Christmas Day arrived at the hospital. The free parking barriers were up, how lovely, a festive miracle right there. We got to my daughter’s floor and she was fast asleep, so I left her resting and wandered off instead. There was a Christmas tree glowing bravely in the corner, doing its best under fluorescent lighting, while I stood by the window looking out at Wembley as the sun rose. Calm. Golden. Peaceful. Completely misleading.

That morning, the surgeons came up and told us my daughter was fourth on the list and that the anaesthetist would be sent up to discuss the anaesthesia. Hope was officially dangled in front of us. I was also delighted to discover Costa was open all day and the cafeteria until 3pm. Sustenance matters when you’re running on adrenaline, caffeine and suppressed fury.

At 2pm I went down to the cafeteria and grabbed myself some lunch. It looked… questionable. I ate two quarters of roasted butternut squash, some frankly gross-looking roast potatoes and a lot of gravy. I was offered a mince pie but declined because nobody could tell me if it contained nuts, and I wasn’t about to add “Christmas anaphylaxis” to the day’s events. I was also given a bottle of water. All of this was FREE, which somehow made it taste better.

Then, late afternoon, the doctor came up to tell us the operation was cancelled. Again. This was after we’d been told the anaesthetist would be coming to see her. The doctor was actually laughing while explaining it. Laughing. We were absolutely pissed off. Apparently, the theatres are blocked out tomorrow because it’s a bank holiday, there’s a huge Christmas backlog, and the operation is now booked for the first week of January. A few tears happened. My daughter even tried to eat, but she was still in pain, because, of course, she was.

We’ve now agreed to take a slot and come off the emergency list, because every time she’s on it she just gets kicked off anyway. Less “emergency list”, more “we’ll get to you when we get to you”.

Eventually, I got home and faced my Christmas pudding. It claimed it contained rum, so naturally, I tried to set it on fire, it didn’t light. I added some Cointreau. Still nothing. A complete lie in pudding form. I gave up, added spray cream and strawberries, and ate it anyway, because I had earned it.

Christmas. NHS edition.