On Being Confused and Cool.

There has been a sense of disquiet about the progress of today. Nearly everything I did was lightly touched by a hint of vagueness and confusion. I had to be particularly careful when I was driving to and from the hospital because I kept noticing that the car was rather closer to the kerb or the centre line than it should have been. I half expected to be stopped and asked to prove that I hadn’t imbibed something generally frowned upon in conservative society. And the rest of the day proceeded in similar vein. 

Today was the day for the pre-op examination preparatory to next week’s scary procedure. Being a little nervous, I did what I always do to buoy myself up in circumstances conducive to mild alarm. I took refuge in the inane.

‘Would you take your upper garments off, please, so I can do an ECG,’ said the nurse.

‘Even my T shirt?’

‘Yes, please.’ 

‘What, after all these months? It might hurt.’

She did what you would expect any consummate professional to do when faced with a patient who is not only crass, but male to boot. She ignored me. I imagine she was thinking ‘there always has to be one, doesn’t there,’ but she said nothing. 

Today did, however, present one little spark of light amid the general tenor of gloom and disorientation.

The hospital currently follows the practice of taking everybody’s temperature before they’re allowed access to the inner sanctums of the institution, and so I stood at the door and had a pointed instrument inserted into my ear (having first enquired whether said instrument had ever been inserted into anybody else’s ear, and having been assured that the pointy bit was indeed virgin and intimately acquainted with no other ear than mine.) The deed having been done, I naturally asked whether I was cool.

‘You’re cool,’ said a different nurse.

And do you know, I do believe it’s the first time any woman has ever said that to me in my entire life.