Procedures and Perceptions of Time.

Yesterday’s scary procedure passed off without serious incident. There was a fair amount of pain, but that’s relatively easy to deal with: lie still, ignore the doctor’s suggestion to let him know ‘if the pain becomes unbearable’, and be a big boy. Even little boys like me have sufficient pride to eschew any notion of calling out in pain when there are three attractive young nurses within earshot. (Whatever would they think?) And it never literally attained quite the level of the unbearable anyway, so my pride remained intact. There is, apparently, still an outside chance of serious (even life-threatening) consequences during the healing period, but then fate – which has been a little unkind to me in general recently – tends to treat me quite well in matters of serious consequence. So let that suffice for now. 

The day itself was an odd one. Late in the evening I found myself musing on the events of the day:

1. Being ready to leave the house at 6am having not gone to bed the night before

2. Dealing with the unfamiliar admission system caused by the wards having undergone extensive re-arrangement to accommodate Covid

3. Assessing the quality of my neighbours in the four-bed cubicle and devising ways to keep my distance from them

4. Waiting longer than expected to be put onto a drip which made me anxious as to whether the procedure might have to go over into a second day 

5. Making a valiant attempt to accept that hospital tea is somewhere remotely close to being acceptable

6. Being unable to leave the ward to enjoy a cigarette for which I felt desperate because of restrictions on movement, again due to Covid

7. Being frequently exposed to machines, cables and pointy things measuring blood pressure, blood oxygen, heart rate and body temperature (and watching my blood pressure gradually fall to a reasonable level as the day progressed and wondering why)

8. Trying to read a book without falling asleep because I only managed around 2½-3 hours in the armchair the night before

9. Working out how to relate to the various clinical personnel according to my assessment of their natures (they were actually all rather splendid)

10. Experiencing some fascination at twice being moved from one bed to another using a transfer board for the first – and hopefully only – time in my life

11. Suffering the ignominy of having to use a bottle hidden under the sheets while lying flat on my back because the procedure causes the desperate need to urinate frequently

12. But mostly feeling bored and mentally split between wanting them to get on with it on the one hand, and worrying about the risks on the other

But the most striking of all the day’s features was one which requires stating separately from a mere tedious list – puzzling over the odd and seemingly reciprocal connection which appeared to flourish with a young Filipina nurse, about which I will say nothing except that there appeared to be something inexplicably substantial and maybe even mystical about it. I have three theories.

The whole point of saying all this, however, is to relate that by late evening my mind was becoming a mess of images and recollections, at which point I was losing track of which ones happened today and which yesterday. And then I suddenly realised that none of them happened yesterday. They all happened today.

I found it verging on the unbelievable, and at that point I said to a nearby nurse: ‘Have you ever noticed that time seems to work differently in hospitals?’ Her response suggested that she hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.