My sister wheeled me to the car park of terminal 5 and once we were on the road heading towards the M4 I looked at her with big puppy dog eyes. Moments later I was impersonating a beagle that had just been rescued by the A.L.F. My head was sticking out of the window with a fag in my mouth enjoying the coolness of an English summer morning, the complete lack of humidity in the air and the six hundred or so chemicals found in a full fat Marlboro
The following day I woke up in the recovery room after the surgery and for some reason they wouldn’t give me a coffee. Also someone had shaved the top of my right thigh? Back on the ward the nurse, after much pleading, produced a coffee. Damn it tasted great!
The next Friday I was back at the fracture clinic for the post op one week check up. After the x-ray I swung into the doctor’s office to see him looking intently at my x-ray. Even I, with my limited medical training, could see that they was something not quite right! Turns out that my bones had “pinged” apart and that I would need to go under the knife again, this time with bigger screws…bugger!
Back on ward 21 I said hello once again to the nurses and settled down into the bed I had left behind last week. The surgery was booked for the following morning until I mentioned to the doctor that some puss had oozed trough the bandages. I was put on a course of anti-biotics and as this was the bank holiday weekend I would be here till the doctor came back on Tuesday.
On the Tuesday the consultant came back from his weekend off and looked at my ankle. I would be having the surgery the next day! However…the next day came around and it turns out they were busy. As I was a low priority and they were unable to guarantee a place on the table instead of spending all day “nil by mouth” only to be disappointed by the evening time they booked me in for the next day. Even before the doctor had left the ward I was pressing the call button to order breakfast!