This is the second entry to Sharp Scratch. The first one can he read here.

So there I was, sitting next to a nurse while a bed was being prepared for me. It was in “surgical ward 2”. I texted my wife informing her so. After a five to ten minute wait, a bed was ready and rolled into the ward. It was the first bed on the right as you walk in, and there were four beds in total. I lied down with my clothes on. I refused to wear pyjamas even though there was a pair in the bag of essentials that my wife Vas brought for me earlier. I didn’t wear them because if I wore pyjamas it would mean I was officially hospitalised. I wasn’t. I would be there for a few more hours and then I would be discharged. Sure. Well, I was promptly cannulated so that plan went out the window. Everyone knows that the cannula is to a patient what spray paint is to sheep. If you are seen roaming around with a cannula on your arm, people know where you belong. And it’s not ‘the outside’. The outside is for people who do the school run and then go to work. They enjoy overpaying for a dry sandwich for lunch, freshly made ‘on the premises’. But not you. You have been cannulated. You do get to have freshly made toast though, free at the point of use.

It was a bit of a restless night. I had no headphones, so I limited use of my phone to social media with no volume. I didn’t get much sleep, but I did pass out on occasion for a few minutes at a time. Then all of a sudden, there was movement in the ward. The sound of trolleys, people moving about in corridors, the pleasant chat between nurses during shift change. I was a bit anxious, as I would be having a CT scan for the first time. Not too anxious though, just the healthy amount. Like the one I get when I see a locust on a wall in Cyprus and the fight or flight instinct kicks in. (It’s always flight. Fly away from those nasty motherfuckers and their erratic behaviour). It was enough to not want to get out of bed and wonder around.

And then there was the doctors’ round. A consultant, along with her posse, came to see me. She walked with authority, and had her jacket over her shoulders, like a boxer making an entrance and walking towards the ring. “Stephanos?”. Yes, that’s me. “So! Have you been bleeding? You are quite anaemic”. No, not really. At least as far as I know. I’m here because of this pain (and I point at appendix area). “Ok, well, appendicitis wouldn’t explain such low haemoglobin. Hence, we will wait to see the CT scan results. We will also run some markers to rule out any possibility of a tumour”. To rule out, or to confirm her suspicion? The consultant put a pair of blue rubber gloves and had a feel of my tummy. “I can feel something there but it’s not consistent with appendicitis”. Alright then. It was then said that someone will come to discuss the CT scan results, when those were ready in the afternoon. Also, the ward I was in – even though called ‘surgical ward 2’ – was not a surgical ward, but a respiratory ward. But they would still come and see me when they had the results.     

After 9am a nurse came to flush my cannula and to make sure that it worked for the CT scan. Not too long after, a porter with a wheelchair came and wheeled me to the radiology department of the hospital. I don’t know why I had to be wheeled as I could just walk there, surely? But anyway, there I was, ‘parked’ outside the imaging room and waiting for my turn. Not long after, a lady arrived in a wheelchair next to me. She was chaperoned by another, younger woman. I almost told her “I’ll race you to the end of the corridor. If you win, you can take my place and get scanned first”. I didn’t. She was chatting to the chaperone, and asking for information on the CT scan. She was told that it only took a few minutes. She was relieved as “it’s not like the MRI, then. I hated that”. Which made me a bit worried, in case I had to do an MRI. But first things first. Before I had time to worry about an imaginary MRI scan, I was called into the imaging room. The radiographer introduced himself and asked me how I was and if I had a CT scan before. He explained the process and how long it takes. I had to follow the instructions of the machine to hold my breath for a few seconds several times. Also, a ‘contrast’ was to be administered through the cannula. “It may cause a sensation of warmth, especially in your bladder. It may also make you feel that you need to go to the toilet, but don’t worry, you won’t really need to go”. So with that, I laid down to have my first CT scan, which didn’t take long. I laid on a narrow tray, reminiscent of a stretcher, and my lower abdomen was passed through this ring a few times. As it was explained to me earlier, the machine instructed me to hold my breath for a few seconds, while a small screen counted down the remaining seconds until I could breathe normally again. CT scan done, achievement unlocked! The contrast did not make me feel any warmth, nor did I feel that I was going to piss myself unwillingly. Was that something to worry about? I decided it wasn’t. I was then wheeled up to the ward, content that this would show what I was dealing with. Surely a doctor would come see me and explain what the radiologist saw in the images shortly. After all it was only just after 10am. Shit, maybe I would be discharged in time to make it to the Bloomsbury theatre to see David Baddiel being interviewed by Marc Maron! (I wasn’t, of course).