And then the oxygen test

It had all started innocently enough while I was having my pre-op and the nurse was checking off the list of ailments that may impede my survival of anaesthetic. The "sleep apnoea" box was ticked by me because someone once said I might have that - mainly because I snore a lot!

"Oh, yes!" pipes up Gloria, "I think he has sleep apnoea," and the nurse looked concerned.
"Look," says I, "the tests were inconclusive and I'm not symptomatic."

The pre-op before brachytherapy

It was a very cold day as Gloria and I emerged from the car into the multi-storey car park and shivered. We'd taken three quarters of an hour to cross town to the hospital and now, nearly at the top of the parking building, we had to find our way to the radiology and oncology department which was in the basement.

Once there though - Gloria with her computer bag, of course - we settled down for a short wait before a briefing from an enthusiastic young nurse. She wanted to talk all about our sex life, how well I wee and poo and a raft of other conversation items that would never grace a refined dinner table. Totally unfazed, she confidently reassured us about how most problems can be solved and that the operation is all about success. Indeed, the negatives seemed mostly to be about weeing or ejaculating radioactive seeds and the appropriate responses thereto.