The day I walked on my own for the first time

I’m woken up to the sounds of loud sobbing. The sobbing grows in its intensity and a smattering of voices start to emerge. “Mildred? Are you ok?” I hear my neighbour cry. I am surrounded by women in their eighties and nineties but I have possibly had the most serious surgery and haven’t walked on my own yet. I emerge from my bed and incredibly as I direct one foot in front of the other my body responds. Like a warrior on their path I grab a sick bowl and head towards Mildred. I’m suddenly filled with the memory of my friends then baby daughter, who the night of her 30th birthday party suddenly stood on her own for the first time, realised her new vertical state and cheered Yay at us whilst fist punching the air (we all cheered back). I invision the cartoon characature of the old man throwing away his stick “I can walk! I can walk!” I make it to her bed to see her stoma bag has burst all over her in the night. A nurse bursts in just in time “I’ve been calling for hours and hours” she wails. *Note* never have a crisis on a ward between the times of 7.30-8.30 both a.m. and p.m. Those are the nurse changeover times and there will be a very limited number of staff available to help you. Unfortunately I later found myself in a similar situation (see: Grey hairs and midnight zimmer runs).