Surgery, pt 1

Surgery, pt 1

Hospital 03 by Sloan Nota

They draw blood at least once a day. ‘Your sodium is down!’ Sodium pills make you retch? Try them with ice cream  OK, try with applesauce. ‘Your magnesium!’ Another pill. ‘Your potassium!’ A fizzy drink.

At no point was I advised they’d checked my adrenaline levels — which would have been pushing off the charts.

After four or five years of a debilitating condition I get a diagnosis of hydrocephalus. My gait increasingly poor, a spate of urinary incontinence, a degradation of mental powers (‘mild dementia’). Four or five years. Years. And now the choices include Do nothing, just keep on slidin’ off the map. HOW DARE YOU OFFER THAT? No one in their right mind would choose that. Increasingly become a burden to those who love me? Of course they’re just testing to see how selfish I am. They can’t be serious.

Of course I’m 70 y.o. and female. They may be serious.

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