I remember when I woke up to see the faces in the wall. Little, sharp, triangular shaped faces, randomly moving in and out to stare at me. I could make out a massive pile of fruit to my left. I had no idea where I was. Then a woman came into the room wearing a nurses wimple.
It was the morphine of course. Paired with the fact that when I’d been admitted to hospital a couple of days previously, my blood pressure was in the triple figures. Wreaks havoc on the optic nerve that, if your heart doesn’t give in first. Mine didn’t apparently but my kidneys did. Acute renal failure they called it back then. The registrar was only young, he told me they were having bets as to what had caused it and what was actually wrong with me. At 28 I was a little too young for all this high blood pressure carry on. But it was what it was. Dialysis and kidney transplant. My world collapsed. I wanted the scary faces back.