Today I had an uncomfortable four hours in the hospital. I had a hefty-feeling camera up my arse, around my colon, and through several bits of my insides. I also had two enemas and one brother looking after me. One self-enema at 06.15 and another from a terrific nurse later on. It wasn't a great day for dignity and self esteem. I saw my insides on camera, I was prostrate and semi naked on a ward, it hurt and I've been John Wayning it all afternoon. All the women who cared for me told me to be grateful I won't ever give birth. I listened to them for that.
Did I mind?
No: I work hard, I pay taxes, I love my darling other half with a depth I didn't know I ever had. I drink beer and have fun.
I arrived at the hospital and I had 110% excellent care from start to finish. They knew my name, they made me feel welcome, they sorted me out unflinchingly. They didn't charge me. This all happened 24 hours after a soldier was killed in Woolwich, his killers were taken in the street (good), a plane had to return to Heathrow with a broken engine , and another plane inbound from Pakistan was escorted, diverted and monitored by the RAF carrying live missiles over populated areas.
Is there really that much to complain about day to day? No there isn't.
I prefer to be thankful for things rather than remonstrate about things.
Yes, I have the minor indignity of all now knowing I had my arse out at the hospital, but that's a very small cost indeed for a day much appreciated.
I'm home, safe, well and very grateful.