Familiar faces

I'm in Wellington Hospital tonight, after a cancer surgery earlier this afternoon.

It's good to be in a familiar place and reassuring to see familiar faces. I'm well known to a few here, for being something of a frequent flyer over the years.

Megan, one of my favourite and most experienced anaesthetists, called me yesterday for a pre-op check-in, following my various tests, quizzes and checks with the various admission staff earlier in the day.

"Megan! It's very good to hear your voice! It has been a while." I sat back in my chair, suddenly feeling relaxed. Good hands were on the case.

"It's nice to hear you too - although I'm sorry you have to! You probably don't want to have to be talking to me again!"

"Not at all. I'm always very glad to hear from you Megan and am very grateful for being seen."

"Well it's always exciting when we see your name on our list. You always do make it interesting for us." I knew she was smiling.

"You saw Doug earlier and I'm sure he went through the questions and the anaesthesia plan. I wanted to call you because you had some questions about taking your medication prior."

"Yes. Thanks, Megan. Some of the staff did say one thing and some others said another re the aspirin. Doug said he'd check. What's the story?"

"In your case it's totally fine for you to take it - it won't matter in theatre. So, just carry on as normal."

"Got it, thanks very much for following up. I'm looking forward to it!"

"Looking forward to seeing you again too, Nick - see you tomorrow."

Hospitals and surgeries can be unnerving for patients and family. I'm very fortunate to be looked after by some hard-working, top-class people in the public health system here in NZ.

I'm also fortunate to be in the position I'm in. On Friday I went to the funeral of a good friend who passed away after 9 months of intensive treatment for cancer. She was in her 40s. A bright, determined star who carried herself with great humour and grace, and will be sorely missed by many.

Late last night I had a message from another lifelong good friend, saying he was in hospital waiting to have a life-saving heart surgery. He's around the corner in a neighbouring ward from me tonight, and I'm looking forward to seeing him in the morning.

I'm one of the lucky ones, I know. It's an unfortunate human truth that there's always someone worse off. For half of the patients I've known as close friends in my head & neck cancer cohort since 2009, I am conscious that age will no longer weary them. We should be sad, as it truly is, and we should also make the most of our lives - it's what they would want us to do.

---

p.s. We should avoid thinking in shoulds, too. I’m working on that ;)