The morning after my second bout of major open surgery I’m woken by the woman in the bed in front of me leaping up from a pool of blood crying out “help me” with the bottom half of her gown soaked in it. It’s like something from a horror film. The nurse rushes in and very calmly states “it’s ok I’m here”, pulling the curtain round and working her magic. We doze off after that but when we’ve all come round a bit I see the curtain has been drawn back and it’s like nothing has ever happened. She bashfully apologies to us all for waking everyone up in that usual British self deprecating way. We all mutter our agreement that her waking up soaked in a pool of blood is a far pressing matter than our disturbed sleep. In either her relief of receiving this acceptance from us or just boredom from having no other distraction (#lifebeforemobilephones) she then proceeds to make non stop conversation with us all. It’s 6am and I’m recovering from my second emergency operation in 8 weeks and don’t feel like small talk so tactfully answer her questions then lie back with my eye mask on.