Rose and I went into the Brompton yesterday for a pre-op day of scans, bloods, x-rays, consents and not much in the way of light relief in readiness for a 7am theatre list this morning. Initial impressions put the Brompton almost at the top of our extensive hospital critique - location (amazing, Kings Rd) nurses (good), accommodation (fab - single room), playroom (adequate, dvd supply good, games not good), queue for x-ray (non-existent - excellent), food (crap but McDonalds round the corner) etc etc. Simon Jordan (drum roll) even came to see us and promised her a post-op McDonalds bought personally when she was up to it. We eased ourselves into readiness and had an OK night.
Until - 7am visit from his registrar just as Rose is in her theatre gown with a drip in her arm to announce that Simon Jordan is ill and we can go home whenever we are ready. The tumours are coming home with us. It's no one's fault - but it's miserable. I take Rose home via the toy shop where we buy the Sylvanian hospital and spend the rest of the day performing successful thoracotomies on a variety of Sylvanian animals. Simon comes home and we drink a lot of wine and scream into our pillows.
