Hoverfly on Spanish Poppy

Monday morning.

8.36.

The telephone rings.

Any time before 9am and I immediately think it’s either an emergency or a call from a different time zone.

It turned out to be neither. It was the Urology Department. Could I go in on Monday 20th for my operation?

No, that won’t be possible.

At that point an icy one entered the conversation. Why would that be?

I explained, in the same sort of tone, that as far as I knew I didn’t have to justify myself to them.

They changed tack at that point and explained they needed the information for record keeping purposes. Probably so that when something goes wrong they can cover themselves. I have had experience of things going wrong, and recognise the signs.

Bee on Spanish Poppy

The reason is simple. Julia won’t be back from Canada and, as the hospital always stresses, in a confrontational and aggressive manner, I won’t be allowed home without an escort in the taxi and someone at home. They agreed that this was the case.

Actually, I’m not sure they can stop you going, and I have always won my case when arguing about it before. Why should Julia take time off work just to escort me home.

I then apologised for being grumpy, but explained I’d tried to explain all this before and nobody had taken it on board. That’s always a problem with hospitals – they don’t listen.

She then reminded me that I had an appointment with the anaesthetist on Thursday and needed to keep it so we could proceed.

Poppy

I replied that I was fully aware of this and that it would have been far better, given my mobility problems, if I could have seen them last week when I was in for the rest of the assessment.

She said she didn’t work in that department.

And that’s where we left it.

It may all go smoothly, but I bet it doesn’t.

Looks like I may be off blogging for a few days w/c 27th May.

Poppy

Sorry about the uninformative captions on the last two photos. And yes, having written the title, I realise 8.36 isn’t really early, but it is for a phone call.