In the morning the hospital routine started around my bed and with them came another bout of pain. The routine involves getting blood tests, cleaning the room , cleaning the patient, giving medication, delivering breakfast, offering tea, morning papers, the noise of people waking, new people arriving, cleaners orderlies and with the stress came the pain. Every movement created a pump action throb that yelled. I entreated myself to find a new attitude, one where panic would not roost. With that entreaty came a long flash in my peripheral vision, sharp and welcome for I knew it was relief. Another 10 mills of analgesic. Analgesic from the Greek; an ('without') and algos ('pain').
The surgeon turned up with his son in his Saturday best and explained the wound was bleeding on the inside. A bleeder; he would be back later that day to go in again, undo his dressing, snip away the stitches and find the place of the bleed and the source of my pain.
Jo, my partner stayed with me all day and into the night. We watched Geelong beat Collingwood, a fair win and an honorable loss. I nodded my way through the four quarters pressing the green button whenever it would let me. We tried to read to each other, we hung out, she stayed with me as my attention span reduced to seconds and when it was time to be wheeled up to the operating theatre, not so gay this time, she stood vigil in room 216 until my return.
The morphine makes you dry but you can't drink or eat because the risk of food returning to the bronchial tube during surgery is life threatening. Moments before being taken up that now sombre rd she kissed me on my parched lips with life giving passion. In my darkest hour she moistened my spirit with a life giving nectar and I went in thinking "it's good to be alive".
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