I remember being taken by my mother to the Childrens Hospital when I was 4 yrs old, 1945. We only lived around the corner from it. I had to have my tonsils and adenoids out. We went down a dark tunnel to a round room, (underground I think) with a huge table in the middle. I didn't know what was happening to me as the nurse came to take me to the ward, so she had to catch this screaming child first around this table. On the wards we couldn't have parents in to see us, they had to watch from outside the ward doors. Needless to say, when I was taken home by my parents 4 days later, I wouldn't speak to them for not warning me first. In the next bed was a little boy named Rodney who I befriended, I wonder where he is today?
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