The English Patient

When I went to bed last night, I had no intention of spending the next week in hospital. Funny how things turn out.

I woke at 2 a.m. with excruciating pains on the left side of my abdomen. Had I been in the UK, I would have dialled 999 there and then.

But I didn't know the emergency number in Spain. And although I think I know my address, I would have had to wait at the gate to let the ambulance in. And I don't know how I would have explained the problem, nor could I have managed the processing at A and E. I should have been much better prepared. (I am now!)

So I waited, doubled up, until 8 o'clock and drove to school. Someone there would know what to do. And of course they did. By half past I was admitted, and within an hour I was attached to a drip and floating around the exam room on a methadone trip! Cool!

Diagnosis: kidney failure due to a stone completely blocking the left one and refusing to budge.

So I resigned myself to the tender mercies of the Costa del Sol Hospital, Marbella.

Oh boy!