This was not where I expected to be waking up in Barcelona. My leg was giving me a lot of pain now, and they were treating it for an insect bite after last night's Doppler scan showed no thrombosis, and the x-ray showed no breaks.
I found the hospital very dull, apart from the cute nurses who seemed to like talking to me to better their English language skills. Paul came in around lunchtime after going for a Segway tour up the beach. Luckily, he brought me bottled water, as they don't give you any in Spanish hospitals. I'm told you must buy it from a machine in the corridor. Paul went to get me another bottle, and while he was away, I was moved to another room. I had to share with an elderly Spanish man who liked loud Spanish game shows on the telly and to wipe bits of excrement and blood on the dividing curtain between us. His wife spent most of the day and night arguing with him and using the loo in the room. They appear to be well-matched, loud, rude to staff and annoying to me. It always irks me that I didn't learn to swear in Spain.
There was not a lot to do. I was bored and worrying about my mum.
Holiday summary.
I had quite a good time on this holiday before going to hospital. The trip itself changed my life forever. Whilst I was in hospital in Barcelona, my mum died in England, and I only just came out the other side of it alive.
After having tests in the hospital, I was diagnosed with necrotising fasciitis in my right leg. This is a severe, fast-spreading infection that results in the death of the body's soft tissue. To save my leg and my life, this infected flesh would have to be cut away from my body, and I had around 14 operations to remove the infected flesh from my leg completely.
Whilst in the hospital, I was also diagnosed with Sepsis, a life-threatening condition that arises when the body's response to infection causes injury to its tissues and organs. I was treated for this with lots of drugs and kept in intensive care to prevent my internal organs from failing. I don't remember, but I'm told I ballooned up, and my body looked like the old Michelin man tyre character from the Michelin adverts.
After the infected area had been cut away, I was airlifted by my insurance company back to the UK to have skin grafts at the Queen Alexander Hospital in Cosham. After the operation was carried out, I was helped to walk again and had daily therapy on the leg for a few weeks before I was allowed home.
Whilst at home for many months, I had daily visits from district nurses to change the dressing on my leg, and with help from friends, I was able to cope living at home. My mother's death whilst I was in hospital was a lot harder to deal with, and I still miss her.