Tonsils

A friend's boy has just had a successful minor op. He was in and out in one day so his mum could be with him most of the time. The pictures she posted on FB brought back my own memories.

I was six years old. My parents drove me to the Winchester Royal County Hospital without prior warning and left me there. They said afterwards that they thought it would be less traumatic that way. I cried and cried when it dawned on me that I had to stay on my own - but I survived. They sent me frequent picture postcards which I treasured for many years after but now are sadly lost - I probably disposed of them in a fit of growing up the same time as my childish diaries. A boy does not realize that one day he will become a man and yearn for reminders of his youth. The postcard pictures were of steam trains and the greetings on the reverse were in capitals because it was thought back then that they were easier to read.

They put me on a trolley and wheeled me into a lift with metal concertina sliding doors. We whizzed up many floors and then I was pushed along long corridors into a room with shelves full of stainless steel pans and bowls. A nurse came and held my hand whilst a mask was put over my face and I was gassed to sleep whilst gently squeezing that lifeline to reality.

When I woke, sans tonsils, I was back in the ward. Something had gone wrong and I kept throwing up vast amounts of blood. Because of this I had to stay in longer than was first anticipated. My parents visited me of course. The boy in the next bed had had his appendix out, a much more serious operation. I found out that UHT milk tasted good, and enjoyed my strict diet of jelly and ice-cream (nothing abrasive).

That was my second and my last stay in hospital. My first, I suppose, for my memory thankfully does not take me there, was when I was born and circumcised.