Joking, you tell the one about the fish and chips on top of the car at the wedding. But even your best told anecdote can’t mask the pain when the procedure starts.
Every muscle tenses. But you don’t realise until the nurse tells you to relax. Unwanted water leaks from your eyes. Breathing, loud, long breathes, you sound like the little engine that could. You’re only a machine; no ghost in here.
Procedure over, you hide in the story about the chair with the missing leg.
But once you’re alone again, there’s no one to converse with – nowhere to hide.