It was the urgency of the whole situation that was scaring me. I'd come into hospital knowing I had broken ribs, and all of a sudden I was going in for a biopsy on my knee to see if it was cancerous or not. I couldn't understand why it had to be done there and then.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not a complete idiot. I know that the sooner they can diagnose things like cancer the more chance there is of treatment being a success. What I couldn't get my head around was the fact they couldn't even wait a couple of hours, let me make a few calls, arrange some clothes and so on. After all, if it was going to be as bad as they were making it out to be, probability was I'd be here for a while. Clean clothes and stuff could definately come in handy.
All my anxieties faded though as the anaesthetist put a mask over my face and asked me to count slowly to ten. I never made it past six. Not because I'm a thick git of course, which I actually never saw the point of denying, but because it's hard to count when you're unconcious.
Anyway, as is the custom in these situations, the operation was over in what seemed like a few seconds. One moment I was trying to remember what came between six and seven, and the next there was a nurse saying my name softly as she shook me awake.
I have to confess, I've always had this thing about waking up next to a pretty young nurse. Probably something to do with the uniform. And you know what? I still have the same ambition. Because this nurse was many things but young and pretty weren't either of them. And he had a beard. Just my luck.
So, on with the story. It took me about half an hour to come around completely from the knock out drops they'd given me. At which point I was marched into the office of one of the doctors. The facts that a, he had an office, and b, he wanted us to talk in there and not out somewhere else where people could see and hear us, indicated to me that all was not well in the world of my left knee.
It can be damned annoying always being right you know.
Turned out that because of the size of the growth they'd seen in the x-ray, they'd rushed through the biopsy in record time. What they had found was not good. It was almost certainly cancer, although they were still not conclusively sure due to the rush job with the results. Sure enough to tell me what they were thinking though.
Not only was it apparently cancer, currently running at around ninety seven percent certainty and rising, but it was in an extremely advanced stage. They could only see one viable option in my future if I wanted to live. Amputation. From above the knee. As the rest of my leg was seemingly nothing more than a cancerous lump by now.
I asked them what my chances of survival were if the cut my leg off. Extremely high, came back the reply. I asked them when they wanted to do the operation. The sooner the better, was the obvious and clear answer. Then I hit them with a curve ball.
"Can it wait another eight days or so?"
"Because if I'm going to lose my leg, I want to have a party while I'm still capable of standing on my own two feet."
They looked a little puzzled at my logic, possibly perplexed even, but in the end they had no option other than to agree to give me time to have one last big bender. After all, better all round to have a patient who is happy. Or as happy as you can be when you're about to have a leg chopped off.
So I left the hospital, and went home and started to arrange the biggest party town was ever going to see... - -
And there you have it. Chapter two up and ready to go. And now, in what I hope will become a regular feature, time for some review replies in the hope I can clear up any misunderstandings.
elvenstorm: Glad you liked the first chapter. And I hope the second part is enough to keep your attention a little longer.
Diana Shore: The NHS is a wonderful example of what's great about Great Britain. It was formed in 1948, on the basis that everyone in the country, regardless of race, stature, money, status, or anything else, should be entitled to free health care whenever they need it.
Unfortunately, a succession of under funding and mis-management means that people now have to wait quite a while before being treated. I've been in casualty, which is the equivalent to the american ER, on saturday nights with friends who are quite badly hurt who've had to wait several hours to be seen.
And this concludes the party political broadcast on behalf of the Spawny party!
bluest-hue: I'm glad you like it so far. But seriously, if you think this is funny, you should try reading my poetry. Or Malice and Vomit...
Seras Nova: I know I haven't been reviewing as much as I used to lately, for which I apologise. I will get round to catching up with your work as soon as possible. Anyway, the ribs are almost better at least. Now all I have to do is work on the mental problems...
aqua-angel: First off, I'm pleased to announce that in actual fact I do not now, and to the best of my knowledge, have never in the past, suffer/ed from any form of cancer. Except maybe cancer of the brain. But if I ever had that it wouldn't have lasted very long, not with the size of my brain.
Anyway, when you get time, you might want to try again with this and actually read it properly. It could keep you away from that unnatuaral fish fixation you seem to be developing suddenly. And if I ever get the time or the inclination I promise I'll start to write properly too!
Riv: Thanks for taking the time to review. And with luck the rest of this will continue in a similar vein. Sort of finish up with an extremely funny tragedy. At least, thats the plan anyway!
schizophrenic-smeagol: Well i hope I still have your attention. And I fully intend to read some of your work just as soon as I have more regular computer access. In the meantime, keep up what I have no doubt is good work!