Village Voice June/July 2014 | Page 22

Last week I went in to the Treatment Centre at the Royal Hampshire County Hospital to have some more of the painful lumps removed. My NHS letter informed me that I should report to the Treatment Centre Reception Desk at 7.30am, and to make sure that I had had nothing to eat or drink other than clear liquids during the previous 12 hours. I had only consumed about a litre of water since 6pm the previous evening, and was starting to miss my morning porridge by this time. However, I digress. No sooner had I been ushered into the waiting area, where three other people were already seated, than a nurse appeared in her fetching pink scrubs, to check us all off on her list, before escorting us through to the cubicles. My cubicle only contained a chair and bedtable, whereas all five other cubicles also contained a bed! No matter, I thought. Perhaps someone will bring a bed in shortly. In the meantime, another nurse appeared. She bore a thick folder of paperwork and informed me that she would be taking care of me during my stay. We went through a lengthy Q&A session together, so that she could complete all the necessary forms and checklists. The paperwork being all completed and heart-rate, blood pressure and temperature all recorded, Nurse then supplied me with one of the highly ‘fashionable’ gowns one is required to wear these days when undergoing surgery. Having donned said g