That’s another little speed bump bumped on my hospitals journeys.

Today was the Pre-Op. This is where they want to have a good look at me before putting me under the knife.

The day started at six. Of course it did. Every fucking day starts at six and I still haven’t worked out why. So I got dressed in nice clean clothes and forsook my usual jeans for a pair of Chords. Herself insists on this as if there were some magical force at the entrance to the hospital that would automatically eject wearers of jeans. Now I know she’s not around [latest reports are now saying she’s in Loughlinstown Hospital again], but out of a dutiful sense of respect I dressed Posh for the day.

I left at half seven, giving myself lots of time to play with. I found a handy parking spot in the multi-story edifice of a filing cabinet for cars and started walking over to the hospital. Then I realised – I had forgotten to switch the contents over to my current pockets. I had no card to pay the car park. Fuck!

Naturally I was early for my appointment so I waited. And the pain started. Doctors use a 1 to 10 pain yoke as a guide and my one was definitely a ten. Fuck! I even went in search of a nurse who might be able to help a bit. They just looked blank. What did I think the place was? A hospital?

Eventually I was invited into a room that looked like a transfusion shop. People lying everywhere with needles and pipes stuck in their arms. I joined the mob and blood samples were taken. Back to the waiting area.

Next I was brought for a sort of interview. This was where they wanted to know absolutely every minute detail about my medical history. They even wanted details about when I had my tonsils out which was around seventy years ago. Sheet upon sheet of forms were filled in She was a lovely woman but Jayzus she was a divil for the details. Back to the waiting area.

I was then hauled off by an Oriental chap to another room. He was very bright and breezy and he proudly announced that he was to be my anesthetist. Once more I had to go through every hospital visit I had ever had. We were interrupted at one stage by the Lovely Woman who had forgotten to measure my weight. He was a lot more forthcoming about my imminent future. I was more worried about how I was going to pay to get the car out of the car park.

Finally I was told I could go home, but not before Lovely Woman remembered she hadn’t measured my height.

At this stage I was utterly fucked with my head in a spin and pain everywhere. I made my way to the car park office and blurted out my obviously very common excuse. The lass there didn’t bat an eyelid. She gave me a ticket. “That’ll get you out” says she. A nice lass.

I somehow drove home, after nearly five hours of mental and physical torture.

And fell fast asleep in my armchair.

Bliss.