I saw my urologist, Dr Wells, late on the day of my horrible flow test. ’You still have 800mls in your bladder,’ he informs me. ‘If I were you, I’d be rolling around on the floor.’ Charming, I think.
Surgery was set for the 12th September. Admission at 5.00pm? Everyone says to me the surgery must be on the 13th.
I am required to fast after breakfast on the day of the surgery.
My friend, David Synot, must have been nervous for me. He drove straight past South Terrace driving me to St Andrews.
We arrive at five minutes to five. The lady at the desk says that my surgery must be tomorrow.
Eventually I’m taken to the day surgery section. See people discharge one after another.
Then I’m taken to the surgical floor. They get me to put on a white back the front gown. Just in case I want to make a fast exit out the back!
Eventually it’s 8pm, then 9pm, then 10pm.
At 10pm they get me to hop onto another bed. Taken to what looks like a deserted warehouse. This must be theatre. Told I was last for the day. Felt like I’m the last Holden on the assembly line on a Friday, when they were still making Holdens.
Finally the anaesthetist and surgeon arrive, about 10.30pm. Not sure if they were yawning away. Not game to look. A short conversation, then a breathing mask and needle. I’m soon out like a light.
I awake in a lot of pain. It’s nearly midnight. They soon control the pain. However, a very long night ensues.
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