How people treat you before going into hospital vs everyday.

By nature, I'm not a hugger. Especially with my intermediate family with whom I share DNA. But as it turns out, you are hot property before you check into hospital. Everyone wants to hug me, to tell me they love me and promise they'll be the Lou to my Andy when I'm recovering.

I've lost counts the amount of times I've joked to friends and random acquaintances that the next time they'll see me I'll be taller...And then ensues the awkwardness. Bumping into them again on a dog walk, receiving compliments on my speedy recovery. One lengthy discussion later on why I am still without titanium rods infused into my spine and everyone involved is now wishing they never asked. 

It's a genuine concern I have that people think I'm a fantasist, making this whole 'wonky spine' situation up for attention. My mum is also wary that the neighbours think she has Munchausen syndrome by Proxy. 

BUT if I was giving out hypothetical Oscars for the dramatic change in attitude, it would have to be awarded to my youngest sister. 

The night before hospital, I'm truly spoilt. I get one passionate hug, a teary goodbye and a cute well-wish. Also an adorable A4 letter explaining how I'm the 'best big sister ever'. Extracts as follow;

'You make me smile uncontrollably even when I'm in a foul mood'

'You've made these past years so much better and very entertaining' 

'I think you are incredibly brave and I'm so proud of you' 

AWW sweet, at times a tad patronising but at 14 she is much more mature than I am, her prospects are way stronger. I mean, she gets up and leaves the house everyday to go to school! I'm in awe of that work ethic. 

It's lovely to know I could be of service, providing her with entertainment whilst we're locked away in the countryside. 

So, the night after my planned operation, I was understandable tired (crying in front of strangers and running around partially naked around Leeds will do that to a person) I go into the sitting room, planning to unwind in front of trashy reality TV.

But, God forbids, I've only gone and sat in the wrong place on the sofa. My sister opens the door, and sternly tells me to get up now and how I should know that that is where she sits to have her tea.

Here we go. I won't delve into the specifics here, mainly because neither of us came out looking good for arguing over a sofa seat. But I'm pretty sure she regretted proclaiming her love for me hours earlier.

Luckily I have it on paper, ready to indoctrinate her with incase she ever starts thinking she's cooler than me.