I woke shortly before
3am, and lay awake tossing and turning fretfully. I got up shortly
after 5am and "Furry Face TM" sat
with me hoping for toast crusts that today weren't coming.
No food or drink for me
this morning.
"er indoors TM"
drove me through a dank morning to the hospital. I was soon booked
in by a male nurse. Working in a hospital is odd; the places are
*huge*; and they employ (literally) thousands of people.
Consequently youu find that there are dozens (if not hundreds)
of people with whom you are on nodding terms. This nurse was one such
chap; we've both been smiling politely at each other for over twenty
years without ever actually having spoken.
Once booked in I was put
into my surgical attire, and then introduced to the surgeon and the
anaesthetist, then taken to a waiting area where I waited. It was
only an hour or so, and people were obviously busying about. Time
soon passed, and being second on the operating list I was called in
shortly after 10.30am.
Everyone was so good to
me, I don't *think* that anyone noticed my nerves.
For those of my more
inquisitive or bloodthirty readers I've written a brief summary of
why I was in hospital today. You
can read it by clicking here. One of the ways in which medical
professionals are different to the general public is that they (we)
are nowhere near as squeamish about matters surgical matters from
which others may well shy away. Having fully understood what was
going to happen for some months, just as drips were being
administered I suddenly came over a litttle apprehensive.
But it was too late to
chicken out. There was an odd sensation of cold spreading up my arm
(from the administered drip), a very vivid dream in which I
had been told that the operation had been cancelled, and suddenly it
was an hour and a half later and all was done.
Very soon I was up on
Rotary Ward scoffing shepherd's pie. I tried to transmit to the world
to say what was going on. I could not. For some reason I could use
Facebook messenger, but Facebook would not work (despite a 4G
signal).
After a little while I
was visited by the surgeon who asked how I was, and asked if I wanted
to go home. After a little to-ing and fro-ing I decided to take up
the offer of an overnight stay on the ward. I was feeling a little
woozy.
Anyone who knows me will
realise I don't like hanging around in my pit, and having no
inclination to get out of bed made me realise that I wasn't quite one
hundred per cent. Apart from loo trips I stayed in that bed for the
rest of the day, which is very unlike me. I must have been poorly.
I spent the afternoon
reading an old favourite book of mine "Brideshead Revisited".
The actual book; not an e-book. This one had pages, and showed signs
of age and was visibly falling apart. I realised that this was the
first "proper" book I've read for a long time.
Holding the thing was awkward, turning the pages was a faff... I
shall get the e-version.
The evening meal arrived.
I had the choice of sandwiches, soup, rice pudding or fruit. Due to a
mis-communication (which I made no effort to correct) I had
the lot. And then "er indoors TM"
arrived and I plead hunger and she went off to get me more to eat.
Visiting time ended, "er
indoors TM" tootled off, and I settled
down with my book again. For some odd reason it was at this point
that my phone's internet connection started to work again.
I resisted the temptation
to make more work for the hospital by not going and throttling
"Jimmy". Jimmy" was awaiting a lift
which had been delayed because of a local traffic accident, and was
bellowing his life story to anyone who was interested. And also to
everyone else within a five-mile radius. Why to some people have to
shout everything they utter?
One of the reasons I was
staying overnight was thatt I was trialling a new CPAP attachment, so
I wrestled it into place, and put my head down shortly before 11pm...
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