The joy of a hospital honeymoon

The morning after we were wedded, I went to hospital in Marseille. The oncologist wanted to assess the pain level and find the right daily morphine dose. I went down in the back of a taxi and from the taxi to the cancer ward in a wheelchair. A nurse with a form checked me into the single-occupancy room, asking me my name, address, date of birth, occupation, etc. Then: ‘Are you married?’ ‘Yes. We married only yesterday as a matter of fact.’ The dear soul could not have been happier for us, though she was probably mystified as to who on earth would want to marry a mummy with the bandages off.

While in hospital I had to relinquish control of my daily morphine dose to the nurses. I take two sorts of morphine capsules, long-acting and short-.