The Author's Medicinal Thoughts
My father, mother, aunts, brother, and sister-in-law were all nurses, and my daughter is now a doctor. I was surrounded by the medical industry in my formative years. When people hear this, I’m often asked why I didn’t go into medicine.
My answer was, and still is, simple; I’m allergic to it. As a child, I was occasionally asked to take something to my father when he was at work. That was easier than it sounds because we lived in the grounds of the hospital where he worked, and it was a short walk. The short walk was just fine, but my whole insides revolted at the idea of going through the hospital doors and down those endless corridors to find the ward where he was working that day.
The smell of disinfectant alone felt as if it might kill me. I would take a deep breath and walk as quickly as I could to deliver the item, holding my breath almost all the way. Nor did I stay to pass the time of day; I handed over my delivery and ran for it, not stopping until I was out in the fresh air again. I’ve been remembering this a lot recently because I had the ‘pleasure’ of four days in hospital.
Contrary to my worst imagining, I survived the prolonged hospital stay. Still, I don’t plan to make a habit of this, just in case.
