The Wimp Imagination.

I’ve mentioned on this blog a few times recently that for the first time in my life I felt the need of a hand to hold. Three months of tests, procedures, false dawns, bad news, some not inconsiderable pain, and a serious operation have been a bit of a trial. There never was a hand to hold and so I just got on with it.

But on the first night following my operation I was being woken frequently by a nurse come to do the ‘obs’ (the taking of blood pressure, blood oxygen level, temperature, and a sample of blood for testing.) She was very big, very black, softly spoken and pleasant of demeanour. At one point she must have deduced that I was a little uncomfortable and she reached down and squeezed my hand. Imagine that. I was seriously tempted to wonder just who she was in that moment, and I think I might be allowed my suspicions however fanciful they might appear to the rationalist.