Yesterday I went into hospital for what the HSE letter noted was a "gynaecological assessment" and it turned into a GODDAMN CERVICAL POLYPECTOMY. Gah. During the procedure, I gripped the arms of the chair for dear life while stretched out in an obscene posture as Ger, the nurse, pointed at the ceiling and told me to focus on that - a tile painted with a Tuscan landscape - and breathe. I started to faint. Voices went muffled and the painting darkened and blurred. Then the doctor said "All done", and I glimpsed his hand holding up a long thin metal instrument, tipped in bloody pulp. Eek. The nurse gave me air while checking my blood pressure - low, but I've always had low blood pressure. I insisted on looking at the polyp, my angry little friend, pink and blobby in its vial of pink solution. Afterwards Ger brought me toast and coffee and, after making sure I wouldn't faint, escorted me downstairs. I was bemused to realise that I didn't have to pay for the procedure. Later I found out that it costs around two grand in the States. Fucking hell. I'm so thankful for social healthcare.





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