Tommy Collison

Today, my Dad was having minor surgery on his hand, which puts it out of action for a while. I decided to go along to the procedure, which was done with only local anesthetic. Partly because I’d never been at a surgery before where I wasn’t the patient and partly because, as I pointed out to the nurses, someone had to hold his hand and squeeze his fingers reassuringly :-)

After waiting in the waiting room for a while, the nurse finally came and found us. I was asked if I wanted to come into the procedure room. I’d never seen a surgery done before from a third-person perspective before, as it were. Yet, I didn’t want to get under anyone’s toes or anything. After responding with a nonchalant ‘well, if I can, I’d love to’, which I hoped didn’t betray the fact that I really wanted to, I was allowed in with Dad.

I never thought of myself as squeamish. I’ve seen enough scars and blood (on House, if nowhere else) to last me a while, and it never seems too bad when you cut yourself – kind of Monty Python, tis-only-a-flesh-wound story. So, as the doctor began the procedure, I felt fine. I didn’t feel faint, or squeamish or anything. In fact, I craned my neck so hard that a nurse commented that he seems to be enjoying watching!. Dad seemed fine too, discussing his favourite running locations with the doctor; listening to their conversation, you wouldn’t think one man was operating on the other. That’s something I’ve noticed about these sorts of professionals, dentists especially. They can work their way around your mouth and still ask you about your son, who must be, what, 3 by now? Why is it so that bus drivers get the sign requesting that they not be disturbed? Dentistry requires more training and a defter hand, I’d imagine. So how come dentists can manage witty banter and any bus driver I’ve seen always has that pained, concentrated face?

It was about the time that Dad was getting the stitches in that I began to avert my eyes, unable to watch the rhythmic in-out-in-out as the needle went back an forth. Yes, that made me squeamish. Sure, my stomach was doing some Swan Lake somersault routine, but I certainly wasn’t faint – I wouldn’t have even called myself sick.. It was more that this particular part discomforted me. We’d even passed the scalpel stage like. Furthermore, this is the kid who spent many a happy evening mesmerized as an awesome scarf was knitted in front of my eyes, and I don’t love that scarf any less than I love Dad. Why was this different?

The nurse, who can probably spot a faint person from 30 paces, asks if I want a drink. I assumed she meant that she’d leave and bring one back, but she meant that I would leave and quietly faint in another room and not worry Dad. (Or so she thought. I was nauseous, but totally conscious). She came over and grabbed me in her pincer-like grip. Keeping a firm hand on me, she led me to what I later found out was called ‘The Armchair Room’ for obvious reasons.

A nice cold glass of water was brought forward, and the nurse sat down beside me. I got the distinct impression that she was engaging me in conversation because she was afraid something awful would happen if I was left quiet, or alone. When any lulls emerged in our conversation, she’d immediately ask another question, probing me to continue talking and remain here and now. I reiterate, I felt fine. Especially after having the water.

We continued small-talking. I found out that she had a kid about my age, who was big into trad music. I told her about drumming, and told her that I was probably the most musical one in the family, because my older brothers were more into computers. I sincerely doubt John or Patrick could be considered ‘more’ into technology, but I was just chatting, not exactly expecting to be taken up on usage hours.

Your brothers… they weren’t the ones who did that software company thing were they?

“Er, yeah, that was them” I smile.

Her face brightens up. “And I only got that from you mentioning that your older brothers were into computers!”

We talk about it for a while (were they really only in secondary school?) and she continues to be in genuine awe. Not about what the two did, although she was mucho impressed about all that – but that she’d managed to guess who they were. Had she seen the name Collison from Dad’s file?

After a while, I was relieved when Dad came out, sporting a bandage, but none of the cool effects of anesthetic. I was planning to use his stupor-ed state to ask for all those things that he’d never agree to normally.

I mean, come on, pizza for breakfast.. how bad can it be?