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Eight months on...

Almost six weeks post-op, and recently I found myself back on the cold ultrasound table. The verdict? “It may or may not be a seroma. Or maybe a hematoma. Or possibly just… a marble in the space where the hernia used to be.”

Day 21, and recovery has taken an unexpected twist: I don’t know where to sleep these days. My two-year-old and four-year-old girls are in with Mum, leaving me one option — bunking with my six-year-old son.

Day 10, and just when I thought things were finally calming down… boom. There it is. A new lump right where the hernia used to be. My heart dropped faster than a juice cup in the hands of a two-year-old.

Day 7. The good news? I feel like I’ve finally turned a corner.

Day 5 Post Op: Living Life in the Slow Lane

There it sits. One lonely Endone, rattling around in the bottom of the pill bottle like the last Malteser in the box. 

You know you’re officially old when your morning routine isn’t about coffee anymore — it’s about whether or not you can take a decent number 2.

Day whatever of recovery, and the hernia rules are clear: no lifting more than 5kg. 
Simple, right? Until you realise Woolies groceries don’t get delivered to your pantry, only to your front door…

You’d think a dad gets injured doing something awesome — like saving a kid from a runaway scooter, wrestling a crocodile, or surfing beyond his limits.


There are certain phrases you never want to hear a doctor say.“Hmm, that’s unusual.”“Are you sitting down?”And in my case:“Actually… you’ve got two hernias.”