I said in my last post that I haven’t yet found myself on dialysis in a foreign hospital. What I didn’t say was that there was a very brief moment where I thought I might.
Since the fateful half marathon over a year ago, I have not done a whole lot of exercise. When I have, it’s been walking. Safe to say, therefore, my arm muscles are not what they used to be. If I’m being honest, they were never much to begin with.
When, in New Zealand, I decided to spend a whole day sea kayaking around Abel Tasman National Park, I probably should have realised that it was going to be hard. But I didn’t.
Make the most of your health. Live while you’re young. Make hay when the sun shines. They’re such clichés, and I may have just quoted One Direction, but it’s true that you never really know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone. Or, in my case, almost gone.
My now-husband and I were planning our epic round-the-world honeymoon long before I got ill. But if there’s one thing that’s sure to get you fired up to travel, it’s the idea that you might not be able to.
One of the many things no one ever tells you about spending time in hospital is just how much interest everyone takes in your bodily functions.
I don’t know if the levels of scrutiny are the same for all patients (although I imagine so), but drawing on my own experiences, hospital staff really care a lot – like, a lot a lot – about whatever’s coming out of you.
As it says on my C25K page, I’m not starting from scratch here. Having spent three months gallivanting around New Zealand, Fiji and Australia, I’ve been doing some pretty spectacular practice walks.
Back when I was in hospital, I was weak, but could walk around a little bit. By the time I left, I could walk pretty much normally, but stairs were tricky. A few weeks later, stairs were all good, but I tried to run for a bus and that didn’t go so well.