day. Unsurprisingly she’s still working. Her computer won’t connect to the hotel wifi so I just called her to troubleshoot the issue. All sorted now.
Speaking of trips, here are some photos from the break Liza and Rozalia took Tuesday after the baby shower, at the Pine Cliffs Resort in Algarve, Portugal. She’s not scared to travel while pregnant.
Last weekend, your mother and grandmother went to Kingston to look at prams. It’s one thing getting recommendations from friends (with kids) but quite another picking between them on the internet. So the hands-on helped assess practicality, size and ease of use. And on Wednesday, we went halves on some mobility items for babies.
PS – It’s apparently very common for limbs to swell while pregnant, especially in the heat.
[9:34 am, 19/05/2022] Liza Bel: My left leg is very swollen [9:34 am, 19/05/2022] Liza Bel: I think it’s heat [9:34 am, 19/05/2022] Liza Bel: So iM limping
Last Friday, I went to the hospital because my wound was producing a yellow-greenish discharge. An infection yes. This was days after the surgery sutures were removed and replaced with paper ones. That’s most likely how it happened, during the swap. So the wound was swabbed and redressed. Mr Culpan also prescribed some antibiotics. I completed the dose yesterday and the discharge has since stopped. But he wants me in Monday to ensure there are no visible signs of a lingering infection.
I feel like I’ve spent more time in hospitals the last few weeks than I have my entire life. And with your due date fast approaching, I imagine I still have some way to go before they see the back of me.
The next day, on Saturday, your mother and I had to get her another Ferinject infusion. Her haemoglobin count had dropped again, so much so that, she needed another drip of iron. We met a different nurse and a Spanish female doctor this time around at Portland hospital. I don’t recall their names. But they were equally nice and professional. We performed our ritual of getting Crosstown doughnuts on the drive home.
As we took a left onto Alpha road, your mother went, “Oh, I forgot to tell you but I thought Lian would be a good name”. “It’s also the second half of yours”, she explained. I like it (whether it carries mine or not). So, as things stand, your name is Lian Tawa(nchambi) Ateh.
Your mother spent Sunday morning grouping your clothes together, all the gifts you’ve received, piling them up by style. When she had them neatly tucked away in bags, we got onto PatPat to order the missing bits, well in advance, just in case shipping was delayed.
We had lunch at Hideaway earlier today by the river. From there, we drove to John Lewis to get a hands-on view of the latest Snuzpod4. It’s a height-adjustable bedside crib. Besides where it’ll go, I don’t have a problem with it. So it’s likely we’ll buy that and a changing station to complete the core of things you’ll need during your early days.
Since we got back, Liza’s been complaining of pain in her pelvis and tailbone. I had to get off the phone with Manu to check up on her, crutches in one hand and hobbling on one foot up the stairs. I just gave her a second paracet and a hot water bottle for her lower back. Here’s to hoping the Magnesium oil I rubbed in also helps.
There’s a very good chance she’s got COVID. She attended an offsite in Paris where more than half the attendees have since tested positive for the disease, including people she sat close to. She’s still testing negative though but I think it’s inaccurate.
