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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Mum's operation went very well, very much according to plan, and she was out of recovery and back in her room by 4.30pm. She had funny blood pressure, which kept dropping, which meant that on Thursday night when me and my sisters were sitting around her bed and watching her in her morphine-induced sleep, four nurses suddenly burst in to the room and tipped the bed down until she was virtually standing on her head, shouting "How are you feeling Mrs. Xxxxx?" loudly in to her face and taking her pulse. Which obviously terrified the living life out of us, although we all turned to each other and put on brave faces, as if this kind of thing happens all the time. Yes, yes it does. On Casualty. Right before the nice lady dies.

Obviously, she didn't die. And one of the little nurses (every last nurse there is younger than me. It's frightening seeing people younger than you being clever and efficient in their jobs. Makes me feel like I may well be wasting my life) turned around and eventually explained to us what they were doing, why they were doing it, and the fact that everything would be fine. Which it was. So she wasn't lying.


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