26 hours

Two weeks ago at this precise time I was engaged in a polite conversation with a beautiful older woman as I lay on my bed, my heart rate a little high at 99 beats per minute. She was telling me about a programme that she had watched on TV the previous night featuring people's fat pets. She had a well meaning and attentive young guy with her who was nowhere near as relaxed as she was. The conversation switched around a bit; house prices and other TV stuff before settling on socks......surgical socks and the fact that mine had fallen down. They were pulled up before I was fitted out with kind of throbbing leg warmers. "It's like you're walking," they kept telling me.

Then we got on to food, I mentioned that I wasn't as peckish as I would have expected, not having eaten anything since about 6 the previous evening. The lovely lady said the she would give me some nutritious stuff whilst I was asleep; it was all going to be happening whilst I was out, food, excercise, "what else", I asked. She admitted that the anaesthetist had not arrived because he was getting a sandwich himself. A moment later he walked in and everyone was on best behaviour. For the nth time I confirmed who I was and that I had not eaten since.......and that I didn't know if I was allergic to any drugs. The needle was inserted into a vein on the back of my hand, and a tube plugged in. No count down as I had expected, instead the sleep maker said that I would be starting to feel a bit more relaxed, he had given me something for the purpose. He then put a mask over my nose and mouth, not as unpleasant as those I had experienced in the dentists of my youth. Then I was dreaming, a nice dream I seem to remember. I was thinking, "I am waking now, hey, I wonder if I am waking from the operation or just from an ordinary sleep; I hope it is the operation, it would be good it if it is over.......actually I think I am, it is quite bright in here, there's a nurse". I had overheard a conversation earlier in the day about how entertainng people coming round from an anaesthetic can be, how they giggle and enjoy the lack of inhibition the drugs leave them with. Determined to stay cool, I just wink at my nurse.

By 7.30 that morning I had been sitting on my bed in a ward where a number of the beds were empty, but several had groaning old blokes in them; it was a little melancholy and it was obviously not going down well with Gemma who looked to be counting down the minutes before she could leave politely. We hardly said anything to each other then the man in the bed opposite helpfully broke the ice by releasing a fairly prolonged burbly fart. He looked like a baddy from a Tintin cartoon, intense, scrawny and swarthy. His neighbour had only just arrived and I decided that he was here in preference to taking his rightful place along side Saddam Hussein, accused of being his main henchman. The other two guys had established a bit of a connection with each other; they looked like slightly bonkers librarians.

Can you guess what it is yet?

A little while later and I was on my own reading my copy of the excellent Moon Dust when a medical man turned up and drew on my abdomen. Then the surgeon arrived, his features appeared to be exaggerated today. Sharp suited he is in his mid 40's with a strong chin but soft looking, slightly floppy skin. He listened to my questions. I noticed that his main reason for being in the room seemed to be to witness his victims signing their consent forms, it reminded me of getting the customer's signature on the order form. He certainly seemed better disposed to communication than some of the other staff though. At about 11.30 that night a nurse arrived at my bed and said she wanted to give me some antibiotics. Looking at the back of my hand she noticed that I no longer had a needle in it and seemed confused. A little more than an hour later I woke from drowsing to the unmistakeable smell of freshly popping pop-corn. A young girl who described herself as a "doctor, well physician actually" announced whilst removing popcorn from her back molars with her tongue, that I did in fact need the antibiotics and the nurse would be back presently. I waited twenty minutes and as I wanted to go back to sleep decided to go and find my nurse. I found her sipping her tea, she would be along when she had finished; you can't really argue with your arse hanging out of one of those gowns, (I don't understand why they need to be like that). Back in my bed and Florence Nightingale has arrived with her kidney-shaped bowl of kit. After she has fumbled about in the dark a bit, I reach up and put on the anglepoise. She hooks me up to a bag of clear fluid and two seconds later the room is spinning, I am covered in sweat and ready to throw up. "Can you get me something to be sick in please"? "Do you want some medecine to stop you feeling sick"? "No, I need something to be sick in". She went off and came back with one of those papier mache bowls and then disappeared. I wondered if this was one I was allergic too, I certainly didn't seem to be enjoying it. I sat on the edge of my bed ready to pull out the tube if I carried on feeling shite, but the feeling went and I lay down and went back to sleep.

Next morning the day nurse greets the ward with a cheery "morning everyone". She is unbelievable, I can't begin to understand where she gets her energy to be so generous to all of us. Bad enough cocky me, but there are all sorts of weird noises eminating from people down the corridor just the sound of which depress me and I don't have to wipe their dirty arses. Several people come to look at me and give me conflicting answers to my questions. Gemma arrives to take me home and is obviously disappointed that as I am still connected to a drip it may be a few minutes till we can go. Soon enough I am dressed and shuffling along the corridor like I've just been shot. All in all it's not been too bad.

Whilst I was sleeping.