Pre-surgery preparation saw the nursing staff, armed with pages of checklists, rushing from bed to bed to ensure each patient was despatched to theatre properly dressed and drugged to the eyeballs.  We were each provided a gown, a towel and a bowl for washing.  I was relieved that I was not being forced to use the showers.  God knows what grows in there.

Prior to leaving for surgery, the nurses visit each person to secure their valuables.  My cellphone, watch, lighter and cigarettes (extremely valuable in prisons and hospitals as a form of currency) were placed into an envelope which was sealed with special strips on which three of us had to sign.  These are then placed into a safe in the ward.  As an aside, I was pleased to note that despite all warnings about theft, there didn’t appear to be any of it in my ward.  That didn’t stop the post-surgical paranoia from setting in, but more about that later.

At 8.30 I was collected by the theatre staff and wheeled at great speed through a maze of corridors into the theatre.  Groote Schuur porters are actually taxi-drivers in training.  Once licensed to steer a gurney, they are let loose on South African roads.  A drip was placed in my vein, I donned one of those trendy paper hats and the gas mask was placed on my face.  My last recollection was that the gas mask was obviously broken because it was having no effect whatsoever.

I awoke some time later to see my surgeon’s face bathed in a heavenly light, assuring me that they had removed the cancer, it had not spread into the nodes and that I would not be needing chemotherapy.   Most of the rest of the day was a blur.

On the way to visit me, my mom was accosted by a gowned black man who kept sidling up to her whispering, “Molo Mama, Molo Mama”.  Growing increasingly nervous, my mom suggested to the nurses that perhaps this fellow should actually be in the psych ward.  The nurse replied that he was actually a psych patient who was in our ward for treatment.  Super!  He wasn’t even wearing restraints.

I appear to have conversed with my Mom and Lucy and Karen, all of whom came back to see me, but I have no idea what was said.  Actually, neither does anyone else because I was unintelligible.  Karen had brought me Chinese food, as promised, and before she left she tied the call button to the side of my bed, for which I was immensely grateful later that night.

At some stage during the afternoon I needed to pee.  Being too weak and drugged to get out of the bed, my mom called for a bedpan.  Between the two of us, we managed to lever my unco-operative body onto the pan.  But, unlike men, who can pee in any position, I knew that it was going to be impossible for me to perform while lying flat on my back.  My mom, who is not the most mechanically-minded person, yanked on the lever of the bed and I was catapulted so far forward I could practically rest my forehead on my knees.  It didn’t help that I kept dozing off, so the whole operation took some time.  It really is a good thing that I left my dignity in Aberdeen!!

That night there were only two of us in the ward and after all the excitement of pre-op preparations, the nursing staff had lost interest in us.  Late into the night I realised that I needed to use the bathroom.  The rail on the side of my bed was up and I was too sore to release it myself and too weak to climb over it.  I pushed the call button.  Nothing.  So I pushed it a second time which set off an alarm at the nurses’ station.  The Gestapo fascist was furious - did I not realise that they only had 3 nurses on duty and that they were actually busy with far more important things than releasing the rails on a bed?  Fabulous!!  She wins the Most Compassionate Care-Giver of 2010 Award!

Having had nothing to eat all day, I tucked into my cold Beef Chow Mein with relish (and chopsticks) and settled down to sleep.  But, post-anaesthetic paranoia set in and I became absolutely convinced that under cover of darkness, hospital thieves would descend on my bed and steal me blind.  I barely slept a wink all night.  Whether from lack of tiredness, given my having slept all day, or from sheer discomfort due to the fact that I was lying on half my possessions, sleep remained elusive.  And nobody even offered me any drugs.  Earlier, I had been offered pain killers, but no sleeping tablets.  Incidentally, when I responded in the affirmative to pain killers, the nurse asked me if I wanted tablets or an injection.  Seriously?  Are there actually people who would opt for an injection by choice?

Thank goodness that was to be my last night in hospital.  Any longer and I would either starve to death, develop a bladder infection or develop radiation sickness in my left buttock from sleeping on my cellphone to prevent it being stolen.  Two nights in a public hospital is enough and I was looking forward to going home.  I did, however, still need to survive another half a day!!