Surgery? - It's just routine!

On Wednesday I go under the surgeon’s knife.

“Don’t worry, a hernia is a very common problem in men, putting it right is a routine operation with a 96% probability of success,” intoned the instantly likeable fellow whom I’ve chosen to fillet me and stitch me back together again.

Now that sentence really needs some close examination. Routine. ROUTINE!! No it jolly well isn’t. Routine is having a cup of tea on waking each morning, routine is going to the supermarket once a week, routine is changing the bed sheets regularly, historians suggest that the Elizabethan habit of taking a bath twice a year was routine even if it was more regular than frequent. But injecting me with just enough poison to render me unconscious without killing me and then invading my insides with instruments I don’t ever want to see is definitely NOT routine.

And what about that 96% chance of success? Twenty-four to one on as the bookies put it. Pretty well a racing certainty, but would you bet your life savings even at those odds? Put differently, how would you feel about “your captain and crew wish to welcome you aboard KamiKaze airlines, there is a 4% chance of failure, but don’t worry and have a pleasant flight”? Get me to the emergency exit NOW.

Finally how about that rather arrogant “I have chosen” – it’s to give me the impression I’m still in some sort of control. Hmmm Graham, glad to see the art of self-delusion isn’t dead then are we? I was warned that he is a fanatical devotee of a certain European football club, so we consulted the match schedule to ensure there was no possibility of him operating on me the day after his side loses, an eventuality that brings on something akin to clinical depression apparently, and the last thing anyone needs is a suicidal surgeon. See - I’m still at it, kidding myself I’m controlling the date, when it’s actually just the first available one on his list.

Just in case you hadn’t spotted it, underneath this calm Anglo-Saxon sang-froid (this is Lebanon so mixing up languages is er, well, yes that’s the word - routine) logical acceptance is trying hard not to turn into emotional panic.

And then came a ‘phone call from a family friend – “Why didn’t you choose my husband to operate on you, he’s a pioneer in this field!” Oh dear, I’ve managed to offend someone as well. Suddenly the answer struck me, "Sorry, I didn't think he'd be interested in something 'routine'"!