Well, I’m back home already. No overnight stay, no pain, no blood.
On the downside, there was no operation.
I rose at 6.00 and, like Paddington Bear, breakfasted on marmalade sandwiches. Five and a half hours later I was washed, packed and provisioned. I was also starving and slightly nervous, as medical staff kept drifting through, asking to see my appointment letter. In the end one of them, having drawn the short straw, sidled up and asked me to step through, obviously trying to separate me from the herd.
“I’m sorry, but you’re not on our list.” she said, and like a modern nightclub the NHS operates on the policy of “if you aren’t on the list, you aren’t coming in”.
So, despite having a letter telling me when to report, despite having rung to confirm and despite having had my pre-op done while I was on the ward last week, I was sent home.
That’s the summary anyway. In real life it took longer, with more muttered excuses and a lot of waiting.
I’m now waiting for a new date.
On the positive side, this gave us the time to enjoy the sunshine and go for haddock and chips at The Big Fish and Julia allowed me to have syrup sponge and custard to get over my disappointment.
I’m now engaging in one of my favourite activities – mentally composing a letter of complaint about my cancelled appointment. I always seem so much more intelligent at this point – the draft always seems so much better than the final written version.
I’m currently debating whether I should offer to fit catheters to the staff concerned as this might concentrate their minds on the delay in removing mine.