I have showered with chlorhexidine antiseptic wash. Ruth, my nurse, has dressed me in my hospital gown. She has put on my funky leg stockings and red surgical hat. She got me emla patches to desensitise my elbow crease and hand. I cry like a baby from fear of needles. I am labelled all over. I checked, right name, right doctor.
There is a cockpit, as they call it, on a large mechanical arm over my bed. Internet, telephone, games, television, the works. Touch screen and keyboard.
I have read some of your emails and comments this morning. I have played sudoku. I have watched some bad television. I called Dad to try out the phone (and say hi, of course).
I am nervous. Scared perhaps. Yes, scared. It seems a much bigger deal this time. This hospital is modern, imposing, serious.
Darren has gone home. Alannah has a last-minute doctor’s appointment and a party today. The combined first birthday party of our mothers group boys and girls. No one is actually one yet, not until 29 June, but they will all come in a rush soon. I am happy that Alannah isn’t missing out. It will all be over by the time I wake up. I wonder how much I will miss out on as this runs its course.
Sometimes I can distract myself. More often than not. Other times it feels like time stands still. I was in the bath for half an hour on Thursday night. Lying still and staring at my orange toe nails. Seeing them and not seeing them.
I am feeling calmer now. It comes in waves.
Three hours of waiting will do that.
Ruth knows I am waiting and nervous. Bless her cottons socks. She just called to say they are caught up in surgery and she will be in soon. I shall seek out some more distraction until then.