Today one of the home care nurses from the Brompton came round to pick up bits and pieces of equipment I was still hogging. It was only when I came to get a bag together that I realised I actually had a fair bit of stuff lying around. Abby and I put everything together, and it was just so weird sorting through it all. Oxygen masks, (one used which amusingly had the elastic knotted round the edge as I had clearly broken it when I got it out the packet) lengths of tubing, nebuliser mouthpieces, a machine which created heated steam for me to inhale, humidifying bottles, hundreds of pairs of nasal specs unopened (was clearly stocking up for nuclear war or similar) bags and bags of stuff.
Obviously anything opened or touched went straight in the bin but it was good to be able to return the machines to the hospital. It felt very very strange going through it all; I lifted one of the masks, pulling the elastic back as I would have done to put it on, it feels quite alien now whereas before it was part of normal daily routine. My haphazard self-assembled lengths of tubing (where I had stuck various lengths wedged in other bits to create the exact amount I wanted) were all wound up and put in the bin bag.
Whenever I have done one of these big moving on moments, the huge melange of emotions is quite bizarre. Within the relief, joy, and excitement of disposing of these now no longer needed items comes a very faint touch of reminiscence and almost fondness. Obviously not for the situation I was in, but I think because it was such a big part of my life for so long.
It was lovely to see my nurse again; I haven’t seen her since transplant so we had a lot of catching up to do. Well actually I nattered on at her whilst she managed to get the odd word in edgeways. She said it was strange to come and see me and not get out the blood test kit or the oxygen saturation monitor. I have promised to go up and show them all wedding photos after the big day because as she pointed out, so often the team that care for you for the longest amount of time just get dropped as you don’t physically need them any more, but they are still attached to you, they worked damn hard to keep me alive. And it’s so nice to be discussing dresses and shoes rather than White blood cell counts and sensitivities. Actually thinking about it I think the primary subjects featured rather heavily in hospitalisation conversations anyway...