So I'm back from holiday and off to hospital. As previously noted I am not too hot on Hospital/Doctor etiquette but I'm obviously not the only one...
(When I arrived there was a man shouting and swearing. "I 'ave an appointment right. In FIVE MINUTES! For a FU*KI*G ERNIA! AND YOU'RE TELLIN' ME ME NATIONAL INSURANCE NUMBER IS WRONG? Then security arrived. The nutcase was calmed.)
I had a letter to say I should attend Kings College Hospital on 20th April for a "meeting" with the surgeon. Twat that I clearly am I assumed this would be the day the dirty deed was done, that they would shove something into a keyhole, push my guts back into the right place and I'd be out and selling books later the same day. Oh no. When they say a "meeting" what they mean is a meeting. I met the surgeon. She began to describe what she was going to do to me. I went white and saw spots in front of my eyes.
"Are you feeling ok?" she asked.
"Er" I said "I think I need a glass of water."
I hung my head between my legs whilst this skilled and highly trained person went to find me a glass of water.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Right. So I'll make a small cut about here, push whatever it is - it might be a section of gut or perhaps just a lump of fat..."
"Erm, I'm sorry to interrupt but...I have a very active imagination - can you just tell me where to sign?"
"You don't want to know about possible side effects?"
"No no no"
"We'll have to shave..."
"Please! Just knock me spark out and do a good job ok? Where do I sign"
So now I have to wait two to three months. Two to three months to worry about that "small cut" and the "deep sleep" I am to experience. Not to mention the bruising and the shaving...