When I was a child I spent a lot of time in and out of hospitals, getting over operations quite regularly. It was always an ordeal often being moved from one hospital to another. The siren would go and I'd feel really excited. Then I realised it was for the other passenger and not me, but still going at top speed through the streets made me feel special.

One particular time when I was about fourteen I had gone in to get my ankles and back of my legs worked on, so both legs in plaster up to my knees and was just waking up from the anaesthetic when the very nice young nurse asked did I want ice-cream? I hadn't ate all day so I thanked her and took the ice-cream with excitement. (when your in hospital a lot, any treat is a big treat). I'd never been given anything to eat coming round before I thought she might get into trouble for giving it to me but I finished it all up and sat back to await my parents imminent arrival, in the '80's no one was allowed in unless Matron said so, and she hadn't given her say so, so they had to wait in the car park or somewhere for the time to be allowed to see their second born. When I had the thought of hugs and kisses and presents before me, then it started, the nauses feeling "Nurse, Nurse" I called but it was too late.

The ice-cream made a not so welcome return, all over the bed, the sheets the floor. Nice nurse very understanding I thought, helped by another older nurse aided me out of bed, and set me on a chair with my stiff heavy legs on the other. I felt quite fed up, and my teeth chattered and I was clammy and my mum and dad hadn't seen me yet.

I got back into the bed relieved that I could finally get warm, when as lovely as can be she asked did I need to pee. I agreed, bed pan was produced and I did the natural thing. She came back to assist my lady like return to the bed when all I could hear "Oh you've missed the bed".

The other nurse was brought back from someone else and I was taken out again. The bed had to be stripped down again and my mortification and pride down the drain I finally was settled and didn't dare ask for anything else. Then visiting time finally came round, I'd been lifted and shifted so many times that great big tears stung at my eyes.

I'd been on my own through the surgery, the aftermath and the ordeal of stuff coming out of both ends and do you know when I relayed the story to them do you know what they did? They laughed! Whether it was the worry and the stress that had made them go a little giddy but they did, not taking into account the day I'd had. When they saw my cross face they laughed even more. Finally when I thought my dad might need his inhaler, they stopped. The nice nurse went past and I said "It was her that helped me" "Twice" said dad and started again and then so did I. Laughing is the best medicine after all.

Learn more about this author, Rhonda Flack.
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