Texting from the Death Bed

There I am, knickers torn apart*, lying on the table with a tall dark stranger pressing down hard on my groin. For 15 minutes. It hurts.

We discuss tea and the weather.

He offers to show me revealing pictures of my brain, but then the camera screen stops working. He starts looking at another screen, a computerised 3d image of a skull from various angels. Impressive.

“Is that me?” I ask

“No” he says, “that’s another patient”

And I feel jealous. How dare my surgeon be considering someone else whilst he’s still finishing my operation!

Now days you can use mobile phones in hospitals**. How odd this is. There I am forbidden from moving my body but I’m still able to answer my phone. I have a fancy phone now so I can also use email, Facebook, camera, as if nothing was wrong. Good in some ways as 5hours of being very awake and only able to move your arms is difficult. Bad because the temptation to  Facebook/Twitter/ text the world to death with a running commentary is overwhelming. Think I may facebook/skybe my next operation, sneek the phone into the operating room, even skype my own death!

In the shower this morning I looked down at my body and thought “wow, a tiny tube is put in an artery in my right leg and is fed through all the way up to my brain. That is amazing!” But this time it hurts more than last and I wonder how many more tubes my body can take.

After all I am basically fine.

*Luckily these are not my own knickers, they are one-use-only disposable knickers provided by the hospital. I don’t understand the purpose of them, they’re flimsy and see through.