The Lift

Do you remember I said I would tell you a little story about a lift, are you sitting comfortably, you are, then I shall begin. (ignore narration, this is all over the place)

Once upon a time there was a fair maiden called Mandy who was called to the kingdom of the Nuffield to have a bit of a scary operation. On the day of the surgery, Mandy had to be up at 5.30 a.m. to be booked in at 7.00 a.m. for surgery at 8.00 a.m. I only tell you this small detail because it will also explain just how wide eyed and how she was really not able to cope with things as well as she would have been if it was a little later in the day.

All was going well, during the course of the booking in procedure the scary bits were getting scarier but Mandy was coping just fine. Then the time came to wheel her down to surgery. Being of noble birth she left her expensive items with her willing and faithful servant I mean husband which in this day and age meant her brand new specs. She was fully adorned in a pair of paper pants and one of those off the shoulder doesn’t quite meet at the back surgical gowns and a pair of rather attractive thick white tights, which Mandy hoped she would be able to show to her knitting friends so that they could admire the colour, cut and style of such an attractive pair, she hopped into bed, and was gaily wheeled off by two nurses.

One of the nurses Mandy had met on a previous visit, so we were gaily chatting away, her name was Manjit, the other nurse I am afraid to say I didn’t quite get her name, what with having no specs so I was unable to see her name tag and with what happened next it completely slipped my mind.

Manjit, Mandy and Nurse 2 entered the lift and all seemed to go well, but then there was a small problem. One of the lift doors wouldn’t open completely and the nurses were unable to wheel me out to theatre. A little discussion was held and it was decided that Manjit and I would go up and down again to see if the floors would realign. So up we went, no problem, and then down and on the way down, the lift crashed and Mandy was flown into the air by an inch, the whole of my body left the trolley. Manjit opened the door and we faced a concrete wall. This was not a good sign. I could feel my breathing change.

Manjit started calling and we could hear voices, Manjit was calling to see if there was someone there, me I was telling her to start pressing buttons to see if the lift would react in some way. Manjit then pressed some buttons and the lift went up but didn’t open its door and so we pressed the lift to come down. This time, it crashed with an even louder bang, I mean REALLY LOUD and my body left the trolley by at least two inches. The doors opened to see a concrete wall. I was starting to concentrate on my breathing. Breathe slow, relax, let it gently escape, etc.

Manjit started to call again, Me, I started to insist that she pressed buttons, any buttons, just buttons, which eventually when I started to lose control of my breathing she did. The lift went up and low, the door opened at a floor, and I screamed get me out, get me out, get me out. Manjit pushed me out.

So having to crawl through a lift hatch with barely a stitch of clothing on, averted.

But no we met new troubles.

The nuffield is currently undergoing a refit to the tune of several million dollars and the workmen had left this particular floor in a terrible state. The was another lift next to this lift but to get to it, the workmen had left about thirty chairs in the hall way. Poor Manjit had to move them all as I was completely useless, whilst I was laying there debris from the ceiling was falling on to me and my pristine just about to go into surgery bed linen. And I presume that the jolts in the lift may well have dislodged bits of dirt/dust.

Anyway we got into the second lift and that one worked and I was wheeled to surgery at this point, as you can imagine I relaxed just enough to burst into tears and was sobbing uncontrollably as I met my surgeon. He was lovely and gripped my hand and launched into stories that only men of a certain experience in life know can make a woman laugh. And soon we were laughing at past experiences and the anaesthetist had to break us up to start surgery. I will always be very grateful to him for getting me past that experience in such a short time.

2 thoughts on “The Lift

  1. mandycharlie says:

    I don’t know what it is about me, lifts and surgery. On the way back from my C section with Oliver in a plastic cot placed on my bed. The floor hadn’t aligned again and the nurses couldn’t push me out, so instead of trying to realign the lifts or getting someone to help them lift the bed over the ridge, they decided to pull the bed back and run as hard as they could at the step that had formed. The bed stopped and did not go forward, however the bedstead of the bed did. So the full force of a nurse and bedstead landed on my head and Knocked Oliver off the bed. Fortunately Barry caught him. I have no idea if Barry had not been at the hospital with me what would have happened to Oliver, I think the fall would have killed him.


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