a facetious or satirical proposition stating that if there is a possibility for something to go wrong, it will go wrong.
On Chestnut Ward I am pretty much the only patient who reads. No one else really bothers with books or newspapers. Naturally I also happen to be in the only bed with a lamp that doesn’t work. So when the lights go out at 9-ish I can no longer read.
After waiting a week for maintenance to fix my lamp, they finally turn up on the morning of my operation. Of course this is the day I am due to leave Chestnut Ward.
I am in hospital with a disease that means I spend a ridiculous amount of time on the toilet. What would be great right now is an outbreak of a highly contagious virus with symptoms that make you spend a ridiculous amount of time on the toilet. Cue diarrhoea on Chestnut Ward.
The anaesthetists really sell having an epidural to me, can’t recommend it enough, it’ll be far better post-op, they say. Obviously they’ll fail to find the right spot to give me an epidural. That’ll be the not so good anaesthetic post-op for me, then.
I go to theatre to have an ileostomy, I come back having had a colostomy.
For 4 years I have been treated for ulcerative colitis. Well bugger me, turns out I might have Crohn’s.
Now I don’t think I’m being overly paranoid here, but I do have my suspicions that I may have fallen foul of Sod’s Law. Not just once, but on a few occasions. I’m not looking for sympathy, but to say I haven’t had the best of luck wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate. But every run of bad luck must come to an end. And so it has for me. Finally something has gone in my favour. Because I may have come into contact with the infamous Chestnut Ward diarrhoea bug I’ve been given my very own room. My very own en suite room no less. So for the duration of my recovery I have the luxury of complete privacy. Which is just as well, because to be honest I look a mess. My hair is a tangle of greasy curls, I have a week old beard and the body of Brad Pitt; that’s Brad Pitt playing the part of the ancient and decrepit Benjamin Button in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I also think that in a certain light I bear a passing resemblance to Lindow Man, that Iron Age fella they found preserved in a peat bog. It’s best for everyone I’m kept out of view. It also allows me to projectile vomit bright green bile without fear of splashing anyone. I don’t know it yet but the week following surgery is going to be one of the longest and most difficult of my life. I’m just thankful that Sod’s Law gave me a break and let me suffer it in my very own little room.
Me post-surgery. I'm told some weight loss is to be expected.