At some point I opened my eyes; I can remember doing that, and seeing light from the window of the clinic, and realising that I was in a hospital bed. It may have been morning or afternoon; I cannot tell. There were people in the room with me: the nurses, I believe, and perhaps the surgeon who had operated on me. On us. I know that they spoke to me, but I have no recollection of what they said. Everything is blurred and vague in these memories. At some point, I woke up more coherent, and found that there were no tubes in my mouth nor an oxygen mask on my face. Presumably this means that I was conscious of those things being there at some earlier point, but I don’t remember them. “Oh, you’re waking up,” remarked a kindly female voice. My whole body ached dully. I think I asked where I was and what had happened. The nurse – she of the kindly voice – informed me that I had undergone surgery. I remember nothing further. The next memory is more vivid: of waking again, and asking where I was and what had happened.
