Perhaps one of the reasons I felt so lazy earlier in the day (see below) was that I had an afternoon appointment at the local hospital, to see a surgeon about an operation to mend my umbical hernia.  Nerves affect me in the strangest ways.

(A few weeks back, someone on this site kindly gave me a www.address of a site which details alternative treatments.  I'm certainly going to check that out long before I go under the NHS aneasthetic and knife)

(The hernia isn't life-threatening.  Operating won't help my IBS.  There's nothing the hospital thinks it can do about that.)

My name was called 70 minutes after the appointed time. I overheard a phone conversation; the surgeon was running late - because of surgery or a long lunch, I have no way of knowing.  Eventually he arrived with a colleague and a briefcase, supremely confident.  Of course I wasn't first in the queue.  The other patients waited, expecting to wait, knowing their role - to be patient.  The Receptionist looked as if she had missed several daily doses of anti-depressants.

Over the last eighteen months, I have several consultations with surgeons at this hospital - never the same guy.  This has been one of the problems - getting the whole truth out of any one of them. 

But today's surgeon I had seen before - about six months ago - in the day surgery ward.  An arrogant, facetious guy. I was about to have the hernia operation then, but I walked out - partly because they were not sure if they had a bed for me into to stay in overnight and I had no one to look after me at home, after the aneasthetic.

I also worked out because I hated the surgeon's atttitude, and the ward was barely large than two phone boxes (and I don't mean Tardis).  An entire extended family stood comforting their father a bed length away during my examination.

"Are you often short of breath?" the surgeon asked today.

"Only when I come to this hospital!" which is more or less true.  My blood pressure goes up as well when I'm there.

In life, I'm thriving.  When I have accupuncture or a cranial massage, I feel positive about my health.  But with the NHS, I feel a victim of decline management.