I have been waiting for it since January. It all harks back to the e-coli infection I had last summer. Investigations at the time and after Christmas showed that my urinary functions are not A1. My bladder never empties completely. I have to have surgical intervention. The operation is, I understand, called a urethrotomy. What a horrible word! And what a horrible idea. General anaesthetic and strangers fiddling around in your nether regions when you are dead to the world.
After England trounced Andorra 6-0 this evening, I was straight down the pub. I could have happily consumed a firkin of ale to blot out the idea of this forthcoming surgery. I hate hospitals and white-coated people with stethoscopes. To add insult to my psychological injury, they are putting me in a private hospital because my government waiting time window is about to end. I have always been a fervent supporter of the UK's National Health Service and I hate the idea of lying in a bed meant for the self-congratulating rich. The thing is that if I had waited for the NHS Hospital, the operation might have been delayed till August. The prospect of reaching a point where you simply cannot urinate does not bear thinking about.