The Art Site

Friday, July 25, 2008


It was perfect weather for the operation. The rain hit the cloudy windscreen and rolled down in rivulets while we waited a few more minutes in the car. Mum and I were keeping up a steady conversation, but all the time, my stomach churned a little at the thought of the hand specialist's sharp gleaming knife. Moving uneasily in the car seat, I pictured myself sitting in a hard backed leather chair, in some brilliantly lit room, with my arm strapped to a board, people in white lab coats and face masks standing around me, all with knives in their hands. Of course, that probably wasn't how it was going to be at all, I reasoned, forcing down the feeling of dread and replying to some question of Mum's. Besides, the time was up. Mum looked at her cellphone: 1:55 pm.

1st floor. Most stair cases are pretty ordinairy and tend to look the same (except Lady Catherine's, described so eloquently by Mr. Collins). Glancing down, my eyes were attracted to the circles of coloured stones set into the concrete of the stairs. Wow, not many people make a staircase all fancy like that. Wonder what sort of an outfit this place is.
I soon found out. Everything was neat, modern, clean. The walls were glistening white, ornamented by gorgeous flower paintings, mountain daisies, sunflowers and proteas. This encouraged me. I sat down on the leather couch, tried to read my World Powers in the 20th Century book and waited what seemed to be an interminably long time. At last, a lady came out of one of those perfectly organised offices, and said: "Lydia?"

We sat down on the chairs in the office. The seats were leather again, and were sort of puffed up with foam so that they made a kind of a sucking, hissing noise as we sat down.
The lady sat at the desk. Her name badge read: Fiona Timms. What a cool name.
"What's that you've got there?" She asked, eyeing my World Powers book.
I told her.
"Hmm, I always liked that history the best at school."
This was a good start. She took my hand and felt it, moving her fingers gently over mine.
"You don't need an operation on this." Was her startling comment. "I would say this was a pearl ganglia, a little fluid that's seeped from a tiny hole in a leision here. I can test to see, by using a needle to get it out. Do you want to do that, or have an operation on it?"
This was unbelieveable. I don't have t lo have an operation, after all? She can get it out right now? I was relieved, but felt a strange sense of loss. It had been quite fun to think I had this coming, to have the importance of an operation, the sympathy of friends and family and not have to play the piano, do schoolwork or the dishes for a good week. Now the potentially cancerous and mysterious lump in my finger was nothing but a bit of fluid, and could be got out with a couple of needles. How lame.

It was all over in 10 minutes, the major-operation-that-was.


Blogger Andy said...

Cool post Lyd, I'm happy they didn't have to operate on you, though, it might have made for a more interesting blog post for the rest of us if they had done...


5:07 pm  
Blogger Lydie said...

that was disturbing. I suggest you go to a pschyatrist.

5:11 pm  
Blogger Theresa said...

Lucky you, now it's all fixed. Hurrah!

4:27 pm  

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