I had a lovely weekend.
Dave bought the boys up and they got here after lunch on Saturday.
What joy, to see the boy's delighted faces when they first saw me, to cuddle their little bodies and breathe in their baby smell.
Saturday evening, we went for dinner together. We found a cosy, dimly lit pub with a nook lined with sofas. Christmas trees were shining silver, gold and red and fairy lights painted rainbows on our skin.
We ate together and it felt like home. I savoured a glass of wine as though It were Cristal and we ordered the boys enormous cookie and ice cream desserts, gooey with cream and sprinkled sweeties.
Today, we took them to the cinema and while they watched the screen, I watched their engrossed faces and tried to store away enough of their giggles and kisses to see me through the week ahead.
It never fails to amaze me how wonderful tiny pleasures seem when you've been in hospital for more than a week or two. Colours seem brightly vivid after the drab, institutional wards. Wine tastes of freedom after weeks of denial and shines like gold in the glass. A kiss feels more precious, a laugh more of a privilege and the cinnamon, citrus and pine scent of Christmas chases away the last stench of antiseptic and sickness.
The days I've left hospital have been some of the best of my life. Nothing on earth feels as good as getting the chance to experience and appreciate afresh the simple wonders and comforts and pleasures of your life. They are moments of pure happiness and satisfaction.