Thank you

Mister B required a Marine Police launch medi-vac in the early, dark, small hours of Friday. Already attached to a drip-feed, what thenceforth unfolded were 30 hours mostly spent wacked out in ward C5 (colo-rectal), Queen Mary Hospital, Hong Kong island.

(I thought I was done with that place.)

This time? Suspected appendicitis.

That was until they finally got around to do an ultrasound. Then, it wasn't appendicitis.

Eventual diagnosis? Tentatively. . . colitis.

The doctor doing the ward round on Saturday morning finally agreed to a discharge. I walked out of QMH on Saturday lunchtime.

Glad to be out of there, glad to be free of the catheter stuck in my hand and the attendant drip-feed. Glad that it wasn't anything that required surgery, chemotherapy, or any other sort of medical treatment. Glad to be back in the sunshine. Glad to turn my back on the the reality of the treachery and on-going disintegration of the body; the in-your-face reality of flesh, organs, bones, blood and other body fluids.

I think it was in the very useful Tibetan Book of Living and Dying (by Sogyal Rinpoche) that I read and then thought about how some Tibetan monks used to meditiate next to dead bodies. Although I am neither a Tibetan, nor a monk, some days I deal better with that stuff. Other days, I don't.

Lately, I could have done without the hassle. I am tired of that kind of drama. I would like my life to have other kinds of dramas. I know, I know: don't pray for stuff, you may get more than expected or wanted.

Anyway, I am very grateful that the medical staff, Marine Police, ambulance people, hospital workers and all the other people were there to care for me. I am a very fortunate person. Thank you.