The Op

I went into hospital on Wednesday at 6pm.  It turned out that I would be sharing a side ward with another lady having the same op.  She's only a few years older than me, but she's in far worse health, and she was in constant pain from her gallbladder, compared to my frequent niggles.

To be honest, I didn't think we were going to have much in common.  But I felt sorry for her, and cheering her up took my mind off me.

Then the nurse breezed in with a BIG smile.  "Hello ladies.  Who's having the first enema?"

And we shared a Look.

And then we shared the experience of an enema.  I'll spare you the details.

It went on like that.  We shared an insipid, meagre dinner:  dishwater soup and apple purée.  We shared out symptoms, including plenty that you don't want to hear about.

In the morning we shared hunger, and silly-looking bandages on our legs.

I went down to theatre during a thunderstorm.  As they strapped me to the operating table, the anaesthetist asked me whether I wanted a holiday in the Caribbean, or somewhere else.  I said I wanted a young man with a feather fan and cocktails.

And it all went buzzy and black.