Sunday Morning Coming Down

I’m still here.

For those that are interested – and once again, I thank you all for your kind messages of support – I thought it about time I gave you a health update.

But first, a little background for the non-regular, non-long-term readers.

Back in 2018, I had a psoriasis flare-up which resulted in me being admitted to hospital, after it was found I had a pulmonary embolism (a blood clot) in my left lung, and pneumonia in my right (amongst other things). Should you wish to, you can read (or remind yourself) of my time in the Royal Free Hospital in London starting here.

If this ever happens again, I was told upon discharge, don’t bother with your GP, just go straight to A&E.

And so, when my psoriasis ‘went nuclear’ again at the end of last year, that’s exactly what I did. Twice.

I’ll (probably) go into this in waaaay too much detail another time, but suffice it say that I wasn’t admitted to hospital, I was given some anti-biotics and sent home, where, unable to look after, I eventually went to stay with my parents.

Now. Other than visiting at Christmas/Easter/birthdays, I’ve not lived with my parents for longer than a couple of days since I left home at the sweet and tender age of 18. Can you imagine having to do it now, at your age? Thought not.

I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn when I say that whilst it was lovely – and needed – to have that family touchstone, at times we all found my stay there rather trying, especially my mother who already cares for my father, and who suddenly found herself saddled with another invalid (no offence, Dad) to clean up after.

I’m here to tell you that she was amazing, and I could not have asked for more, infuriating as I probably was. And yes, I have told her so.

But come January, I had decided that it was about time that I struck out on my own to continue my recovery. And that meant going home and seeing how I coped fending for myself.

I’m happy to report that there is progress – of which I’ll update you some other time – but I don’t think that would have happened – not yet, anyway – without me coming home and, crucially, without the care and assistance my folks gave me when I was staying with them.

This morning’s tune has been in my head as a restart for this series for a while, even though I’ve been home for a few weeks now. I hope it doesn’t come across as disrespectful: it’s meant with love, thanks and gratitude to my parents for the help they gave me, even though it may sound like a relief to be away from them (which it kinda is, but I’m pretty sure they feel the same way):

John Denver – Back Home Again

More soon.

Oh, and thank you, again, to my Mum and Dad.

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6 thoughts on “Sunday Morning Coming Down”

  1. Jez……I’m nearly 60 years old and while I haven’t had to go back and live with my folks, I have has to depend on them a fair bit over the past 40 years since I left home for all sorts of support in different ways – often financial in the early days and emotionally when life was going so well; without fail, it has always been given and in an unconditional way.

    It’s not something I’ve ever taken for granted, and it’s only afterwards have I thought about how lucky I’ve been. It’s getting close to the stage where the roles are going to have to be reversed….it’s not something I’m looking forward to, but it’s something I will not hesitate to do with every ounce of energy I have.

    I suppose it’s what they call love.

    Fine piece of writing today. Seems that you are slowly on the mend. Take care.

  2. Ah, your mum sounds lovely. Can imagine it was all something of a culture shock moving back for a while though, on top of everything else you’ve been dealing with healthwise, but you clearly needed the respite and it’s great to know it’s helped. Good that you’re back home in your own space again now; here’s to your continued progress.

  3. You are one of the lucky ones with parents who are there for you when you need them. Glad you’re starting to improve but as you say without your amazing mum it might have taken a lot longer.

    My 20-something daughter has had to come home twice over the last few years when things went awry – in both cases it was great for the first month or so, but then rapidly deteriorated. The love is there but coming home as an adult is tough.

    May your recovery continue as speedily as is possible.

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