When I came round in the recovery room last Friday, I enquired what the time was and was surprised to learn that I’d been under anaesthetic for 3 hours. It was only when I was whisked back to my room 30 minutes later that I realised my vision was temporarily blurred. My long-suffering husband arrived shortly afterwards to spend the afternoon at my bedside while I slept off the effects of the anaesthetic.
Before my husband left that evening, I asked him to turn on the television, to BBC2 so that I could follow a Six Nations rugby match. My vision was still too blurred to watch the television but I reckoned I’d enjoy the match by listening to it. Blow me if the television didn’t have every channel except BBC2 available. I told my husband not to worry and he turned off the set before leaving.
Shortly afterwards, the night nurses arrived on duty and the new night sister appeared in my room along with the day sister who I’d met earlier in the day. When they enquired if everything was okay, I responded that I was fine but that I was disappointed not to be able to follow the rugby match on my telly.
I’d no sooner said this when the night sister turned on her heels and disappeared out of the room. She struggled back into my room moments later, carrying a large television set from an adjacent room and soon had it plugged in with BBC2 working perfectly. We all laughed together about how they were looking after my every need and I thanked them profusely before they left to carry on with their ward round. I settled down to enjoy the match.
I waited and waited but there was no sign of any rugby happening on BBC2. Irritated, I flicked the channels using the remote control and to my surprise and acute embarrassment, I discovered that the rugby was actually being shown on BBC1. Oops!
I blame the anaesthetic. Luckily, I didn’t see the night sister again!