I was thinking more of The Arseholes Club, tbh. Seriously, though - why do they try to make surgical intervention sound like fun? "The Joint Club" It's a bloody operation - are you supposed to pretend you're volunteering for some leisure activity?
Dead easy, morphine and co-codamol, they’ll try and drag you out of bed the next day, and then try and get you up the stairs the day after, then **** you clean off
Drugs are what I'm getting. Tobes has got it about right, unless there are any complications. Sad news. The bloke who cuts my hair every other month I've known since we first moved to Warrington from Liverpool. He's recovered from cancer twice following operations. About a week before my birthday, he was rushed into hospital with a bleed on the brain and while in there he had two strokes. I called the shop yesterday to ask his oppo how he's getting on. He's in the high dependancy unit at Walton. The left side of his brain is pretty much ****ed and the right side has now suffered a stroke. He's a really nice guy too. Poor bastard
Right - you all have to promise not to laugh, ok? In my early 30's I suffered some erm, todger trouble, and had to have a circumcision. They gave me a GA for this. Either I came around quicker than expected or they were just negligent, but I woke up without having had any pain-killers and my appendage was a fiery ball of agony. Naturally, in a semi-comatose state my hands went to the source of my torment, and though my eyes hadn't quite opened, I heard a resounding chorus of "Don't touch it!" from the assembled medical staff. My evident discomfort reminded them that I might need some actual assistance, so they gave me some Pethidine (I think) and eventually the pain subsided. Useless lot. Anyway, I had to stay overnight because of the GA and next day the dressing needed changing. A young nurse came along, took one look at the job in hand, so to speak, threw some gauze in my direction and left, mumbling "You'll have to do it yourself" as she went. FFS. I went home. Nobody told the soluble stitches that they were meant to live up to their description and several weeks later, they were still there - resembling a crown of thorns around a bald Jesus, and causing any nocturnal occasion of an involuntary lob-on to result in another wave of pain and a rapid detumescence. Rather than risk the ministrations of the hospital staff once more, I went in the bath one night with a scalpel and cut them out myself. Medical procedures were very primitive in the 19th Century.
Apparently. She was a nurse, though ffs, and my member didn't look like it was keen on going for anyone just at that moment. It was the (spit) Thatcher Era though, so maybe they were laying the foundations for the DIY Health Service of the future. Like I said, I had to take my own bloody stitches out as well.
I had to removed the stitches they missed in my arm a few years back PS... its already been six years this April