The Doctor Is In

I've been having myself seen to, and am feeling rather splendid that it's over.

The procedure itself was no big deal. They do a lot of them, the doctor told me, and they get through them pretty quickly. Normally you're out the same day. I would've been out the same day if I hadn't had to wait for seven months for the procedure - in that time the single polyp had grown enormous, and my body had decided it could do with a twin polyp, too. So, to be sure, to be sure, I stayed in hospital for a little, and it was really rather lovely. I felt like Superman - I was the only patient I saw who was actually walking, for a start, and, what ho!! Here's lunch!! Oh, and a cup of something hot!! And baked fish for dinner, with sponge and custard for afters!! And a rack of silly women's magazines!!

To say nothing of the fabulous nursing staff, and the beds that go up and down, and the pain medication that just kept on coming, and the people who appear out of the mist with mops and cloths and plastic aprons to clean up everything.

On the other hand, I could go on all day about how angry it's made me that I had to wait so long for this to happen. The amount of money put up by the taxpayer to subsidise the medication to manage my body for seven months could've been saved. I would've been home yesterday, and the girl who came in to ED with a crippling urinary infection would've been able to get into the ward at dinner time last night, rather than at 5am this morning.

I would've had actual dominion over my own actual body for the last seven months, rather than feeling like a time bomb most of the time. Yes, waiting lists are a feminist issue. Government policy that removes from me the control of my own body?? No, thank you.

The woman in the bed next to me has been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Instantly, she and her family were sorting out private treatment options. That's a real shame, don't you think?

But anyway, thanks Wellington Hospital!! You look beautiful, too, by the way ...