95 not out

I spent yesterday in East Surrey Hospital visiting my grandmother. She is 95 years old and although blind in one eye and going deaf still has the vast majority of her marbles. I hope that if I reach that age I can still remember all my great grandchildren's birthdays - I have enough trouble with just the two offspring, let alone the 26 granchildren and great grandchildren she can rattle off. Quite a remarkable woman!
Being advanced in years, she is also quite frail and took a tumble resulting in her cracking her hip which requires an operation to sort it out. Not a complete hip replacement a la Queen Mother, but some sort of a patch up job to get her back on her feet.
She says she is just getting over a 'chest infection' which turns out to be pneumonia (again! - that's 3 times in the last 18 months) so her constitution remains formidable although these bouts are taking their toll. They were due to operate yesterday so she was nil by mouth and quite chatty although the oxygen she's on does make her focus wander occasionally. We had the anaesthatist up, a fresh heart check thing, more blood, more consultation to see if they felt she was up to the op and finally a green light, all systems go, she'll be taken down at 3.30.
At 4.30 she was still there and when my Aunt checked, found that they had run out of operating time so not today after all. It's not as if this is the first time either, this must be about the third. Oh well, we'll have to see if they get round to it tomorrow. It is a risky procedure down to her age allied with her physical condition and I hadn't realised (never having undergone major surgery) that they ask about should anything go wrong, if you want to be resuscitated... Sobering, but verging on the comedic when you are having a consultation behind the curtains in private and have to end up virtually shouting "If anything goes wrong and your heart stops, do you want to be brought back" allowing the whole ward to participate! Her response of "I'm not going to die" whilst reassuring, wasn't quite what we were looking for. My Aunt's arrival allowed any residual confusion to be cleared up. Granny didn't appreciate what she termed their preoccupation with her death and later on suddenly came out with "Well its up to Jesus anyway. If he wants me home then it's up to him." Who can argue with that.