a Pet Lamb posts
Going to the toilet has all the planning of a day out at the moment, making sure there’s a cup of tea and a book to read, maybe a magazine. Because there’s a lot of waiting to be had. This morning I waited fifteen minutes, the advance party felt like boulders at the head of a glacier, being pushed ahead down the valley. And they were as keen as each other to get to the river at the same time "ow,comeonbefair!!" I pleaded with my poo. Luckily, the glacier was no such thing, more a mud slump once the rocky brothers had got through, phew.
The epic toilet visits come on the back of the Appendectomy (though the nurse called it a ‘Appendicectomy’ - same thing?) that I had last Thursday. Performed at Stepping Hill hospital in the Manchester suburb (uburb?) of Stockport. Really bad stomach pains from Wednesday morning built up and up during the day and it was all I could do to pull in to Accident and Emergency at lunchtime and ask to be seen.
By Thursday night the inflamed organ was out and I had 6 big staples across my gut to show for it. Not key hole surgery; barn door. Batter than back door though. ha ha.
What have I learnt from my experience then? Well, I have a fairly big kidney stone waiting in the wings, showed up on the x-ray they took. And my tremors have come back, post general anaesthetic. They’ll go again once I stop taking the anti-inflammatories and pain killers, I hope.
And all this a week or so before turning 40.
Time to get that dog, get out for daily walks, cut out coffee and eat more fruit and take up yoga and … and make the most of not being an old man lying in a hospital bed, fretting about whether I have 3 or 4 pillows propping up my back, to give the bed sores a chance to heal.
I learnt that there are (mainly) generous, caring, professional nurses (from the dozen or so ranks and agency/NHS tribes I think I counted) but there are also a few hard, jaded, cross ones who are rough with mumbling old men who don’t know where they are and don’t mean to cause a problem by crapping themselves at 3 in the morning.
I also learnt (well, had it confirmed) that even though bad things happen randomly, smacking you out of your daily routine and family track, it doesn’t mean a bad ending. Mum died in Stepping Hill after a brain haemorrhage, at home after just another ordinary working day, I came out of hospital, though the appearance of a medical problem was just as unexpected. I came out 2 days before the anniversary of her death (which is today actually), something I’m glad about as Dad came to pick me up and ferry me home.
Not just a device to finish this piece – but the boulders are moving again, so time to ctl_S (or whatever you call that key on a Mac) and grab a paper. 8`0
Going to the toilet has all the planning of a day out at the moment, making sure there’s a cup of tea and a book to read, maybe a magazine. Because there’s a lot of waiting to be had. This morning I waited fifteen minutes, the advance party felt like boulders at the head of a glacier, being pushed ahead down the valley. And they were as keen as each other to get to the river at the same time "ow,comeonbefair!!" I pleaded with my poo. Luckily, the glacier was no such thing, more a mud slump once the rocky brothers had got through, phew.
The epic toilet visits come on the back of the Appendectomy (though the nurse called it a ‘Appendicectomy’ - same thing?) that I had last Thursday. Performed at Stepping Hill hospital in the Manchester suburb (uburb?) of Stockport. Really bad stomach pains from Wednesday morning built up and up during the day and it was all I could do to pull in to Accident and Emergency at lunchtime and ask to be seen.
By Thursday night the inflamed organ was out and I had 6 big staples across my gut to show for it. Not key hole surgery; barn door. Batter than back door though. ha ha.
What have I learnt from my experience then? Well, I have a fairly big kidney stone waiting in the wings, showed up on the x-ray they took. And my tremors have come back, post general anaesthetic. They’ll go again once I stop taking the anti-inflammatories and pain killers, I hope.
And all this a week or so before turning 40.
Time to get that dog, get out for daily walks, cut out coffee and eat more fruit and take up yoga and … and make the most of not being an old man lying in a hospital bed, fretting about whether I have 3 or 4 pillows propping up my back, to give the bed sores a chance to heal.
I learnt that there are (mainly) generous, caring, professional nurses (from the dozen or so ranks and agency/NHS tribes I think I counted) but there are also a few hard, jaded, cross ones who are rough with mumbling old men who don’t know where they are and don’t mean to cause a problem by crapping themselves at 3 in the morning.
I also learnt (well, had it confirmed) that even though bad things happen randomly, smacking you out of your daily routine and family track, it doesn’t mean a bad ending. Mum died in Stepping Hill after a brain haemorrhage, at home after just another ordinary working day, I came out of hospital, though the appearance of a medical problem was just as unexpected. I came out 2 days before the anniversary of her death (which is today actually), something I’m glad about as Dad came to pick me up and ferry me home.
Not just a device to finish this piece – but the boulders are moving again, so time to ctl_S (or whatever you call that key on a Mac) and grab a paper. 8`0
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home