What's it all about Alfie?

Lying in my greenhouse the other night I started thinking about my life. Yes, a little too early for an autobiography but it’s a strange world I inhabit. It’s a world I should never have known about. I should be still floating around in my amniotic fluid having a right old time. But instead I lie here connected to a monitor to measure my respiration rate, the oxygenation levels in my blood, my heart rate  and blood pressure. I have another monitor that measures the shallowness of my breath. I have a canula in the back of my hand inserted in my vein to give me my antibiotics which is strapped to a paddle so I can’t bend my arm, a feeding tube down to my stomach where every time they feed me I have reflux which is like a really sore heartburn – and they feed me every two hours -  an oxygen prong up my nose which fizzes and makes it sounds like you’re constantly on board a plane. On top of that I’m prodded by doctors twice a day who then stand over me and talk about me. Hello I am here you know. I’m flipped onto different sides, I’m routinely given some sort of scan, they measure my head, they measure my stomach, they stab my feet with needles and squeeze blood out of them. I tell you, at the end of the day, it all just seems, well a bit unfair. Its unfair on me, its unfair on M&D. So I sit here in my greenhouse and look at all the others in the room, all from different backgrounds and all with different stories and I realize sometimes you just have to accept it. You have been dealt your lot so get on with it. There’s no point wishing for something else or thinking ‘if only’ as none of these things will change the fact that I’m here, sitting in my greenhouse. But that’s the important thing. I am here, and I’m doing ok and at some point I’ll go home. And as ester rantzen used to say, ‘that’s life’.