Be still, my Tooting heart.

28th February 2020, St George’s, University of London, Tooting, England.

That’s another thing ticked off the bucket list

I woke up at 4:48 this morning…  and that time will always stay with me as something quite remarkable happened.  A seismic, even life changing event you might say.

Stefan, my new geriatric neighbour arrived during the night and shouted HELLO?  WHERE AM I? and I’d shout back HELLO! AT THE ZOO!

A nurse eventually took the executive decision to sedate him, and I got a telling off. Totally worth it.

All was quiet, until Stefan became the morning call for the ward.  But, this was no regular alarm clock…

In a perfect fusion of care home food, and a weak constitution, Stefan greeted the world by shitting himself.  The blitzkrieg on bays 13 and 15 happened with such force, that it pebble dashed my curtain. It’s been taken away for a little wipe down, just like Stefan.

I’m really not sure I will ever recover from that.  Not in a traumatic sense, I just can’t stop laughing.

I certainly wont be able to eat shepherds pie for a while. Or lasagne, and I’m going to struggle with sticky toffee pudding too.

I actually really like St George’s

St George’s has a M&S food. So what? Well, it means I don’t need to eat the prison food they dish up for the other inmates.  Costa coffee, bacon sandwich from the M&S cafe, it’s almost civilised.

I know you’re all aching to hear about the guy with the jaw…  Well, here’s the gossip.  His mum and sister came round, and they stayed till gone midnight to help him do his exercises every 15 minutes or so. It was clearly very painful and traumatic.

Well, it seems the two hours they spent reciting something, and blessing his tent didn’t sum up the divine intervention required, because his mouth is absolutely glued shut. Like a villain getting his last rites in a Moore era bond film.

He was carted off before 6 this morning. I’m presuming, to have the kind of surgery that requires a very large bowl of crisps to enjoy in front of the telly.

We would see the results and say… “well, at least he’s alive”, “oh it doesn’t look THAT bad” or “amazing what these surgeons can do nowadays isn’t it?”.

But, without the inside track you wouldn’t have been able to say “bet he wishes he’d done his exercises now, and not had those two cunts dancing around in his tent”.

Not another night?

The Professor is working at one of his other hospitals this morning, and one of his registrars checked in on me.  You’d may have heard about her from previous stories? She’s clearly a woman with a bright future, and one of the professors trusted lieutenants.

A rising star surgeon in her own right, and I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before a move to the provinces to head her own urology department. Then perhaps heading home, to maintain the gold plated phalluses of Eire in private practice.

But today, the doctor is doing admin.  “Making good progress, doing much better, I’ll keep you posted on the ultrasounds”.

Oh and while you’re here?…

“My rash is clearing up really well, I’m pretty happy actually.  But, I have this new swelling I need to show you…”(draws curtain) “Oh!  Well it’s all peripheral to your previous surgery, it will subside over time”

“I’ve been having these really strong erections too, I had one for a couple of hours earlier. Interestingly, it seems to be helping with the swelling”

“that’s impressive!” “err, considering what you’ve been through”

“I’m not showing off, but that’s nowhere near a personal best”

“Oh you are funny Mr little”

Didn’t laugh though did she?  Professional, ice cold, I like that.

Home time

My last four sets of observations have been normal, so I’m done here and I’ll be shipped over to the private hospital in Surrey for a couple of days watching telly.

Oh hello Stefan!  He’s looking a bit sheepish though…  yeah, we all know what you did.  I still don’t have a new curtain either, so I’ll be keeping my eye on you.