Battersea Locksmiths

So Much For Consent

I’m at the family doctor’s. My throat hurts like hell.

Coming out from general anaesthesia was as disturbing as I remember from the time before. BAM! and you’re in a recovery room, high on morphine. As far as I can tell, I have all my memories; but that’s a silly thing to say; how would you figure out that memories were missing? Have I been rebooted though? Does the interrupted continuity of self-awareness mean that the old me died in some sense? Ah, screw him. I’m still here. 🙂

Later that day, back in the hospital bed, I was visited by the surgeon who did the biopsy. “It will be feeling a bit sore,” he said, “your left tonsil looked pretty manky, so we took it out.” So much for the consent forms! Naturally I tried to grill him about the tissue biopsy and whether or not it looked cancerous. Naturally he wasn’t going to say but he managed to give the clear impression that something nasty that way grows. Things probably have to be cultured in the lab glassware, so I’ll probably have to wait a few days for the final verdict.

The surgeon also told me that I was stiff-necked, in the nicest possible way. Apparently it took several people tugging to get my head back far enough that the enormous tube through which they shine lights, poke instruments and deliver air during throat surgery could be pile-driven into place.

According to the GP — that’s a family doctor there’s a lot of bruising and suppurating at the back of the throat and it’s going to be some time before the pain goes away. I’m beginning to suspect that there’s a trend about to start here. That in trying to get rid of my persistent sore throat and the unpleasant taste in my mouth, I’m in for a lot sorer throat and some even worse tastes.

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