9th January 2020, St Georges, University of London, Tooting, England.
It’s just like 24 hours in A&E around round here…
This place is incredible, I really enjoy walking around the hospital. I have had 6 different women touch my cock today, and I haven’t had to buy a single glass of prosecco. I should say that didn’t happen when I was just walking around, I had to go to actual appointments.
The last couple of days have been quite an experience for me. I’m still being looked after by the professor, but I’m now under the care of his team at St George’s.
Clearly I knew the professor was at the very pinnacle of his craft, but he’s got a huge team here! Nestled in Tooting, in the heart of suburban South West London, St George’s is the largest hospital in the UK. It’s a major university hospital, and a world renowned research facility. It’s also a key centre for the treatment of urological cancers.
Amongst the great and good of St Georges, are Edward Jenner, he of the cure for smallpox. There’s Geoffrey Davies, he invented the pacemaker just in case you didn’t know. I can’t not mention George Pollock, the man that invented the skin graft, and of course, we can’t forget Harry Hill from you’ve been framed.
Anyway, I know you’re only here for my cock, so let’s get on with the show.
Nuclear medicine
I went in on Tuesday for some nuclear medicine. A nice young man wrapped my cock with gauze, and soaked it in anaesthetic for an hour. Then, he told me I wouldn’t feel a thing.
“I’ve done about 700 of these on the private for prof, he sends everyone here, we’re the top centre in Europe”
I had 7 injections, all filled with some kind of radioactive substance. Won’t feel a thing you say? They lied. I might have called a young lady a cunt. Twice.
“Oh the frenulum is a bit more sensitive”
“Oh is it? Thanks, This is my first day with a penis”
She’s probably heard it before though, she was from Croydon, and that’s foreplay round there.
Anyway, then some scanning on a big machine where I could watch where all the lymphatic fluid drains to, and where it doesn’t because I’ve already had all the nodes out that side.
More preparation
I went and had a nice ultrasound session, with an impressionable young registrar who was a little nervous about my jokes. She reassured me that my penis was certainly above average, and anatomically very nice.
She decided that one of my nodes was abnormal (even though it wasn’t) and that she’d have to take a sample. So she did that, forgot the local anaesthetic, and I enriched her vocabulary.
I had a word with the consultant about the merits of sampling something that was coming out the next day and what else this test might teach them. He said “nothing, that’s just what we do”.
A nurse caught me doing willycopters, she squealed. Tuesday ended a solid 7/10
I walked through the car park to the old nurses accommodation, which has been converted into a hotel. It’s a bargain at £29 a night, but judging by the noise it’s also rented out by the hour! I didn’t get much sleep.
This is the big time
Wednesday morning, I’m first on the bench – into the surgical admissions lounge at 7:30 am. St George’s is a NHS hospital so there’s no frills here.
I change for surgery with two other men in a cupboard, we all have our anaesthesia discussion together. Then, the cupboard transforms into a waiting room.
Personal effects in plastic bags, everything needs locking away, it’s a bit dodgy south of the river. Prepped for surgery I then walk out of my cupboard, through a packed lounge, show everyone my bare arse (willycopters didn’t seem appropriate) and have a quick consultation with the prof and 7 other people in another cupboard.
I get the call. I have to walk to theatre, but it’s only a mile and I can follow the signs.
Now this is where the world changes. I am pushed through the doors to the theatres, and I can immediately see where all the money gets spent. Everything feels brand new, the kit is sparkling, the people are energetic and positive and loving their work.
I arrive in a dedicated anaesthetic room, where at least 6 people are waiting for me. As they all take up their roles to ensure I’m ready for surgery, I’m watching my surgery team being briefed and walking through the plan. It’s super professional, efficient and fast, everything feels great.
This is amazing.
I’m in recovery 40 minutes later, and I’m going home after lunch. There’s 1:1 care, and everything is brand new.
I have a big allergic reaction to something, and come out in hives all over my left side. “That’ll be the dye” says the anaesthetist showing a bit of a initiative. I’m given a quick jab of something, and ten minutes later the hives are gone.
I’m out of there two hours later, and back in the cupboard. I have a quick dark green piss and I’m off home. I will get the next set of staging results a week on Monday, and I’m crossing my fingers that they’re all negative. The prof is probably skiing or something.
Our NHS has made me proud this week, mostly.
