3rd February, St Anthony’s Hospital, Surrey, England
It could always be worse.
I’m still alive, so that’s a relief. I’m getting quite good at all this major surgery stuff though! I had another three hours under the knife last night, and I feel pretty good considering.
OK, I feel like I’ve gone out, mixed my drinks and then got in a fight. So I’m going to do what I normally do in those circumstances. I’m going to sleep and I’m going to try not to wet the bed.
The professor was busy on the left side of my groin today. Three hours spent truffling in the fun zone. (try humming that to highway to the danger zone)
I’m told it all went marvellously well anyway.
The professor is a man that clearly loves his work, it’s a mission for him. He’s so passionate, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with such a genuine passion for penises.
(Ok, that’s probably not strictly true, but it’s unrelated to this story.)
I met another professor today, as the prof brought his top girl anaesthetist with him from St George’s.
The KO number plate on her little Porsche in the car park was a dead giveaway…
Am I going to have to take this show on the road?
More and more of you are saying I should take my experiences to a wider audience. Maybe, to go on the road and do a bit of public speaking, even just to make my posts public! Apparently I’m very engaging and refreshing? I’ll be honest, I couldn’t bring my self to type some of the other gushing crap.
I’m thinking about it, honestly. I know how important it is to raise a bit of awareness on this subject, and I will! But I need to get these ops and treatment out of the way and then I’ll go and be a massive nuisance on the telly.
Before you know it, I’ll be reviewing the papers on sky. That angry Owen Jones lady will love discussing current affairs with me. I might start with a couple of gigs in the hospice though, just to play it safe.
Home time
I’ve got another drain bottle for a month which Sam will absolutely love, although for me it’s the worst part of the treatment – dragging around a half pint of your own juices like it’s a pet is an experience best avoided.
