Day 21

The woman nextdoor has told the nurses and us to call her 'Vera'. She has moved from being beside me, to being opposite me. The other woman in the room, Elizabeth, has had a hip replacement and is hoping to go home soon. Vera is keen to chat and it's much easier now that we can see eye to eye. I have heard all about her children—an architect, a theatre sister at this hospital, and her youngest son with a job I can't remember. I have worked out I am about the same age as them. Louise, her daughter, visits often. Vera has broken her ankle, but the trip to hospital has seen everything else go wrong—her blood pressure, her sugar levels. Now the plaster cast feels too tight and they are thinking of putting a new, lighter model on.

Vera is introducing me to Louise. Louise wasn't at Vera's operation, even though she works in the orthopaedic theatre. I suddenly think to ask if she was at my operation.

Yes.

What was it like?

It was hard, she says.

She comes over, asks how I'm doing. Offers her laptop, it would be no trouble. She can bring it in early in the morning. She can come and collect it after she finishes for the day. I am still not convinced that email contact will bring me wonderful things, but she is kind and willing.