Finally… (Alan’s hand)

At last! It’s 2310, and I’ve just rung the ward, and finally A went for his operation about half an hour ago. They’ll presumably be poking at his finger even as I type.

Hopefully everything will go well. I think it must have been very stressful for old A, sitting around there all day in Newcastle, starving and thirsty, awaiting the call at any moment. Fingers crossed that he’ll feel better when he wakes up.

The ward staff apparently won’t be able to tell me how he got on when he gets back to the ward, in case I’m The News of the World (or, perhaps, The Daily Telegraph in Alan’s case). I therefore have to hope that he feels up to giving me a ring to tell me how he got on: assuming he’s able to understand what they tell him in the middle of the night, just after coming round from a general anaesthetic. Still, though: I really could be a reporter from The Daily Telegraph rather than just a concerned pal, so I suppose that’s understandable. Not.

I was told earlier that if they don’t find nerve and/or tendon damage it should be a straightforward and relatively speedy operation. If there is that sort of damage, though, it could take much longer. I’m hoping, therefore, to get a phone call sooner rather than later. If I’ve heard nothing in a couple of hours I’ll ring to see what’s happening.

Fingers crossed at this end.

(Piglet, BTW, has had a bath, and two sets of antibiotics, and seems to be making good progress. My sister and I applied a liberal dose of a very mild conditioner after shampooing her, and now her coat is beautifully soft, and smells lovely. Wee darling that she is ♥)