So Friday morning was my first chance to really see who I was rooming with. Lovely crazy Polish lady to my right, barely speaks a word of english but can manage 'eat a cookie' as she forces gingerbread biscuits into my hands. Using lots of hand gestures while speaking loudly and clearly she informs me 'all baby making bits pulled out' followed by a thumbs up before pointing at my bandaged tummy and shrugging at me. I just agreed, not sure my mime skills were up to demonstrating the difference between a hysterectomy and an oopherectomy.
Across from the gingerbread lady is a very cheery, older woman. Reminded me of my grandma. Very chatty and constantly needing help to work the various machines around her bed - mainly the TV so she can watch her strictly come something or other.
Bed opposite began the day empty. Oh how I wished it had stayed that way........
I heard her before I saw her. 'Pissin' with blood I was I tell ya, pissin' with blood, they hadn't bothered to stitch me up'. Her name was Pat and she'd had a hysterectomy which apparently the surgeon had forgotten to stitch up. She was going to sue for millions. She also had no legs, from a previous 'malpractice' issue at the hospital apparently. I fought the urge to ask why she'd come back to a place that had previously cost her her legs but decided not too.
When her visitors arrived I smelled them before I saw them. Stale booze and fags. Pat didn't believe in closing curtains, felt we should all be open and friendly, so I got to enjoy to view of her husbands hairy arse crack hanging out of his jeans for the duration of his visit.
After visiting hours were over Pat proceeded to ring everyone she knew to tell them the story of her horrendous ordeal. Some called back, through the night I was treated to the ring tone of some hideous dancy, chavvy number followed by Pat's dulcet tones regaling the story 'Pissin' with blood I was I tell ya, pissin' with blood, they hadn't bothered to stitch me up'.
The worst was yet to come......