April 1st...you've got to see the funny side

Now I know April the first is known for its practical jokes and frivolity, but not so  for me, as I went under the surgeons blade to have further tissue removed,so they can be sure they have removed all those squamous cells. but humour there was...

Day Ward, local anaesthetic & I watched as they worked so hard, nurses, doctor & all ;to organise, reassure and structure the day for us all. All those anxious waiting souls, so much nervous energy and so much humanity shown. I listened, you can't avoid it with nothing but a bright curtain between you, to all the explanations and reasonings. I talked with some of those fellow caged animals, nurses & patients alike, as the day wore on. One by one they left , some returning, others moved to different wards; I was to have a local anaesthetic so came last in the line. Eight hours of waiting & watching, all too aware that others were waiting for me; you have to be philosophical at these times.

The  plastic surgeon, talked with me & examined the new lump which has developed  (left groin, ) but decided to wait till ultra scans were done before also removing this. " I have a clean record 100%", he assured me, "better to check & its close to a blood vein". Not sure if his score was meant to impress or reassure, but it seemed important to him so I agreed. Tempted to ask if while he was in the area he could undertake a tummy tuck I decided some humour is best forgotten and settled for chatting with the nurses.

That's when I discovered the black humour of theatre staff. An essential ingredient in maintaining a sense of proportion when everything is dire, these folk are gems. My main new friend, who conducted 7 structured the whole theatre and its finely balance workings, told me that her role was affectionately know as a 'theatre scrubber'. She apologised for calling my intimate parts, 'my bits', admonished the surgeon for hiding some of the dressing pads and advised that I milked the operation recovery for all it was worth. By this she meant I was to make sure my  other half did  everything for at least two weeks; " keep your feet up, smile weakly and say nothing" she advised.

Strange how watching (and yes I chose to watch what I could) your flesh being cut, trimmed and stitched , whilst listening to the theatre banter was strangely soothing. Though knowing how my own flesh smells as its being burnt / lasred is not something ever wanted to know.
 
"Must be like hell", assured my theatre scrubber, "in fact, come to think of it I'll fit in well there", she said, "all those entrails & burning". You've got to laugh,...not too hard though watch those stitches!