I went along to the pre-assessment on the day ordained, and
was seen by a nurse.
“Right, first we need to take some swabs.” She produce an
enormous cottonwool bud and I tensed, ready to defend myself vigorously if the situation required it.
“Just run this around the inside of each nostril about three
times.” I breathed a sigh of relief and did so, handing it back to her.
With this completed, I was asked to lie down and pull up my
top. The nurse produced a large bundle of cables with plugs at the ends. I
wondered whether it would need some sort of adaptor, and where they were all
going to go, but she then got out various sticky pads and began applying these
to me. One per wrist and ankle, and several over my chest, in a pattern
apparently determined by where my ribs are. The cables then plugged into little
sockets on each of these.
I lay still for a little while, while she fiddled with a
machine. Eventually it started spooling out some sort of Richter scale log. She
then proceeded to unplug me, and pull off the pads. Most of these were ok; they
weren’t stuck very firmly. However, a couple on my chest decided to adhere to
my already sparse chest hair, and continued to adhere to it long after they’d
been removed, to my no small discomfort.
I was able to pull down my top, and was then weighed and
measured. This
done and the results noted, I was taken down the corridor to another nurse in
another room.
She proceeded to run through a long list of questions
regarding my health, past operations, job, family history, my whereabouts on
the evening of the 27th, and a five letter word with the clue ‘the
shape of stacks’, possibly starting with the letter ‘P’.
Having answered these, she looked at my seismology reading.
She frowned. “That’s odd.”
“Um, is it?”
“I mean, for someone of your age…”
“…what?”
“That’s absolutely stunning…”
“I can hear you, you know.”
“I’d like to send you back for another scan. There seems to
be an anomaly here.”
“Oh. Righto.”
Back I went with Nurse 2, who asked Nurse 1 to redo my
tectonics, pointing out the anomalous readings. “I thought it looked rather odd
as well,” Nurse 1 remarked.
“I can hear both of you. I’m standing right here!”
Back onto the bed I went, this time removing my top
completely to give better access to my continental plates. The sticky pads and
cables were reattached, and once again the machine spooled out its Richter scale.
Nurse 1 examined it. “No, it’s still the same.”
Top back on, and off back to Nurse 2. She too examined it.
“That’s very strange…”
“Is it?”
“Tell you what, go downstairs for your blood tests, and
maybe get yourself a coffee, then come back here in about an hour.
“Um, ok.”
Down I went. The blood testing occurs in a separate part of
the building, and rather than appointments, they have a ticket system. Take a
ticket and wait for your number to come up. Instant flashbacks to that scene
from the end of Beetlejuice. After perhaps ten thousand years, my number came
up. I went through, was stabbed in the arm, and my vital fluids drained by a
chap with an eastern European accent, who I am almost certain wasn’t a vampire.
I didn’t want a coffee, but I still had some time left, so I
ambled around the streets near the hospital, and found an undertaker’s shop
that seemed very keen on the funerals of Wellington and Nelson. Perhaps they
were involved somehow. They had a certified chunk of the HMS Victory displayed
in their window, which they seemed rather proud of.
The time was swinging round, so back to the hospital, back
up to the waiting room. I explained that I’d been asked to come back, and was
told to sit down. Eventually, a chap came and took me through to an office. He
explained that he was the anaesthetist, and had been asked to look at my
readings.
Apparently my tectonics were a little irregular. I had a
slight heart arrhythmia.
“But it’s nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing to
worry about.”
“Righto.”
“Just a little abnormal.”
“Oh?”
“Not abnormal! Just… uncommon.”
“Ah.”
This being said, he would send me for an echocardiogram, or
ECG, not to be confused with an ECG, which I’d already had two of, and is quite
different, and must definitely not be confused with an ecocardiogram, which is
the same but more environmentally friendly, or cardigan from your gran, which
is totally different again.
A few days later, I received a call from the hospital.
“Mr Jones?
“Yes?”
“We have a date for your surgery.”
“Ah, excellent.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Pardon?”
“Saturday.”
“This Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, right. Only I was supposed to be getting another
eco-cardigan thingy before then.”
“Oh, really? Well you’ll need to contact your doctor and tell
him.”
“Right. Can’t you do that? I mean, you work in the same
hospital.”
“No. The date’s booked. Bye.”
“Oh, but-“
*click*
“Oh.”
So I called the pre-assessment people, who were surprised
that my surgery was so soon. The anaesthetist wasn’t around, but they’d email
him to see if he could force me into an eco-cardigan before Saturday.
The next day, I received a call from the anaesthetist.
“I’ve shown your ECG to our cardiology department, and they
think it’s just natural variance, so you’re fine to proceed on Saturday.”
“Oh, right. Only the nurse seemed rather concerned that-“
“No, it’s fine. Bye.”
*click*
“Oh.”
So that’s it. It’s on for Saturday. I’ve never had an
operation before, and have never been under a general anaesthetic. I have so
many questions. What will happen? What will it feel like? How will I feel
afterwards? Is the person responsible for draining my cerebral fluid out through my spine prior to the
operation called a lumbar-jack? If the person in charge of putting me to sleep
is a godless, abstemious minimalist who does long-distance running in their
spare time, would that make them an atheist aesthete athlete anaesthetist?
I guess I’ll find out. See you on the other side.
To be continued (hopefully!)…
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