But Mum, that was G’s and my first home! exclaimed FirstBorn.
Well … I don’t think you’ll be getting back in there any time soon … I replied

The hysterectomy had been a long time coming, my Brighton NHS GP taking seriously the gynecological events that her Hackney and Great Portland Street counterparts had waved away, most surprisingly from the latter “expert”. I don’t know why you’re bleeding! exclaimed the apparently highly trained and very expensive HRT GP to whom I resorted when the Hackney GP simply shrugged. After spending thousands of credit card pounds on scans and investigations this was unexpected, annoying and frankly unprofessional.

At a loss (and broke) I came off HRT and from there things went rapidly downhill. The decision was based partly on receiving hopeless and expensive care and partly down to the HRT shortages at that time. Eventually, unable to cope either physically or emotionally I found Dr. Clare Phipps at London Gynaecology, whose spot-on assessment and treatment ameliorated the situation with a fresh and successful HRT approach. Dr. Phipps is calm, concerned, kind, highly experienced and, since the passing of Professor John Studd (blog passim), the best HRT consultant I have encountered.

Two years later and after our move to Brighton, the bleeding returned. From a prompt and thorough investigation at the Royal Sussex County Gynae Assessment Unit, a full hysterectomy was recommended and the date set six weeks hence.

I will skip over details of the surgery; suffice to say that at The Princess Royal in Haywards Health, the diligent and dextrous Mr. A dealt successfully with stuck-together organs and substantial interfering scar tissue around my old appendix and bowel cancer surgeries. Given a clean bill of health, I left for home the very next afternoon accompanied by HH who had ingratiated himself so well with the nursing team that not only was he was allowed into their tea and coffee area but invited to stay and keep the job.

The nursing team at The Princess Royal deserve a medal. I say this because there is much criticism levelled at this hospital (indeed at the entire Trust) and their capacity for delivering good care to women. My experience wasn’t just good, it was fantastic. Some women on my ward suffered with far greater problems than mine, but attention was given equally to all with efficiency, compassion, empathy and patience.

At home, HH helped me very slowly up the stairs and into the spare bedroom-with-ensuite, where we agreed that recovery would take place. My 9” abdominal wound prevented much movement and should I need to sit up, HH came to assist; he was indeed a saint for the entire duration of recuperation. Healthy food was delivered on a tray morning, noon and evening. Anything I needed was provided with love.

Those that know me will know that doing nothing isn’t really my métier, but for once I took advice from HH and the healthcare professionals and did … absolutely nothing. Well, nothing much. I read, slept, listened to audiobooks; I rested and …. I observed. For from my bed facing the picture window I had cinematic view over a wide rooftop across the road; during three full weeks of bed rest I came to know much more than expected about the daily doings of the birds that colonise this part of town.

First to make my acquaintance was a pair of Magpies who each morning hopped around the rooftiles and chimney tops; after three days only one appeared regularly every day. Colin, as I came to know him, danced and preened himself for a good half hour each morning. Occasionally he stood stock-still for minutes at a time, presumably focused on the allure of some glitter and gold that caught his gimlet eye.

By and by Colin flew away, occasionally to reappear in the afternoon … but not before others of his feathered friends had taken residence, apparently entirely for my benefit.

For Colin’s departure would herald arrival of The Pigeons; at least 20 would alight onto the roof, billing and cooing clearly audible from my bed. I came to understand that these were lady pigeons, whose communal activities were from time to time disrupted by the thick-necked males who came to bother their female counterparts.

Most botherings were summarily rejected, the females, pecking and shooing the boys away; hardly discouraged, the male would persist to try his luck with another. Eventually one of the girls tolerated his wicked way, only to shrug him off with her tail feathers once the deed was done, leaving her free to continue preening and gossiping with her companions.

The Pigeons provided much amusement and an hour or so would fly by … until they flew away themselves always in disorganised fashion, leaving the roof temporarily vacant.

Come early-afternoon The Crows alighted for half an hour or so, shouting at and shoving each other, flapping noisily up and down the roof, pecking at whatever delicacies they found inlayed between rooftile and gutter. Disappointingly, no wayward behaviour was exhibited by The Crows, presumably being partial to more privacy, but being large and noisy they provided solid entertainment for the duration of their stay.

By 3pm, rooftop tenancy was taken up by The Seagulls, the noisiest and most disorganized of my new avian acquaintances. Barely engaging with one another, each Gull would dart from chimney to tile and back again, screeching wantonly at nothing in particular. After dashing pointlessly from point to point, some flew away leaving a few to balance, utterly poised and proud upon chimney or gable, standing motionless for minutes at a time before spotting something tasty. Now they would fly a direct trajectory out of sight to whatever juicy morsel they were after … when one left, the rest would follow.

The vacated roof often tempted Colin to return. Hopping along the gutter, pausing only to peer down into the street, Colin seemed to enjoy having the place to himself, taking advantage of the space, occasionally perched atop the apex to admire the view before taking off again … until tomorrow.

Late afternoon and time for The Starlings to display their unique choreography. The dance began with a modest bevy diving down and up to conjoin with a second incoming bevy whilst cheeping their distinctive chorus. The circles and swoops continued while yet more and more Starlings added to their number creating eventually a Murmuration extending across the width of the roof, swelling and swooning in figures of eight until yet more joined the fringes of this splendid Starling cloud … and with a dramatic up and around and away they departed for the old West Pier, where their formations bring joy to Brightonians everywhere.

By now the sun was setting and darkness fell; the curtains were drawn, my evening sustenance delivered and I settled down to read, although sheer exhaustion allowed just a few pages at a time.

Supporting HH in his nursing capacity were the Good Ladies of The Mews (The Mewsketeers): our clean laundry taken away for ironing by Lady G and returned in impeccable condition; Mrs. Naughty cooked up daily soups to quench my modest appetite and alleviate the pressure on HH. The Angel and her husband down at weekends brought immense and colourful flowers that lasted forever.

Flower-power prevailed throughout the three weeks for dear friend Bad Alan arrived with an enormous bouquet of white blooms bought from our local florist Wendy Kelly whose regular deliveries brought colour and scent to my room and often from the most unexpected sources (you know who you are).

At the end of week three, I ventured tentatively downstairs and began once again to tackle work issues, of which I had been all but relieved thanks to the intervention of my brother Vincent and colleague OJ, without whom recovery would have been very tough indeed.

In all, feeling remotely normal took a full six weeks after which I was advised I could resume work but must avoid exercise for three months.

Now four months out of surgery I have returned to Reformer Pilates and the gym, feel fit and well, easily tired but healthy and happy. The hysterectomy will go down as one of the best things that has happened to me and my good health … and thank heavens for my wonderful GP.

Here’s to HH, to our NHS …. and to Brighton’s avian colonies, without which these flights of fancy could not have stirred such joy or encouraged a robust mental and physical recovery.

Recommended reading and listening

Book: There are Rivers in the Sky by Elif Shafak

Book: Seeking Rapture by Kathryn Harrison

Audiobook: Just Kids by Patti Smith (link to abridged BBC title)

Audiobook: The Complete Sherlock Holmes read by Stephen Fry

© Giovanna Forte 2026