The ward round occurs like a sudden swarm. It buzzes through the room with the senior surgeon in the group (I've seen four different ones so far) in the lead with a crowd of gowned gentleman in attendance, possibly the odd doctor loosely appended in civies and a clip clop of (my collective noun for) nurses. Unless you're prepared with your questions the whole circus has been and gone before you've had a chance to empty your mouth of Weetabix.
One drain to come out today, the top one. I think that's the one draining the sac around my lung. So I'm not going home today; maybe tomorrow.
The Jack in a Box vicar appeared again today and said something other than 'good morning' but, as my face was covered by a nebuliser mask and its rattly sound obscured all conversation, I guess I'll never know what it was.
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