Sabbatical
Upon my joyful return, I discover that I have been cruelly deprived of the joy of regaling you all with horror stories from the festering pustule of service that is the NHS, by the monster post that preceded this one. Tom has quite a capacious memory.
Nonetheless. Spending five days in the company of a ward full of - and there is no other word, I've exhausted my inner thesaurus - biddies...
Ex-WW2-feminists, no less...
I would not be so self-pitying as to call the past week an "ordeal", but it involved copious amounts of pain, which I believe deserves at least a smattering of "you poor thing". It has involved, too, vast amounts of Time, stretched before me like a cavernous plain, upon which blips of vague daily interest manifest in the forms of mealtimes and moments of geriatric flatulence. I conquered vast, unexplored terrains of raw, unchartered boredom, all from my dingy little hospital bed.
At any rate, I return. On my new G4 powerbook. With a brand new 2.5 inch scar on my abdomen. On a high-fluid (and NO ALCOHOL!!!!) diet for the next fortnight.
What do they say about new chapters of life, again?