I still can see myself struggling up those steps, holding an enamel bowl under my chin, spitting blood and sobbing for 'moeder'. Imagine that close up look of the surgeon's face with that big eye of a mineworker's type of lamp blinding you with fear and at the same that busy hand with the pinchers made you retch and choke.
This scene had its origin at the surgery of Dr. Oskam the nose, ear and throat specialist on Sonsbeek road, for some reason Mum or Dad had taken me there and it was decided that my tonsils had to be taken out. May be I was sniffing with a cold too often, but I've got the feeling that it was a bit of a craze those days to cut tonsils of kiddies as my sister Jacqueline and brother Kees followed not long after my ordeal.