The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Having already had the weirdest of dreams relating to the expected operation on my face, akin to an episode of ‘Hannibal’, I’d made the journey from Bromborough to Broadgreen hospital with more than a degree of trepidation.







As it was, I liked the fellow who came in to check me over pre-op once I was in my gown and lying down: Jonas the anaesthetist, a smiling slim fellow from Jamaica, I think. And the surgeon, Mr Webb was patient with me, an impatient patient, with guts in spasm. In the surgery, prior to the operation

Jonas had laughed that in the few minutes he’d seen me and recalled my name and one of my stories, I’d forgotten his. A needle went in. Then,

I was out.







When I came round, Mr Webb had done as intended; he had drained the sinus on the left of my face; realigned my nasal passages and

straightened the cartilage on my nose.







Later, as I struggled for some sort of recognizable consciousness I was told that I’d been aggressive, to a nurse. I’d said to the sister that if I had been aggressive I didn’t know when. Even the surgeon had said, that's like pots and kettles' and, she was not polite to those who eventually picked me up, after calling there a first time, while I’d still been out, after a drug that was given to relax me worked too well.







In the end, I told I told the sister "Well, if I'm not wanted, I'm going..." and, did everything bar rip the needle and drip from out of the back of my hand: and I’d even reminded the sister she couldn't

stop me going, or then I should sat, she had reminded herself that to try would have been assault. So I got gone, hurriedly, having to be

reminded to press the green button on the wall to open the ward doors, I was that anxious to get out.







I'd then waited quite awhile for Sue and Mike and, his new girlfriend Lauren, as there'd been a spill on a motorway they'd used earlier in the day to

get to me...





I got home to find a letter from the dole telling me of my next medical, regarding the divertiulosis: 10:15 on the tenth November, my birthday.



And, I know I was done as a day case: from my lassitude and bleeding and discharge and bruising. I do think I might have stayed in hospital

longer in the past. But, this is now and one is definitely safer at home recovering than doing so in hospital: after all the chance of getting mrsa is negligible. One can’t say the same at hospital.

Toward the end of September there’s been a fill lunar eclipse, with a red Moon following. I’d still been up and writing, when I had recalled it was due. So at round about two in the morning, I went out into the back garden, to look up and wonder.



Unfortunately each phase took quite awhile to happen and, I’d heard later that totality had not happened till almost five in the morning. I’d stayed up watching, long enough to watch just a damn big portion, out of the Big Full Moon. Yet, even that had been impressive, as it had looked so near…



Still waiting for news of the promised consultation regarding my Diverticulosis, I’d been chuffed to receive a letter from the hospital, only to be dismayed to find it was for an ultrasound, at Arrowe Park, at 8:30 in the morning.



I’d immediately phoned the phone-number on the letter and, explained that I couldn’t make that time, or that hospital, as that’s where my Mother died.



The young woman I’d spoken to had seemed somewhat of a kid and had spoken to me as such and, when she’d got frustrated had insisted, “You’re being rude.”



She had said it twice, at which point I had realised that I wasn’t getting anywhere, so I’d put the phone down and phoned my own doctor’s.



Having explained my situation the office manager explained she would ask my doctor why I was being sent for the ultra-sound, asking if I was still interested in it.



“If she says I need it, of course…” I’d replied.



The very next day I’d got another letter with an NHS stamp on the front, which I’d eyed with trepidation, prior to getting my gigs.



Well, even with my glasses on, I found it difficult to believe what I’d read: I had been allotted the time and hospital I wanted and, the letter had only taken a day to arrive.



Then shortly after I’d been gardening the phone had rung. It had been the surgery and, we’d talked of what had transpired. It was at that moment I found a degree of clarity.



It turned out I had agreed to the suggestion of a scan shortly after Barry died and, my guts had been going goodstyle.



Barry had been my age when he died of pancreatic and, as it took four months… and, I’d been undergoing similar symptoms to those he had… hence the paranoia.



“So do you still want the test?” The office-manager had asked.



“If she says I need it, of course…” I’d replied, again.