I'm sitting next to the space that used to be Mrs C's bed in the hospital. She has just been wheeled down to the operating theatre for the latest in a series of surgeries, which we hope to be the final episode.
I hate this bit. It is a time I feel particularly useless and try very hard to supress images of operating theatres from my mind.
I will probably go for a squeaky shoe wander shortly in order to get some fresh air, but also to avoid the anxious eyes of other patients sitting in the beds opposite.
Apparently, I have been told by the porter for the third time in 6 weeks, I share a surname with a very famous Leicester City footballer.
I hope we can avoid being reminded of this fact again soon.
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