14 hours to go (still)
As hinted above, there is a sense of conveyor belt to entering a hospital. Slowly, slowly – but inevitably – one is stripped of one’s individuality and independence…and then converted from sentient human to patient. This happens no matter how good the motives of those concerned. Its just one of those things. And from the moment of arrival, i feel the gradual shifting.
Stats are collected: “observations” made. I am variously miffed and horrified to discover my blood pressure is about 20 points higher than usual (at 120 over 80) – and only slightly mollified by the suggestion that i am in a state of high stress. Moi? Stressed? Surely not!
There is, though, temporary escape in the discovery that i have failed to bring in with me half the things i was meant to bring. We-ell: i was given a list of essentials and i put the list in a very safe place. So safe i now haven’t the faintest what became of it.
So after my scan and some of the paperwork, it is out to the shops to stock up on shampoo and non-scented soap and to grab another couple of short nighties/cami’s. We buy some bars of chocolate…but i am good: i am not allowed “non-bland food” and i bring them back and ask before opening. Back comes the answer: no! Drat!
Then back to the hospital, where ANOTHER George Clooney type (my anaesthetist) arrives to quiz me on my health history and to warn me of the perils of chewing gum (apparently a big no-no just prior to anaesthetic).
I remove nail polish and all other make-up. I remove most of my jewellery – and Andrea nicks my nice silver bracelet. I shall have to keep an eye on that! I do my hair – albeit only after a totally blonde moment of losing my hair brush. OK…so why would i expect it to be lying on the stand next to my bed in full sight?
I am weighed and measured and am miffed to discover that i appear to be significantly heavier than i thought. Bu-ut…that’s hospital scales for you. If these are right, it merely means that i was even heavier than i thought before i lost weight. If inaccurate, i have nothing to fear. All the same, new scales at home and a strict diet regime after i get out, i think!
I have been drifting…as much because i have started to use the op as excuse to be less careful on the food front, and that excuse will soon be done.
I produce a pee sample. Blood was taken earlier in the day. I am in nightie. Grown-up clothes are now almost all banished to the depths of my suitcase. The transformation is almost done.
Supper consists of boiled fish, carrots and mash. I enjoy it greatly, much to the disgust of onlookers. There is almost a jelly fight, as andrea and rachel (one of the production crew) both covet my jelly. Andrea wins.
Then last words. The television girls wag fingers and tell me to be in bed by 9.30 (fat chance!). The night shift arrives and i am starting to debate when would be a good time to try to get to sleep.
Body clock says about midnight (which would be around two hours earlier than usual).
I will be woken at around 6 to the joys of an early morning enema.