The Abandoned Hospital Ship

Another gorgeous weekend in London and I was too ill to do anything what with being in recovery from having a wisdom tooth pulled.  It’s not all that bad, sometimes there’s no better feeling than feeling sorry for yourself.

It’s an odd experience playing the NHS waiting game, being told I needed to take a friend with me to take me home since I was under general anesthetic (sounds extreme but I was scheduled to have 4 teeth pulled until I found a dentist willing to fix them in exchange for thousands of pounds, what luck!).   My carefully chosen friend is someone who only ever goes for private treatment, so it cheered me up seeing them absolutely terrified of the hospital surroundings, his disgust at someone eating a sandwich in the lift, his scorn at the people crammed into the waiting room, his refusal to sit down in fear of catching an MRSA superbug.

I like to be prompt but even by my standards there were many people here before me, and none were too pleased when my name was called a mere 5 minutes after being seated.  They needn’t have worried, one thing the NHS like to do is to move you around a lot, probably to fool you into thinking something is being done, so I’d be marched into another room, then sent back, then off for a jaunt to another department and back again.  

On one such move I was given my surgery clothes, the very latest in NHS couture, so looking splendid in thigh length blue tights and foam slippers, plastic underwear and the traditional hospital gowns that you can’t do up from behind so instead you are just mooning at any passer-by, I then do the walk of shame back around the hospital  – something tells me the staff are having a laugh at our expense.  My next port of call is a new waiting room, though this is actually a bit generous as it was a filing cupboard quite literally, I was about to get to work organising a new filing system for them such was the boredom of waiting.

I was finally called through to surgery though and before I knew it was awake again but sans tooth, I was given 10 minutes to recover and then sent on my way to find the 29 bus, spitting blood and staggering down the street like an extra from Resident Evil, luckily for those with knowledge of the 29 bus I slotted right in.

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