I share this fear with Red. "Pah, you'll probably go thinking you have one and be told you have none."
So, at 6:30 this morning, the alarm goes off. It's an early start. I have to be at the British Hernia Centre for 11am.
By 8 the missus and I have breakfasted, and we are out the door by 8:30am for the 8:49 train to London. It's due in at Victoria at 10:05, giving us just shy of an hour to get to Hendon. It's gonna be tight-ish but doable.
Doable if all runs smoothly, that is. Which it never does when you're dealing with London trains and transport. The train pulled in at Victoria at 10:17. Bad start. By the time we took the Tube, had to get off because of delays, took another, and ended up at our destination, we were about 15 minutes late. I had the courtesy to call ahead and warn them, but I hate being late nonetheless.
For my consultation I had prepared a list of questions.
Can I really leave the same day as the surgery?
What about taking the train the same day? And therefore getting to the station etc? Or is it best not to move much?
How long does the operation take? And if they use local anaesthetic, can my wife be present to help take my mind off things?
How soon can it be done?
Theses questions seem so lame, but I tried to write down any thought that occurred to me. And besides, I'm such a big girl!
First things first, though: drop trou. The surgeon has a feel. He asks me to cough. Ditto. Ditto. Ditto.
"So, where is this lump you see?" he asks. I show him. We discuss the visit to my family doctor and the fact that Red doesn't even see the offending lump, even though my doctor had agreed it was a hernia.
"I side with your wife," he eventually says. "I don't believe that's a hernia."
Now this dude is (or was) in The Guinness Book of Records for the most hernia surgeries in a five-day week, so I figure if anyone knows a hernia, it's him.
He was reluctant to put a name to it, and that's fair enough given that he specializes in hernias, which this apparently ain't. But he said to leave it alone, to "forget the word hernia". And if it gives me any trouble later on (it doesn't really right now), then we can talk again.
And Red insists I call her Master, cos she was right all along.
I do so, though I'm no less confused. But I am happy.
Then we headed into Soho for burgers, and who should walk past our window seat three times talking on his phone, but Andy Serkis of Gollum fame. Bless him.