Getting Tubed

We arrived at Trelisk hospital yesterday for my 2pm intake onto Wheal Coats ward. I had in my mind a nice chilled period of time in which to settle in and get my head into tomorrows procedures. They had other ideas. Within ten minutes of being on the ward I'm fitted with a tube that goes up my nose and into my stomach and then taken to the X-ray room. The tube is uncomfortable to say the least and for the first half and hour I'm fighting my own gagging reflex and the urge to pull it out. After a while I realise the more I relax, the more my body starts to except the situation.
The tube is hooked up to a bag of what looks like emulsion paint, this is the contrast dye that they will need to see the position of my stomach for the fitting of the PEG feeding tube tomorrow.
Night time comes round quickly, Bethan heads off home and I'm left there thinkin about the next ten days away from the kids and what's going to happen in that time. Hospitals are funny places, practical, efficent, busy, but there's so much stuff that doesn't lend itself to "feeling better" the fluorescent lights that seem to gently strobe inside your mind when you close our eyes, the close proximity to folk on their last legs serving as a constant reminder of your own mortality and how badly our bodies can and most likely will let us down at some point in our lives oh, and a "ninja" cheese and cucumber sandwich, that managed to get past my tast buds without being detected.
Still, I've got a secret weapon in all this... music, and it all sounds so good right now. I'm armed with 5000 or so songs from Black Flag to The Beach Boys from Sabbath to The Smiths and everyone is lighting me up from the inside out without exception.