Page 170 - She's One Crazy Lady!

170
Driving back“
be admitted to NGH – not on the chemo ward, but through A&E!!
I decided to take myself off to Northampton to have a ‘mooch’ round the shops but found I could hardly walk, the pain in my rear end so, so uncomfortable and I could feel there was a protrusion. Making it back to the car park I rang my surgery and was told by ‘Annie’ on reception, who was so motherly, that I was to go straight there and Dr. Kownacki would be waiting for me. Dr Kownacki – a man! This was my rear end we were talking about so I ‘begged’ with Annie to see if a female doctor would see me. She laughed but kindly sorted it for me. Driving back to Wellingborough, on one cheek, was really quite dangerous, but what was I to do? By the time I was seen in the surgery whatever it was had burst and it was bleeding. Oh, the embarrassment! On examination the doctor told me it was a perianal abscess that would have to be surgically removed quite quickly and writing a letter, told me to get myself over to A&E at Northampton as quickly as I could, handing me
a huge, hammock-like sanitary towel.
Dave to the rescue again as I couldn’t drive. A&E was busy but I
was taken to a side room and examined – again. Yes, they needed to operate due to the fact that because I was on chemo there was a fear sepsis could set in. I was taken up to a ward – thankfully, not Talbot Butler. I smiled, thinking of Fiona who wanted me to go in a few days before. If I had gone then my bum problem probably wouldn’t have got so bad. It was late so it was decided they would operate in the morning.
Being wheeled along the long corridor at NGH, wearing my gown and my baseball cap, adamant that I did not want to be wheeled along bald, I’d reached the theatre doors when a screeching woman stood over me. She was almost hysterical and was shouting:
“Why didn’t someone tell me they were taking you down? Why didn’t you wait for me?”
to Wellingborough, on one cheek, was really quite dangerous, but
I looked up at her. Who was this lady? Then, in an instant, she looked intently at me, put her hand on my shoulder and, in a softer voice, said: “Oh, it’s not you! I’m so sorry. I thought you were my son. He’s having an operation this morning and I saw the baseball cap...” The
doors to the theatre opened.
Now, I must digress for this surgical procedure proved to be quite a
talking point just months later. The surgeon who I saw prior to going into theatre was Mr Dawson, the hospital’s lead breast surgeon. I remember him coming into the ward with several students , asking if I minded them observing his examination. There was I, bald, almost naked, and him telling me he knew Mr Stewart from KGH and wanted to look at my breast scars. What was I to say? Later, when we were to present a large cheque to the breast unit at NGH, Mr Dawson was present and I immediately recognised him, feeling a little hot under the collar, remembering what I had had done and what he had seen. He, too, looked at me with enquiring eyes and turning to me said: “Do I know you?” I replied that if I were to bend over he might recognise me! We were to see a lot more of Mr Dawson.
what was I to d”
o?