3am. The pain is so sharp that I cannot stand upright. I am on all fours to go to the toilet. Back to bed, bent in two, I am moaning and groaning with each stab of the knife.
“Shall I ring 999?”, he asks half alseep.
Morning struggle walk down the hill. Doctor. Emergency appointment, Southmead.
Transvaginal scan. That ovarian cyst, a talisman first discovered at Tower Hill Clinic, has ruptured. Blood is in my abdomen.
It’s 10:10pm in the Gynaecology Unit. I wonder at what time the lights go off in the room, if they ever do. This is my first ever night in a hospital. For most of the evening, the woman opposite me, 8 weeks pregnant, won't stop talking to the other patients about her pregnancy. The ups and downs, the diets, her morning sickness. I want to disappear into space.
Next morning. Emergency laparoscopy. There is a small risk that we might need to remove your ovary; it could have happened anytime; no, it has nothing to do with the termination. The wound is reopening wide, I think of Bean, I hold my belly like it’s just happened.
I am out of the theatre. Ovary and tube are both fine. Half a mug of blood was removed. Paul and Johanna are by my side. A second night is spent at the hospital and then -
it’s recovery time.