I am fortunate that so far (touch wood!) I have not had many hospital stays in my life. I dimly recall a couple as a kid (something to do with my ears, something else to do with teeth), but the main occasion I remember came as a 20-something meerkat. I discovered a lump in my cheek, and after a time, it bothered me enough to go see a doctor. I say ‘bothered’, it wasn’t painful, it just emotionally troubled me. I didn’t know what it was, and I wanted it gone. Now, doctors won’t schedule surgery without justification, but in the end, I was sent in for an operation.

You wouldn’t know I’d been through surgery on this. The surgeon went in via the mouth, and removed the offending lump, leaving no visible scar. I had to spend the night in hospital, and I recall doing nothing but sleep quite thoroughly. The following morning, a trolley came round with the stellar breakfast choice of cold toast or cold, soggy wheat biscuits. I cannot recall what I chose. Afterwards, I remember watching the Attack of the Clones trailer (yes, we are going back that far), and I remember the nurse coming to pull the cannula from my hand. She advised me that I may not want to look, but I looked, and did not care, even as the small thread slipped out of my hand. A few hours later I was home, and a few days later back at work. Thus concluded my experience of an overnight hospital stay.

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