Today’s the day…
We have to wait until we are called by the hospital to confirm that there is a bed available for me, so we sit around anxiously until the phone rings just after 11am, and I am told to report to the Bernard Sunley ward and asked for my ETA. My wife and I are travelling down by car to Fig Tree House – the B&B in Hither Green that I used to stay in some years before when I was working in London. She will be staying there while I am in hospital, travelling into central London by train each day. John and Ruth, the owners of Fig Tree House, very kindly allowed her to stay there even though they were having some structural alterations and were officially closed for three months. We arrived just before 4pm, and I helped my wife get her case into her room, had a cup of tea and a chat with John and Ruth, and visited my old pal, Gerry, in his log cabin at the bottom of the garden. Then, we grabbed the two small “cabin baggage” sized cases containing my hospital supplies (pyjamas, dressing gown, change of clothes, wash bag, iPad and charger, biscuits, fruit juice, sweets and snacks, etc.) and caught the train to Charing Cross.
Arriving at the hospital, I was quickly shown to my allocated bed and tagged with my name and date of birth. Blood pressure. Pulse. Shine a light in each eye. Then there was the first round of the (soon to be familiar) questions: Do you know where you are? What’s your date of birth? What’s todays date?
I showered, changed into my pyjamas, and got into bed.
I’m not worried about the operation. Not even slightly concerned. My only worry is that I survive the operation, and it doesn’t work! So much rides on the success of the operation that I cannot even contemplate its failure.