Hospital

Today is the day. Hospital, sweetie.

8.33am. I leave home for my 9.10am appointment. I walk down my street to Victoria Parade. A woman walks up the street towards me clutching what looks like a big box in her hands held out in front of her covered in geometrical print material, as if the contents were precious. Of course, I imagine cream cakes, or French pastries.

Actually, the best pastries I ever had were in Belgium, when we were crossing the border to catch a ferry back to England, and we spent all the change we had, to get rid of the currency, and it turned out we had more money than we thought, and they gave us an enormous box of pastries, and we sat them on the bonnet of my Citroen and gorged on them.

I cross Albert Street.

I’m listening to The Rolling Stones Loving Cup.

Should I wear my Hoody or not, was the question before I left? It could’ve gone either way. It’s nice and sunny and warm in the sunshine, but kind of cold in the shadows. I would’ve been good either way. I’ve been wearing shorts for such a long time recently, it is difficult to get used to jeans again. Shorts are addictive with their superior air circulation, I guess that’s it? They feel better once you’ve been wearing for a time. Free and easy. Jeans feel restrictive.

I walk through the Fitzroy Gardens.

What do these sudden health issues mean? I don’t know? Getting old, I guess. I don’t feel it, not for a minute, I don’t feel any different to how I have always felt. 

An old woman with tanned leather skin, in active wear leggings and a white top, jogs towards me, as I get to Powlett Street. She’s attempting to fight inevitability, I think. 25 years and I’ll be with her.

8.46am. I arrive for my 9.10am admission time.

The receptionist doesn’t want to take my medical referral. She points to some place off in the distance and says, “The referral is for the doctor.”

I take a seat and wait.

'Today' is on the large flat screen. A Pizza Hut is having throw back 25 year lunch deals $4.95 pizzas, which apparently have gone viral. Those in the studio have a selection of pizzas to eat, of course. I tune out to it.

8.50am. I listen to Black & Blue next, well, I have listened to Goat’s Head Soup and It’s Only Rock and Roll recently, and I’m choosing Black and Blue in anticipation of its Deluxe release, apparently in the new year. 

A woman with post-middle-aged-woman-henna-red hair arrives. She’d be 70, I'd guess.

Not long after, a 60ish year old man arrives in triple white striped black track pants.

They are both over weight.

She pulls out a novel as fat as she is.

He stares down at his phone.

She has bags she rifles through. I see she has enormous breasts that she looks like she has trouble seeing over. Imagine lugging those things around?

His is a study in stillness.

9.15am. My 9.10am admission time comes and goes.

9.27am. The nurse calls me, but I have music in my headphones. My two waiting room companions make it obvious to me I am being called. I’m ushered in behind the door.

9.46am. I’m processed by the nurse who collects me. She asks me many questions and fills out many forms in a folder. At the end of which she says, “Get changed into your hospital clothes. I’ll close the door, when you are changed, open the door again.”

9.55am. I’m in hospital clothes. Strange see-through knickers that would be more at home in a Chubby Chasers Delight video. Blue shoes and a blue hat. An open at the back gown and a towelling robe. I wonder how many people have a fetish about this getup?

10.05am. More questions from a nurse, confirming all the previous questions. Back over the information. There is one person in front of me.

The anaesthetist comes into the room. She is like a ray of sunshine, really lovely. She reminds me of Jessica Chastain. Kind of. What a wonderful bed side manner. You can’t help but instantly like her.

I’m really hungry. I can’t wait to wake up in recovery and eat the sandwiches.🥪 

I sit quietly.

I remember when the backs of my hands were unblemished.

I get out my headphones again and switch The Rolling Stones back on.

10.24am. I see my doctor. He is very charming, with cold hands. He explains the procedure to me. He’s going to go into my bowel and have a look around. 

“Any questions?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “I think I get it pretty much.”

“20 minutes now,” he says. He gets up and leaves the room.

Music back on.

10.45am. A nurse arrives. “Follow me.” We head out of the room. It seems like we pass through 3 doors and we are in the theatre.

“Hop up on the bed,” she says.

The nurse puts a tube in my nose. “This is just oxygen,” she says.

Joan Armatrading is playing in the theatre as I am prepared. I think it was Someone Who Loves You. I make a comment. One of the nurses says, “Yes, it’s my favourite.”

