Today, I went to Oxford - no I didn't drive - I was driven, and didn't walk much either! I could get used to this being driven bit. Very relaxing.
Anyway, I went to Oxford to finally have that illusive meeting with the surgeon who operated on Geoff. He is a super man, and spent an hour talking to me. The rest of their posse sat and listened to our conversation. I don't think they understood much of it. We ironed out some things related to the Inquest, and established some common interest in discovering whether the infection I think G had was actually the one which escaped detection.
We also talked about the other hospital, and what could have happened, what should have happened, what did happen and what should happen now.
All in all, I am happy with the time I spent talking to him, and the course our conversation took. I feel as though some good things have happened as a consequence. They have also made changes in the way the families of people in the CCCU (Cardiac Critical Care Unit) are treated, and that can only be good. It is great to have made a difference. Or been part of the process.
Here I am back on the couch. Half asleep. Comatose. I can't believe how tired I get venturing off the couch. Wimbledon obliged by having rain while I was out, and the tennis is back on as I speak. I may still be on this couch in the morning.