I got shown into what was described as the day room. This didn't inspire much confidence. It had physiotherapy equipment and an old pair of crutches. There was an old bookshelf with half a dozen books, a round table and 4 plastic chairs. The room was no bigger than a standard dining room. I saw no TV or anything to make it mildly welcoming. It could have done with a coat of paint. The last time I was in hospital for an operation was 30 years ago. I was quite shocked how things had changed.
At least I had come prepared and instantly whipped out my novel. I knew what to expect in NHS hospitals now. It was "wait" - with a capital "W". I had been asked to report at 7am. I had been up since 5am.
After an hour I saw the cheery face of my consultant. Despite a tendency to be skeptical and slightly critical of all things medical in the UK, I had warmed to this chap and had confidence in his abilities. That was until he drew an arrow in indelible ink on my calf.
"Don't tell me, that's so you you don't operate on the wrong leg," I chuckled.
"Correct," he replied. I found it hard to resist saying that one leg had a prominent Achilles tendon and the other didn't. You'd be hard pressed to miss the damaged foot. I was also concerned that the arrow seemed to be pointing up my calf and not down to the proposed incision point.
We went through a few other details and I was left alone again with my novel.
Another 45 minutes passed and in came a young chap who introduced himself as an anaesthetist. He went into huge detail about what I was going to expect. My mind drifted and for the first time I started to get nervous.
"... some bruises on your face. So don't be surprised." I caught the tail end of the sentence.
"Pardon? Bruises on my face?"
"Yes, because you will be face down, there may be some bruises to the face. But we will pad you up as much as possible."
This was turning into a nightmare. Luckily things moved on pretty quickly after this, which stopped me dwelling too much on wrongly placed incisions and being beaten up in theatre.
I was shown to my bed and efficient nurses buzzed about one at a time checking blood pressure and temperature, providing surgical gowns and strange paper thin undergarments, and firmly but politely conveying orders, which I obeyed without question.
"Are you chewing gum?" said one nurse.
The whole ward became silent and a dozen eyes looked at the perpetrator of this heinous crime. Me.
"Umm... yes," I replied. I'd taken to chewing nicotine chewing gum to help me stop smoking.
"Nil by mouth means exactly that!" She barked.
I considered challenging the comment by saying that it actually stated on the leaflet no eating or drinking, which in my mind meant no actual consumption of products. I decided not to. Such was their physical presence in their own domain.
I followed the pointing finger and limped over to the chewing gum receptacle with a bowed head.
I had just hopped back on the bed when almost immediately two blue-shirted porters came in and after the standard identity checks they started wheeling me away. I felt a twinge in my stomach as I knew that my time had come.
The hospital corridors sped by and I watched the sympathetic faces of patients, visitors and staff as I approached the theatres. I wanted to call out, "It's nothing serious, honestly."
Despite good timing so far, the theatre prep room harboured a delay. An embarrassed theatre nurse who was obviously briefed to guard me, tried to make small talk as she went through the identification procedure again and confirmed that I was "The Achilles". We talked about cats and dogs, neither of which I knew a great deal about. I watched as my pulse on the monitor swung between 75 and 95.
She looked at the arrow on my leg. "Ha ha. He's drawn the arrow upside down. Ha ha ha". I didn't laugh.
Eventually, the anaesthetist came in. Here we go. I took some deep breaths. A mask was waved in front of my face and something was injected into the cannula on the back of my left hand. "This will sting a bit but it won't last too long".
It did sting and it didn't last too long. I was out.
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