Its the day before my fourth operation. I failed to attend my physio session (this time the transport balls up was entirely my fault) and so had a final sweat at the local gym instead. 5ks on the exercise bike (with a bit of an incline - although I don't think its Dundas Street equivalent yet), an hour of weights and stretches and the gym ball and then, too lazy to swim, plod home.
Reread my admission instructions. Note the ambiguity about taking clothes. (A friend or relative is supposed to bring them in after the operation). Should I just go to the hospital then in my (borrowed) nightie? Its tempting - given that I have to leave home before 7am. But I still have some dignity intact - and I might get a row from the nursing staff - they weren't the friendliest the last time - and I've no reason to think that their mood might have improved (unless of course the NHS has been forking out for charm school - unlikely given the astronomical cost of new cancer drugs...).
Test out the charm by ringing them. Ask where I am on the list. You are first, she said, at the moment. I noted the caveat with care. The Ryanair model of healthcare. If all goes to plan, I should be in theatre by 9am. Out by lunch time and sitting up in time for my delicious hospital food at 5pm. If, however, there is a successful terrorist attack, an earthquake, or the entire operative team phones in sick - I'll miss my tea. And you can bet that if that happens, it will be black tea and digestives - if I'm lucky.
I don't have to start fasting til midnight - but given that I've eaten enough chocolate in the last four days to pay off the debt off a medium sized Latin American country, I may just start earlier. A broken leg attracts chocolate like a magnet.....
Reread my admission instructions. Note the ambiguity about taking clothes. (A friend or relative is supposed to bring them in after the operation). Should I just go to the hospital then in my (borrowed) nightie? Its tempting - given that I have to leave home before 7am. But I still have some dignity intact - and I might get a row from the nursing staff - they weren't the friendliest the last time - and I've no reason to think that their mood might have improved (unless of course the NHS has been forking out for charm school - unlikely given the astronomical cost of new cancer drugs...).
Test out the charm by ringing them. Ask where I am on the list. You are first, she said, at the moment. I noted the caveat with care. The Ryanair model of healthcare. If all goes to plan, I should be in theatre by 9am. Out by lunch time and sitting up in time for my delicious hospital food at 5pm. If, however, there is a successful terrorist attack, an earthquake, or the entire operative team phones in sick - I'll miss my tea. And you can bet that if that happens, it will be black tea and digestives - if I'm lucky.
I don't have to start fasting til midnight - but given that I've eaten enough chocolate in the last four days to pay off the debt off a medium sized Latin American country, I may just start earlier. A broken leg attracts chocolate like a magnet.....
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