Hospital Spooks

When was the last time you were in hospital ?  When was the last time you spent 48 hours in bed alone in a strange place with little contact with the outside world apart from a tv with only crap tv channels. The only visits you get are those accompanied by a huge machine to check your blood pressure and temperature. Now I'm not complaining about lack of visitors, hospitals are weird places. They sap you. Becks came to visit after the procedure and it felt awkward - I felt awkward with the person I'm closest to on the planet. Michal came to pick me up on Friday and we had to hang about for a couple of hours for a doctor to see me before I was discharged. Mike and I have been meeting for a drink, sometimes more, sometimes less, but at least once a week  for over 25 years and have never run out of things to talk about and we seized up. "Fuck it Mike - read the paper, I won't be offended." Something about hospitals..

The afternoon I was admitted was the wettest and fiercest weather I've seen in years. None of it bode well. Straight out of Hammer horror. I checked in, had my valve implanted (they stick this two way valve in your lower arm in order to take blood out or put stuff in - saves your veins from mulitple injections - pretty clever, but fucking uncomfortable) then did a bunk. I wandered around Borough High Street in the pouring rain until  came across a bar I used to use years ago called the Ship.

Factor the morphine into this. Pissing rain, old haunt, weird valve sticking out of my wrist and only diehard drinkers due to the weather, and the knowledge or rather the fear of the lack of knowledge of what was to come. It was the loneliest night of my life. Knowing that I had to return to this frankly spooky ward and that that this was, or could be my last drink, my last night as fit and reasonably healthy man.

There was only one other bloke in the ward - and he, thankfully, was pretty keen on privacy and not in the mood to be pals, which suited me. The strangest thing about it all was the sense of isolation.You've got your phone, you've got your tv, (which only served to remind why I don't watch it at home) but essentially you are alone. Lots of time to reflect, lots of time to worry.

The actual procedure was the usual production line. Queue up, scan your stomach, queue up, sedated, wake up uncomfortable and woozy. The thing sticking out of my stomach is painful and I'm constantly aware of it. I went into the West End yesterday as a baptism of fire - figured if I could hack it up there everything else would be a breeze. Fear of bumps and knocks that it will somehow be disloged and I will be left with undigested chocolate and cider spewing all over me. Fear of the pain of it being accidentaly ripped from my navel. Discomfort, self consciousness and shame. This thing is horrible. Right now the whole thing has me thinking about necking the morphine in one shot and saying goodbye.

I won't, of course. I have to see what fresh horror this thing throws at me. At least I have some new colours to add to my spectrum of pain