IT'S ALIVE!

Mercifully, I’m unconscious for the sawing of the head. I’m only brought round when they’re digging about inside my temporal lobe. Again, when they start to put everything back together and insert the staples, I’m put back under.
I wake up vomiting as usual. There’s something about surgery and me that doesn’t agree gastrically. Once the nausea has passed I quickly conduct a self-assessment. Arms, legs, third leg, eyes, yes, everything seems to be working fine. A nurse points a very bright pencil torch into my eyes. “What date is it? Where are you? Who is the prime minister?” I reply, “2136, an orbiting medical facility 2500 miles above the Earth, not ‘who’ more ‘what’ is the prime minister.” The nurse is confused and turns to a colleague for advice. I smile, still got my sense of humour, self-assessment complete!
An hour later I’m on the Critical Care Unit (CCU) surrounded by friends and family. I’m starving and I’ve missed dinner. Not a bad thing considering what had been on the menu. TQ steps forward and suggests a Big Mac and fries. Not usually a 'Maca D' fan I amaze myself by accepting the offer. Thirty minutes later he returns with a Burger King instead. Result!
The nurse returns with the eye torch, "Where are you? Who are you? Who is the prime minister?" "Well, if this is CTU I must be Jack Bauer, as for the last question... dont remind me".

My neurosurgeon and his entourage visit me later in the evening. Mr Marsh is honest and straight to the point when he tells me that he estimates that he has only managed to remove 30% of the tumour. He adds that because of my good reaction to the surgery he is confident that he can go back in next week to remove the remainder. I agree immediately, in for a penny in for a pound, who dares wins, nothing ventured nothing gained, blah! Blah! Blah!