hospital 3

Sunday started with a rather nice running weather but I received bad news – I would not be leaving the hospital that day and hence would not make it to my flight. In fact I would most likely not leave the hospital until at the end of the weak and might even, in between, pass under the surgeon’s knife.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Not only would I miss my dad’s birthday but I also didn’t have enough clean clothes for a week. And as I had planned to go to the laundrette there were no clean clothes in my flat either. Luckily someone promised me that she would go and pick the stuff up from my flat, wash it and bring it to me. Except, as it turned out the door really was seriously stuck and she could not get in.

It had become obvious by now that when you think that there is absolutely nothing left to go wrong, another few things will fail. Miserably.

And the fact that my friend was really suffering after the race and that one of the nurses told me that I was not the most difficult patient in the ward but rather nice, I still did not feel any better.