The Tumour and I (DAY 1): Later – Post Op

Light flickers uncontrollably, my eyelids, virgins to light.

Food my only saviour, “can I have steak?” – there’s no one around.

The next few moments become a blur, none progressive, just predictable.

It’s just like the movies; you’re knocked out and then you wake up with your Dad on your left, Mum on the right and the rest of the family reading the glossy mags within shouting distance.

“Can I have steak?” – they laugh. It wasn’t a joke.

There’s an awkward moment –I’ve never had that relationship with the parents; where you can talk to them, let them in on your life and then some.

The nurse comes to aid and displays the menu. “Beef curry” – idiot (I won’t explain why, you can work it out).

Nom nom nom and its all gone, delicious.

It took me awhile to acknowledge what I had done – sorry, Mum.

Then came the itch. Erm, what the fuck is this? Let me introduce you to the ‘Surgical Turban’ (see below)

Which was kindly scamped up by @mauromrm

How the fuck was I going to sleep with this on my head? I can’t stand those travel pillows so I’ve got no chance with this.

The pills finally arrive. Triple drop, see you in 4 hours. To be continued…

(I’m keeping these short because my head begins to give me the mother of all headaches when I concentrate too much – honest)

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