Coronacation is rubbish.

24th March 2020, Phonecall

St George’s 2, attack of the cottage pie​

It turns out that yesterday’s call was a false alarm. It’s day two of Coronacation, and everything has changed in 24 hours!  Prof called me back, says he’s got the band back together and I’m going back to St George’s tomorrow.

I’m sure he didn’t just recruit a couple of porters to assist and someone that’s good with ‘them com-pooters’ to work the robot?

I’m staying the night again, so no doubt there will be the opportunity for some sparkling social commentary. Especially, if someone else pebble dashes my cubicle with Aldi’s finest cottage pie again.

The professor is a big fan of plan A.  He likes what he knows and he knows what he likes.  Based on cold, hard data and clinical experience.

The surgery will tell us for sure what the end game for treatment should be and the extent of it. Otherwise, we’re just taking a wild punt and spaffing radiation all over the place.

I was very tempted to cancel everything, cuddle all the toilet rolls and hand sanitiser filling the spare bedrooms, but no – I’m trusting the experts.  Without question, interruption or dissent.  I’m going to be a big brave boy.

Not sure quite what’s happened to me on the dissent score, but here we are.

By the time I’ve seen a load of people in the surgical admissions lab, porters, anaesthetists, a surgical team, the recovery ward and all the people on my ward, I should have a healthy dose of the Chinese virus, and I was just going to get the tube in for a laugh but I’ve decided I’ll just lick the door handles of the Sainsbury’s in Tooting Broadway to make sure.