Having A "Nose Job", Or How To Avoid Cleaning The House.

Our Belair housesit was all but over and I had finished walking all the paths in Belair NP, so I took a break from the everyday routine and lobbed off to Flinders Hospital for a spot of sinus surgery.  This meant I got off lightly in the house-cleaning and general shifting-boxes-in-and-out department, contenting myself with writing long lists of things for Roger to do.  Not that he particularly minded, inspired as he was by the promise of a wife who would snore less than she did before, and preferably not at all. He also gleefully informed anyone who was interested (and probably some who weren't) that I had gone in to hospital for a 'nose job' at which point he lost my sympathy for having to do the cleaning by himself, and I added a few extra jobs to his list just to keep him out of further mischief.

I don't know what he complains about anyway: I sleep perfectly well all night long without hearing anyone snoring.

Flinders Hospital and the ENT surgeon proved themselves masters of (non) communication, providing me the day prior with one text which confirmed that yes, someone of my name was booked in under the appropriate surgeon.  This being something I already knew, I rang the hospital in search of further information.  

"Turn up at 0830!" the receptionist trilled.  "You'll be on sometime in the day!"  

Which was all very fine for her to say but I had to know whether I could have breakfast or not, because there is nothing worse than missing out on a breakfast that you could have had.

I rang the Surgeon's office and, being unable to speak to a real person, left a message asking for a real person to ring me back.  This did not happen and thus it was that I arrived, breakfastless, at the doors of Flinders Hospital at the ungodly (for a semi-retired person) hour of 0815 on a cold Friday morning to be informed that I was, in fact, booked for surgery in the morning and would be staying the night as well.  So I kissed Roger goodbye, jumped on the Admissions roller coaster, and off I went.

Rules of living in Adelaide #1: wear a puffer jacket whenever possible, even when entering the parallel universe known as hospital.

Given I was fast asleep at the time, I can't speak personally as to what happened in the ensuing couple of hours, but I got to wear trendy socks and watch car racing (yawn) on the waiting room TV before my wee trip to la-la land.

Trendy white stockings to go with my trendy red socks. What can I say? I'm a fashion trend-setter.

I woke up in recovery convinced my eyes had been affected until I worked out (derr) that I wasn't wearing my glasses and had to exist in a blurry world until I was reunited with them. By then I was ensconced in a window-side bed on the 5th floor with an OK view of a bright sun-shiny day and a large building in delightful (and hopefully deliberate) shades of rust.

Green leaves included in the view, much appreciated.

With the application of some pain relief and consumption of the best egg and lettuce sandwich ever, I settled in for a comfy afternoon interrupted by the occasional nosebleed (an expected hazard of sinus surgery, I'm told), pesky requirements like regular observations, and indulgence in coma-inducing free-to-air afternoon TV.  And napping, of course. Nothing beats a post-surgery power nap for napping pleasure and I was more than ready to indulge.

Can't complain, I even had a snazzy little dressing for catching nosebleeds! What ever will they think of next?

Roger came, visited, and went to honour his feline obligations.  Along the way he demonstrated a disturbing tendency to take unflattering photos and get way too excited about sending them to our children after putting a lot of thought into captions which definitely sacrificed truth for a good story (or caption as the case may be).

Dinner was a surprise, given someone else had ordered it for me, but it was the nice kind of surprise and now, haven taken my dessert of medication, I'm off to the land of Nod. Here's to a night without nosebleeds!

The things you find in Private Hospital Land: very large shiny vases, the purposes of which I'm not entirely sure...