The anaesthetist is then next to me. She is still a ray of sunshine, you feel better to have her around. “I’m going to make you comfortable now.” She puts a canula in my arm. “Roll over onto your side.” So, I do. “It won’t be very long now…”

11.45am. I’m in recovery, feeling fine. I think I am observed for a short time. After which, the nurse observing me says I am ready, I assume to nurses off in the distance chatting to each other.

They don't move immediately.

Come on people, I think, I have food to eat.

They are in no hurry to come and get me.

Ah, come on, I think. A guy could die of starvation over here. I haven't eaten for 36 hours.

I will them over, as I watch them talk about what they are going to do on the weekend, or that hot new doctor who just started recently.

Eventually, one of them saunters over. And I’m wheeled into the next room. I get food. Sandwiches. Cheese and biscuits. Apple juice. Coffee.

Sandwiches and coffee, never tasted so good. I don’t care about anything else right at this moment. I go into a carbo bliss out.

Sam has been called, I’m ready to go in half an hour.

The doctor comes in. Everything is fine. He thinks I am suffering from constipation, from the Ozempic, rather than diarrhoea. The constipation eventually leads to diarrhoea, but it is the constipation that needs to be treated. You know, that makes sense as there were days before the diarrhoea where there was just nothing back there.

Midday. I ask for more sandwiches. Oh fuck it, I have no shame. I kind of like the sandwiches

Nurses come. And nurses go.

I’ve still got a Canula in my arm.

12.04pm. The 70 year old woman from the beginning of the day is wheeled in. She seems nice, as she jokes with the nurses.

12.10pm. Sam says he is on his way.

Strangely, I fancy minced pies. You know, the bakery will still be open when we get back.

There is a 30-something Asian chick opposite me, who was in recovery before me, who is now dressed and waiting to leave. She has put on brown socks and sandals. You might want to rethink that, I think.

She has a barcode sticker affixed to her glasses, which I find annoying. Take it off your glasses, luv. Come on.

12.25pm. My doctor comes in and talks to the 70 year old, everything is fine, she had some bowel polyps which he has removed, but everything else is fine, about which she seems to have great relief. “Happy Xmas, here I come,” she says. “Excellent, thank you.”

12.30pm. Come on people, I’m ready to go now.

I find my headphones and switch on Black and Blue, Slave, thinking as soon as I do that, they’ll come and say get dressed. Which of course they do.

The nurse comes to talk to 70 year old, who I think is Denise. She may experience bleeding due to the polyps being removed. I try not to think about that.

12.36pm. I’m getting dressed.

12.40pm. Sam is getting impatient in the waiting room.

I have to go to the toilet before I leave, I assume, it’s a criteria of leaving, I guess it has something to do with the anaesthetic, getting things working. I see they say it to all the people who are leaving.

A nurse walks me out to the waiting room.

There’s my lovely Sam. Truthfully, it is probably my grumpy Sam by now, but I don’t care.

I head down in the lift with him, telling him all about what has just happened.

12:45pm. I’m out and on my way home. The sun is shining outside, it is a warm day.  Sam wants lunch before we go home. I’m feeling fine.

I had a very nice hospital experience thank you very much. I don't know what the news is on about our failing health system. I have private health insurance, does that make a difference? I guess it does make a difference?

1pm. We’re eating Japanese in Smith Street, Papirica. We have Okonomiyaki Japanese pancake and Giang Tran, eggs with mushrooms. 

1.23pm. We’re still waiting for food. Grrrrr. There is a big group in, to be fair.

Still, it is a gorgeous day, I’ve got the all clear, we don’t have much to complain about. Sam and I have nothing in life to complain about. Everything is great. Life is good.

The Japanese food was very nice, though, I'd recommend it.

1.38pm. We’re walking home in the sunshine.

We get gorgeous mince pies on the way home from Fatto A Mano, our local bakery.

1.43pm. We’re home. Otto goes nuts. “Ah, you have claws in your paws, my little cherub. Ah! Ah! Ah! But, you are such a lovely boy." I look over at Bruno, "It wouldn’t hurt you to get up.” He is lying in the sun coming in through the lounge room window and he doesn’t move a paw. “Look at the difference between the greetings of these two, will you?” I say to Sam.

I make two coffees.