Yesterday I underwent a minor surgical procedure; it was a follow up job so, against surgeons wishes I opted for a local anaesthetic. The last one was done under general and meant I had to be looked after.
This time I drove myself to hospital, and home again to pick up my little poppet.
Other than Isobel I went home alone.
Now, there is something awfully grown up about driving yourself to or from the airport or hospital, but it also kind of makes you feel a little unloved.
Oh, I'm ok. I have uncomfortable stitches, and people do care. It's just that lump in the throat moment as you walk out the door.
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