Recently my daughter sent me a text while I was in a meeting at work. She’d dropped her children to school that morning and had been horrified by a t-shirt another parent was wearing – it had a large photo of a barely dressed woman on it.
When I was a little girl, about four years old, I had to go into hospital to have my adenoids removed.
Now I was four years old quite a long time ago! Back in the days before parents were allowed to spend uncomfortable nights in armchairs by their children’s hospital beds. Back in the times before day surgery; when even relatively minor procedures meant a week or more in hospital.
My dad took me to the hospital and I can still summon up the horrifying image of his back as he walked away from me down what seemed to be an impossibly long ward. I can still hear my own wail as I leapt out of my hospital bed and raced after him.