A diary of one man's utter failure, depression, frustration, cock-ups, and impecuniousness, starting in August 1947
I'd starved myself, taken the medications, and I arrived at the specified time, and reported to the Obergruppenfurher at the Cardiac wards reception desk.
I was commanded to sit their, as she pointed to a chair in the waiting area, as the bed was not yet free. I humbly sat on the chair with my bag of accoutrements and bedclothes by my side, and took out Spike Milligan's 'Rommel? Who?' book to read.
She came over a few moments later, trod on my toe without comment, and sat next to me to confirm my details, then returned to scold someone else at her desk.
An hour or so later, she called out my name, and instructed me to go with the nurse, into the ward.
As the nurse led me through the coded lock doors, I realised I'd left my bag outside, and I returned to collect my bag, and a lecture about security and bombs from the Obergruppenfurher, then returned to the nurse in the ward. Who led me to a bed, tagged my wrist, and told me to get my jammies on, then scrub my hands, chest and groin with some gel she gave me.
I actually heard her giggle as I removed my underpants. (I've got used to this now, after a few visits to the hospital this year, and the usual flow of nurses to have a look, and smile sympathetically at me, or run out laughing. It's true)
A Doctor came in after I'd been antisepticated, and went over the procedure I was about to have. I could have anaesthetic if I requested it, but they prefer to use a sedative, so they can ask me to move if required. A sedative was agreed on and given.
An earlier procedure had been cancelled and I was to go into the theatre in an hour. During that hour, I was informed by a male nurse that a patient had died, and I was taking his place for the same operation.
That geed me up no end!
I was collected, and taken into the theatre, and they were very precise in getting me into an exact position on the table.
As they were injecting me in the groin - this pair of breasts leant over me and asked if I'd like a pain-killer injection. I answered 'Yes please'.
Just as I realised seeing the breasts were having an effect on my lesser endowed lower region where the tube was being inserted!
As I drifted off to semi-conciousness, I could see the smiles on their faces.
I seem to remember them returning me to the ward bed, where a Doctor attended and told me that everything looked good for the big operation on the Sternum, and I would be notified shortly of the date.
Then the good bit came, they informed us that the breakfast was now being served at the other end of the ward, and I felt ready for some. As I got out of the bed, I realised that my Little Lennie appendage was stiffer that it had ever been (not bigger, just harder), and it stayed that way for hours and hours. I asked a nurse, jokingly of course, if I could have another stab of the sedative! She looked me up and down, and asked Why?
The next morning I was signed out, and released.
As I passed the reception outside the ward, I went to the Obergruppenfurher, and with all my sarcastic efforts, said to her: "Thank you very much for all your help and understanding!"
The 'Humph' I got back made me smile, it would have done Hattie Jaques proud in Carry on Doctor!.