“Dying is not romantic, and death is not a game which will soon be over…Death is not anything…death is not…It’s the absence of presence, nothing more…the endless time of never coming back…a gap you can’t see, and when the wind blows through it, it makes no sound…”
Tom Stoppard – Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
You would think that – given the unprecedented times in which we live – intimations of our mortality would be constantly lurking on the periphery of our minds… or at the very least intruding upon us – un-looked for – in quieter moments when the hubbub of the world dies away.
If it does not do so – and the behavior that we see on the news-reels suggests that it may indeed not – then that is probably because there is something in our makeup that makes us determinedly believe that – “it ain’t gonna happen to us“!
That may well be an essential mechanism for our very sanity…
There are – however – times when these things sneak up on us and give us a nasty fright.
The Girl was obliged to visit the Victoria General Hospital the other day for what is blandly labelled (so as not to frighten the horses!) – a ‘procedure’. This procedure was of the sort to which us chaps need never give a second thought, but that ladies of a certain age sometimes do. It was to be carried out in Surgical Daycare and was billed as a quick in-and-out – nothing to worry about…
…except that it was to be done under a general anesthetic…
…except that – because of COVID-19 restrictions – all I could do was to drop the Girl off at the front door and then pick her up there again later – once they had called me to let me know that she was ready to go.
The procedure was scheduled for 2:45pm and she had to be there two hours ahead of time. The procedure itself would be pretty quick but, of course, recovering from the anesthetic can take a wee while. We estimated that she could be ready any time from 4-ish to about 7-ish…
All I could do was to go home and wait.
The gentle reader will be well ahead of the curve by this point…
Yes – I did fine up until about 6:00pm, but I have to admit that as the clock ticked forward past 6:30pm – with no word at all from the Victoria General – a part of my normally satisfyingly logical mind started to run through the various alternative scenarios. However much one tells oneself that all is as it should be and that delays and diversions are to be expected with this sort of… er – operation – it became increasingly difficult not to start imagining the worst…
…and I have to tell you – that was not a pleasant experience.
All is good! Surgical Daycare called me at about 6:45pm. The Girl is fine and raring to go (within the usual bounds of taking things easy for a bit) and all gloomy thoughts have been banished once more to the outer darkness.
Strange thing – the mind…
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