It Pays to go Private

I was wheeled into a four-bed ward with just one other woman occupant. My bed was placed next to the window, with a wide sill, looking out on to rows of well-tended flower beds (rather than the sea-view promised by the brochure, but esthetically pleasing nonetheless so I decided it was probably inappropriate to make an issue of it). On the wall opposite was a flat screen TV. A nurse appeared carrying a tray with a light meal accompanied by a vase containing a red carnation and baby’s breath. She was very concerned that I stuff my belongings into the drawers of the bedside table rather than have them easily available on the window sill. In fact, after returning from the private bathroom, I found she’d taken some items I’d placed on the window sill for easy access, and put them back in the drawer. Why she should imagine anyone would steal my toiletries is anyone’s guess.

I went home the next morning with an adhesive bandage covering the stitches on the top left side of my breast. I felt fine and even optimistic that all would turn out well. My lump was under examination in the lab and the results would be available in four days time.