Having had a minor heart attack the consultant decided that I had an angiogram to rule out those unseen problems within, and this would confirm that I was healthy enough to leave hospital. There is a hospital in London that deals in heart problems and I was to be transported there after being washed and examined to be declared fit for travel. For what seemed like most of the afternoon I was kept naked on top of the bed and when the ambulance men came I was transferred to a trolley and have a blanket put over me. From ward to ambulance the journey was via staff only corridors and walk ways, and while it was warm inside I could see the rain falling outside. In the ambulance I was allowed to sit up so I could be monitored, and yes, it was a bit humiliating to feel my breast jiggling about as the vehicle went over bumps and potholes.
At the hospital I was taken to a ward where the blanket was removed and I was examined by several people. At this place my procedure, at the time was about £7,500, and because I was an NHS patient I was made very aware of the fact that I was not rich enough to be able to pay for my treatment. I did tell the nurse who was assigned to care for me that the consultant sent me there and the decision was out of my hands. The nurse asked me to get off the trolley and move onto a bed, and I should try to urinate into a bowl.
I really couldn't go and got onto the bed as I was allocated another nurse with a very strong Dutch / German accent that came from somewhere in South Africa, so I was told, and because of her attitude I decided that I really didn't like her. Because I had not urinated publically she made such that I was catheterised, an activity that wasn't very pleasant. She looked at me and asked why I hadn't shaved and I said that I was asked to do so, and quite frankly I really couldn't see down there to do the job they required. My shave was dry and not very comfortable, and only just enough hair was removed to make the job good enough.
In a way I was quite proud of my lady garden but that snotty bitch of a nurse had deliberately messed it up. I was asked why I didn't shave on a regular basis and was lectured about feminine hygiene and products that would keep me smelling of flowers and summer breezes. I did remind the nurse that I washed twice a day, and had done so for at least 50 years and I had never had a problem down below.
The job done I was moved back to the original hospital with my upper thighs restrained to ensure the wound healed up properly. During the night I did have a bleed and two male nurses came to my assistance. There was no question of removing my pubic hair for convenience of getting rid of the matted hair and blood. They cleaned me up and made me comfortable. After the hospital my husband shaved me daily while the wound healed and then I suggested that my pubic hair grow back to its former glory, and it has only been trimmed to keep it neat and tidy.