A woman knocked me out, and a man sliced me open like a fish.
I had an operation on Thursday, stayed 3 nights in hospital, and now I'm home in bed. Nothing too serious, don't worry, but I have to rest up and take it easy for 6 weeks!
When I awoke, after the surgical deed was done, I was fuzzy and muzzy and floppy. They checked me and fed me, and I nodded off with a piece of tomato in my mouth. Like a baby I lay helpless, as strangers soothed me with words and fiddled with wires and tubes. I knew I had to trust them. I knew I had to lie on my back and not move. I knew I had a button to press which beeped and released morphine on demand.
I drifted in and out of sleep, waking and beeping as I sailed on a wierd and colourful morphine-filled voyage that night. I dreamt I was at home, that my children had grown up, I was chopping onions, I was chasing bees, I was a pirate, I was putting papers in the fridge, I was Brad and Angelina's nanny. In my dream, Brangelina lived in a small house with their 6 children, one of whom was my nephew. I suggested boxing up some of Angie's designer dresses that were lying around the spare room still in their wrappers, and giving them to a charity shop. "Good idea", said Brad, as he mowed the lawn.
Sadly, they don't give you morphine for long.