ROME. A SHATTERING

12 Jan 2023

At last, not such a bad night. Asleep at nine and excluding a few interruptions, I was unconscious until five. The previous evening I had asked for more sleeping aids but was told they had run out. Perhaps I had already consumed the hospital’s supply. But last night was better.

Having not left this room for seven days I seem to be adjusting to my condition, unfortunately.

At six-thirty in the morning, to the sound of crashing buckets and loud voices, the nurses came to wash and change me. They lift you up in a blanket, roll you around and scrub you. They wash your genitals and your arse, often whilst singing jolly Italian songs.

One of the male nurses is particularly fond of Bruce Springsteen, and during the procedure he likes to sing along to dancing in the dark. I don’t mind so much, I enjoy the company.