...and so this young female doctor who I have never seen before approaches my bed and tells me that I'll be going home tomorrow.
Just like that.
It was only then that I realised just how hard to please I was.
Sure, it will be great to switch to tablets from drips. Sure, it will be fantastic to go home tomorrow - I really love my home, and all the possibilities it holds for me.
But....I'm not healed!
My leg is still seeping that horrible fluid and I am in the most awful pain.
It is simply that they believe my treatment can continue at home safely, with an option to return to hospital should I need to if it it returns to its previous condition.
Yes, let's make that clear, too. I have improved. It's hard to really embrace the improvement, given that I still have serious problems, but my legs are less red and hot. This means that the cellulitis is definitely not as bad as it was.
So now I feel a whole range of emotions. One of great excitement, to begin with. Then a load of worries about when I will be out and who might be able to pick me up.
Still, hope is a great evil in hospital, and I will refrain from hoping too much. They think nothing of casually requiring an extra fews days here and there.
I also feel confusion, and worry that at home things will just escalate again. I worry that quite a lot, and so will have to discipline myself to continue with treatment and bed rest, rather than throwing myself into work. Not that I could do that just now.
I need a few good nights rest and some lovely peace and quiet. Ah yes, peace and quiet...mmmmm.....
Oooops, there I go, hoping again.