December 21st, 2025

It’s Sunday, and if I didn’t publish anything yesterday, it’s simply because… there was nothing worth reporting. A small event in itself: in a hospital, the absence of drama is almost good news.

On Friday evening, I was given a new, much stronger painkiller, along with a sleeping pill. The effect was immediate: on Saturday morning, I woke up properly rested for the first time since being in hospital. I slept like a log, no pain, no interruptions, and, most importantly, no longing for the Fentanyl pump.

After breakfast, Professor Krause stopped by, dressed in civilian clothes. He was on his way to do some shopping and, as the hospital is on his route, he took the opportunity to check my scars. The one on my heel, where the nail had been inserted, as well as those from the screws in my ankle and tibia, are healing very well. The long scar running from my foot up my leg, however, is causing more trouble: it remains exudative, the bandage stays damp, and the skin is constantly moist, which slows the healing process. He therefore ordered the bandage to be changed twice a day.

In the afternoon, Deniz came by for a coffee before returning to my flat, where he is staying for the weekend. A friendly face always helps, especially when you’ve begun to memorise every corner of the hospital. In the evening, I received exactly the same medication as the night before, guaranteeing a second restful night. And, as prescribed, the bandage was changed again.

This morning, Sunday, I woke up at 7 a.m. when the nurse came to take my vital signs. A few minutes later, a jug of hot tea was delivered, the best morning ritual on this floor, followed by breakfast at 8 a.m. Later on, the doctor on duty came by. Let’s just say that empathy and courtesy were not on today’s agenda. Perhaps the result of working on a Sunday, who knows? She changed the bandage quickly, almost mechanically. When I asked her why I wasn’t being given antibiotics, considering my complicated history with staphylococcal infections, her answer surprised me: “Everyone always wants antibiotics…” Not exactly the most professional remark of the week. I didn’t insist. She simply added that if the scar isn’t dry on Monday, I probably won’t be able to go home, precisely what I didn’t want to hear.

And this is where the real challenge begins: logistics. Urs, my mother’s neighbour, who kindly offered to take me home, is leaving for the Christmas holidays on Tuesday morning. If I’m not discharged tomorrow, I’ll find myself with my suitcase, my crutches… and no free hand to open the door to my flat. And hoping a taxi driver will carry my luggage up to the lift is, let’s say, rather optimistic.

I’ll surely find an alternative, but it would be nice if the story took the simplest turn tomorrow.

On Friday, a close friend received the results of the CT scan she had last week due to blood in her urine. The diagnosis is reassuring: nothing abnormal was detected, which is truly a relief.