At the ripe old age of about 12 I was in a tree with others when I descended in the shortest distance and the fastest way possible. Some hours after dark I was in Taunton hospital being operated on. The following day I was told that I had ruptured my spleen and it had been removed. A smart elderly gent in a suit and tie showed me a manky lump of what looked like dirty cotton wool in a small jar and told me that it was the offender. I survived.
Thus when the ultrasound lady was showing me my innermost workings and remarked that my spleen looked good you will understand my surprise. I pointed out my not inconspicuous scar and she momentarily looked as surprise as I felt but confirmed her opinion that my spleen looked like a perfectly well formed and functioning spleen.
At the following morning's bedside gathering I did ask but no one seemed too concerned, which when I think about it is quite right, I was asking about a spleen that was as good as spleens get.
The MRI scan was the next experience. First there was the issue of internal diameter and girth. To say it was a close shave would be an understatement. The pad and straps were exchanged for thinner varieties as I could not be. The operator explained that they were to stop you moving once inside. We concluded that once inside I couldn't move if I wanted to, indeed, I couldn't even be slid in holding the alarm bulb thingy but I managed to slide it forward upon entry not realising that I couldn't hope to get it back. I heard a lady in the headphones remark that I was OK as my feet were tapping in time with the motors. 33 minutes later I was glad to exit.
Later that afternoon I was told that the doctor would visit on Saturday at 10. In all this the staff, everyone of them, toiled like slaves, never stopping, never being any other than delightful, helpful, considerate and constantly prioritising seamlessly. Watching them observe, a word here, an action there, a stop this attend to that, always, always, always.
Saturday morning I determined to ask about the case of the restored spleen. The doctor came as promised. This time he wore a serious face. It could be more serious and we're arranging a CT scan. I would have asked about the spleen but now was not the time.
Within an hour or two a nurse came by to let me know that a CT scan had been arranged for tomorrow, Sunday, he said with the air of one who was quite surprised. I hope my sense of humble gratitude was palpable and that he was aware of how thankful I felt.
Sunday dawned and even before the blood lady had arrived I was taken for a CT scan which, to my great relief, is a scanner with a greater internal diameter than the MRI. What's more, you don't go right into it you just slide about as it whirrs and grinds and eventually 900cc's of clear liquid makes you feel like you are relieving yourself and you get the sensation of a strongly metallic taste. It soon passes.
Back on the ward and life carries on. The ward sister tells me that the tests are all done and the doctor will see me tomorrow, later than usual. She "casually" asks if my wife will be visiting at the usual time. I expect so, I said and asked if the doctor could schedule his visit so as to coincide. Saved her asking, I hope.
Sunday had been an odd day for many reasons. Mostly because I had no option but to observe once again how wonderful hospital staff are to everyone, even those who barely show civility and those who don't even try to be civil in any way, but especially how they deal with the downright obnoxious, foul mouthed, ungrateful ingrates who seem to take pleasure in displaying the very worst of human nature to the very best.
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