My period of sitting cross-legged was to start after a day or two of tests. My recollection of the cross leg period is very vague. I think this is because I was fairly heavily sedated. Sister explained that it would be necessary because, although some people can sit cross legged for hours on end, (meditating perhaps?) three or four weeks is rather different and once the graft is stitched in place there is no undoing it. The speed with which the flesh starts to grow in its new position varies considerably depending on the blood supply and the patient's metabolism. In my case it was pretty slow, eventually I was released and helped to stagger about on my feet again. The great question at that stage was would the graft 'take' in its new site. It was carefully inspected each day, but there was nothing to do but wait. At the end of the week it was pronounced a success, except that it had shrunk leaving an area of bone hardly protected at all.
After much discussion and a false start on doing another flesh graft it was decided that a better plan would be to cover the remaining bare bone with a skin graft as that operation would be necessary in any case to cover the place from which the flesh had been taken.
In those days a skin graft was certainly a crude procedure. It may still be so, but anaesthetics are so much better that it must surely be less painful. The skin was scraped off with a gadget rather like a glorified potato peeler, but rather sharper. The thin layer of skin was slapped down onto the raw area it was to cover. Everyone then just waited with crossed fingers (fingers not legs this time) hoping for the best. I'm sure it was all more sophisticated than that, it was after all, a long time ago, but that is how I remember it. My three glider pilot friends had all experienced the process and were full of advice, encouragement and sympathy, the latter being relevant because the dressing of the area from which the skin is taken is about as painful as can be imagined.
Everyone on the ward who had to have dressings like that done always prayed that it would be Sister who pushed the trolley down the ward. Her skill was quite remarkable. She was a naturally self-effacing person, rather rare among hospital Sisters, (perhaps it was due to the presence of her extrovert staff nurse or the self-confident and very smooth surgeon) when it came to removing sticky bandages or using a very old hypodermic needle (needles, in those days were in short supply) her skill was magical. Once, on the ward during a discussion about her skill, I advanced the theory that it was akin to a conjurer distracting the audience at the crucial moment, then 'Hey presto!' the trick was done. It was not received as a great insight into nursing skills. However, the next time my dressing was being changed behind drawn curtains I thought I could hear those three clowns on the outside, then at the vital moment there was a cry of "Hey Presto!" Sister was not amused. Even when the joke was explained, greatly flattering her skill, she said we were not to treat the ward as a music hall but the dressing was off and the patient had not shouted! From then onward 'Hey Presto' became a very 'in' joke for the Plastic Surgery ward.
I have referred to Staff Nurse as an extrovert which she certainly was. She was on the stage before answering a call for nurses at the beginning of the war. Her nursing skills were adequate, but her real value on the ward lay elsewhere. She was very attractive and lively and took very seriously the surgeon's wishes about doing everything possible to raise the men's morale. A quick cuddle when you are feeling low is hardly likely to appear in the nurse's handbook, but it does work wonders.
Perhaps it was because of the Staff's determination to be in on everything that I got involved in the great 'Sweepstake affair' While chatting with the glider pilots, who had just been paid and were grumbling that there was nothing to spend the money on, I said "How about a sweepstake?" To the question "What on?" I suggested the colour of the Staff's pants. In those days that was a rather risqué remark and I would not have said it if I had known that 'Staff' was changing a dressing behind a curtain nearby. She heard, of course, and was in on the idea immediately "What a good idea" she said "Let's make it a weekly thing and on Friday I'll tell you the answer, and I might even give you a very quick glimpse!" From that the whole thing escalated and I was told that after I left the ward 'Woody's Sweep' had developed into what was practically a Friday night strip- tease.
I thought it might lead to trouble since it soon became rather more than just a simple game between five or six of us. After the first week I was sitting in bed when the surgeon came striding down the ward. "I've heard about your sweepstake" he said "Its just the sort of thing we need. A bit of interest and titillation – couldn't be better. Are surgeons allowed to join in?" That surgeon was a truly rare character among the hierarchy of the British medical profession. He and his houseman certainly achieved some quite remarkable transformations, changing a positively hideous face to a quite presentable one, if rather expressionless.
Although those hospital months on both orthopaedic and the plastic surgery wards were long and very trying, in retrospect it was a period of my life I would not want to have missed. It made my appreciation of home and all that it means very much the greater.