Hospital

Putting aside the rehab and the car-crash-broken-clavicle emergency, I wasn’t an inpatient since my meningitis when seven years old. If I wrote this blog shortly after those three days ended, it would probably have been a long blog indeed. However, more than a month has passed, and I no longer feel like describing the stay in detail. Suffice it to say that I was anaesthetised within a second, bore inability to smoke reasonably well, read a lot (even in French!), ate well, even though after the operation my throat understandably hurt more than before, and that my idea of going to work the next day had been naïve: I was put on sick leave.

One anecdote sticks in my memory though. In a room of four I was probably the oldest. Yet at one moment the others amused me by complaining about today’s young people. You know the mantra: “We were different [viz., better]”. After which they used such examples to prove the point as made me think “Well I remember when I was young, and we did exactly what you say the young of today do, not what you say you did”.

 

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