October 27th, 2024

Last Tuesday, my alarm went off at 6 a.m. for my final antibiotic infusion. After breakfast, around 7:30, my three doctors arrived with a nurse to change the dressing on my scar. The scar is dry and the stitches are well done. The surgeon’s assistant, who usually handles the sutures, places great importance on the appearance of the scar. She always explains that it’s the only visible sign of the operation, and if the scar doesn’t look good, the patient might start doubting the quality of the work inside.

Shortly after, a nurse and an assistant came to remove my central catheter from my neck. It was held in place with a stitch, so they first had to remove that before extracting the 17 cm-long catheter. The procedure caused a little bleeding, but after firm pressure, the bleeding stopped and a bandage was applied. All pain-free.

After a shower, I packed my bags. I was given a list of medications to take and the supplies to change the dressing myself. Then I said my goodbyes to the very caring and professional staff. They accompanied me to reception, where I called a taxi.

On the way home, we stopped at my local pharmacy. Since the change of ownership, the quality has really dropped, the staff lack empathy and seem unmotivated. They didn’t have my medication in stock, unsurprisingly, given the quantity, so it took lengthy negotiations before they finally agreed to home delivery, considering our limited mobility. I had to buy for over 1200 CHF worth of medicines: antibiotics for about 12 weeks (six tablets a day), painkillers, anti-inflammatories, anticoagulants… It’s a lot, but it’s the price of healing.

The taxi continued on, and we arrived at my mum’s house. From the street to the front door there are several steps, which I managed with my crutches. Then, to reach my bedroom on the first floor, more stairs. I’ll be staying here until mid-November while my flat is being renovated.

This house belonged to my grandparents, and I used to visit often as a child. I have many fond memories here. When my parents took ownership, I was living in the United States, so I never lived here with them. However, I did have a room I used when I returned to Switzerland, either for holidays or business trips since I worked at the New York branch. It feels strange to come back here to live with my mum after all these years. Thankfully, at 94, she takes good care of me.

The antibiotics have a sedative effect, so I spend most of my days lying down. I also have to avoid putting strain on my leg, so rest is the best option. To keep myself busy a little, I edited a lengthy text for my former employer. A motorcycling colleague from Zurich is due to visit me on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I’ll see my surgeon again to have the stitches removed, the dressing changed, and a new cast applied.

This morning, I changed my dressing myself. It was dry and showed no signs of inflammation. It’s not easy to do on your own when you’re short of hands, but in the end, it went well. Once I’m back in my flat, Deniz will be able to help me, he’s used to this kind of care.