- Due to severe immune deficiency, countless hospitals in the UK and abroad have kindly offered me bed and board. I could blog for weeks on in-patient fun I've had since childhood. What's the point of moping around, even in hospital?
Today's hernia operation for my friend was an opportunity for more hospital fun.
She waited two and a half hours to be wheeled in and cut open. But in that time we'd laughed long and loud, cheered up two miserable-looking patients whose previous ops had gone wrong, and helped two nurses understand how to contact souls of dead relatives.
“We have a bed space for you,” said a nurse. She was right. There was a 6-bedded ward with 5 beds. My friend was given the space for a bed. “We'll find a bed, then wheel you to the theatre,” said the nurse.
“Theatre? I usually buy front seats,” I said. “How much are yours?”
The nurse laughed. “At one time we had glass panels - relatives watched operations. But too many fainted.”
“It's OK,” I said. “I'm psychic. I'll have a peek anyway. If you find I've fainted, you'll know I saw too much.”
“Are you really psychic?” she asked, seriously.
“Yes.” It felt she wanted to say more, but was unsure. So I added, “I was co-presenter of a live psychic TV show, interpreting viewers' unexplained mystical experiences.”
“Great. I believe in all that.” Most people do – they just need confidence to talk about it, without fear of being laughed at. “I see my dead father regularly. Some people don't accept that, but I do.”
I didn't ask if she saw souls of hospital patients who died. Not when my friend was about to be anaesthetised.
Curtains pulled around the lady opposite. “Last time,” she said so loudly everyone in the ward heard, “you said I'd be out in a day. I was out in 5 days. And was then re-admitted for 6 weeks with complications.”
The doctor just listened.
“Morphine didn't work on me. I've taken every anti-pain tablet available, and still get pain.”
Scratch-marks on the window by her bed, looked as if someone with pain had tried to claw their way out.
“Your anaesthetic didn't work,” she continued. “I felt needle pain in the back of my hand for weeks after.” The doctor murmered something. “I don't want to talk to you,” she interrupted. “AND I DON'T WANT YOUR ANAESTHETIC. I'd rather you bashed me on the head, and I wake up after the op at home.”
“It's Ok. We'll ask you to count down. 10, 9, 8, 7 and so on until you're asleep.”
“What if I get down to 1? Do I then go -1, -2, -3 and so on? What if it gets to -98, -99, -100?”
“You'll be asleep before then,” the doctor reassured.
“If I was asleep, what if I walked in my sleep? How would that affect the operation?”
A second nurse arrived to my friend, and dithered about, not doing much. It was apparent why when she spoke to me. “My friend says you're psychic. Are you?”
“Yes.” It was obvious she wanted me to help her, not her to help my friend. “How can I help you?” I asked.
“Can you contact my daughter's dead friend? Is he OK? Is anyone with me? Can you see anything negative by me?”
I could. To her right stood a smaller figure, at shoulder height. It was dark, almost black. I tuned out. With my friend about to be wheeled away and cut open, this wasn't the time or place for potentially negative spirit rescue.
“Can you see anything negative with me?” she repeated.
“No,” I said. I can't see anything negative because I've tuned out. But she seems to know... “Even if I saw something negative, I'd never say yes. Psychics are here to help people, not give them negatives to think about.”
“Can you contact my daughter's friend?”
“Yes. Here's my card. Your options are, I tell you everything I see. Or I type the chat with your spirit on my laptop, and email you. Or I help you meet your dead friend. If you see and talk with a spirit yourself, it's more realistic.”
Later, we joked with the “pain lady” opposite, to alleviate stress of a second operation going wrong. Another patient needed laughs too. She'd waited 6 hours to have bone from her hip and grafted to her wrist to correct a previous wrist operation that had gone wrong.
If I was having an op in this hospital, I'd be getting worried...
“It's time for your op,” said a third nurse. “Put on these stockings. They stop thrombosis.”
“Wearing stockings is nothing to do with stopping thrombosis,” I said to my friend “It's the doctor's fetish. He likes operating on women in stockings.”
She was wheeled to the operating theatre laughing. When she comes out, I pray she laughs more than the other two patients did when they returned from operations that went wrong...
PS
After my friend woke, her first words were, “You know I never dream. Well, I had a dream! Three white people stood on my right, two stood by my left. They chatted with me, happily. The ones on the right disappeared first.”
Great. Two spirit teams helped. Maybe prayers were answered. Maybe my (or my friend's or the surgeon's) guides or angels gave support...
Or maybe other guides were learning how to be spirit psychic surgeons, to do similar ops in future?
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AuthorSee my weird-but-true first blog post on December 1st 2011, for an overview of my polymath, joyful and horrid fairy tale life. Taste the yummy, Godly, disgusting and loving ingredients of future posts - all truthful, with just a little artistic licence. Archives
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