The Op..
Ian and I arrived at Queen Elizabeths Hospital, Woolwich, plenty of time before my appointment so decided to take a look round the different wards. We were impressed by the corridors and cleanliness and thought it rated highly compared to the dinginess of Queen Mary’s, Sidcup. We found a wall that spoke to you in many different languages, in case you were lost, we listened to the Cantonese voice and followed the directions to the cafeteria. We gorged ourselves on sandwiches and juice as I prepared myself for what was ahead. At this point I wasn’t scared..
It was time. We went to the Day Care ward and waited until I was called upon. This is where Terry had his last photograph inside me (see below). He’s a cheeky little thing.
As I put my ‘dress’ on I began to think ’This is it’ and started to get a little nervous. I was wearing totally the wrong nickers for this, if my dress came apart at the back, all the OAPs would see my red and yellow spotty pants! I got a nurse to tie it up tight so that this did not happen. They asked me roughly one million questions about my name, age, DOB, and all the ones you answer no to; Diabetes? No. Asthma? No. Taking any medication? No. Gonorrhea? No.
…I then got escorted through to the Operating room and was given a silly hat to put on. I lay on the table bracing myself, there were five people in the room discussing Terry. No ones ever given him this much attention. They finally wrapped several towels around me and one that left a square for Terry to see through. It was a local anesthetic so the surgeons started to mention needles.. now I’ve never really had a problem with needles, I’ve given blood before and that wasn’t too bad, but a three inch needle going into my neck numerous times didn’t tickle my fancy. I closed my eyes and told them to talk to me, I couldn’t bare the silence. “What’s your job?” – “I’m a, ouughh, oww, student” – “What are you studying?” – “Stage, ahh, management”. After more chit-chat, he claimed “all done”. I thought, what?? That was fast.. but no, he explained that he meant the anesthetic part was done. Wishful thinking on my part. He carried on as I explained who Terry was, and the blog I am writing and how much I wanted a picture of Terry when he was out. From then on they too recognised my Cyst as Terry. “Terry’s nearly out” they’d say. “You can nearly see him”. I was so excited. For so long he’s been under my skin and soon I’d see him in the flesh!
They snipped him off and they put him in front of me on a white towel. This tiny red ball. This lump of flesh. This disgusting little sphere! Soon after they put him in a pot and let me take a photo of him. After three hours from first entering the hospital I was released to catch the bus home with Ian.
It was a pleasant day.
