So, eventually about 6ish, they wheel me down. I'm terrified, spinal surgery is notoriously dangerous, but I'm surprisingly calm at this stage. Probably the hunger after hearing about that lovely lamb roast!
Into pre-op and all I can think to do is apologise for my hairy legs - clearly, I hadn't had time to prep. Funny the things that seem to matter when you're in a life risking situation. I mean would the big man upstairs (or the downstairs one indeed - I haven't led a totally exemplary life) really be offended with a few hairy leg, bikini, toe nasties?
Doubtful, but I certainly was.
Anyway, in with the injection - here goes everything. Literally, everything.
So, bonus. I wake up and they tell me it went "as well as they could possibly have expected". Now in cagey doc speak, and my drug induced state I take that to be a good thing and drift off to land of nod again. Feeling quite chilled really. Sometimes, drugs are good.
I then wake to find the lovely Mr. J beside me holding my hand and saying that everything will be ok. For some reason, this time my inclination is more to believe that he is superhuman, has become miraculously medically qualified overnight and knows that this is the correct answer.
Again, as I say, sometimes drugs are good.
I pass out, hope and pray.
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