Tag Archives: health

An evening of two halves

‘Cheers’ said Whizz as we clinked together our champagne flutes to welcome in 2015.

‘Here’s to a hospital free year’ I rejoined.

We almost made it!

Yesterday, late afternoon, turned out to be a bit frantic. I worked a bit of overtime at work, the car fuel-gauge was so low that the needle did not even move when the car was on a hill, the dog needed walking, a repeat prescription that should have been delivered to Pebbleditch, remained in Tinkle Town to be collected urgently, and it was Community Film night, which meant that Whizz needed dinner by 6pm in order to be at the village hall, erecting the big screen and setting up equipment at 6.30. At lunch time there had been a lot of talk about Christmas and I was painfully aware that I had done absolutely nothing towards the festive preparations, despite the fact that I am hosting my beloved family for several days.

Dog needs walking however busy one is
Whatever needs doing must make way for the dog walk.

I decided I should load the dog into the car, head to the petrol station first, then on to the doctor, after which I would walk, in the dark, around Tinkle Park.

I will digress a bit here and admit to something very personal. I am trying (I won’t say I am, one yet) to become a Buddhist. To many this may seem completely bonkers but I am deadly serious. I didn’t like the person I was becoming and felt the  need to make a change. Nichiren Buddhism is a branch of the ‘religeon’ that places responsibility on the individual. Instead of asking a deity to help achieve something, the emphasis is firmly on the person, to examine their heart and change their own karma, thus enabling their Buddahood to emerge.

I am completely happy with the self examination and improvement aspect of Buddhism, but I have some issue with the idea that a person can chant to get the things they want. I am assured by the people who attend the sessions that there are millionaires who have achieved their wealth through chanting ‘Nam Myōhō Renge Kyō’.

Having set the scene I will continue. Grabbing my dog vest (a fishing vest that contains all the accouterments needed for a walk: treats, ball, poo bags, torch, curry comb etc) and my muddy walking boots, I loaded them, and the dog into the back of the car. With some trepidation I ignited the engine and reversed into the road, looking at the fuel gauge and hoping for the best. I kept the revs low to reduce consumption and as I neared Tinkle, had the awful premonition that the petrol station may be accepting a fuel delivery and be closed.

The idea of chanting for what you want, entered my mind, and to the concern of the dog I began to chant, really convincing myself that the garage would be open and I would get petrol.

As I rounded the corner, there it was, open and with pumps available so I pulled up in a vacant spot. It was then I realised that of all the things I had remembered, money was not among them.

petrol pump nozzle
Thanks to the Daily Mirror for this image.

‘Bugger’ I announced to the dog. He cocked his head on one side, no doubt wondering if that was code for ‘Time for a walk’.

I probably wouldn’t make the return journey without fuel so I crossed the forecourt and stood just inside the doorway of the shoppy thing, where a lady customer was completing her transaction.

The guy behind the counter met my eyes.

‘I’ve come here on a very empty tank and found that I have forgotten my purse.’ I explained with some discomfort, ‘Is there any way you could let me squirt a bit of petrol into the tank, enough to go home and fetch my purse?’

‘The guy appraised me. ‘Where have you come from?’

‘Pebbleditch.’

I think he would have granted my request but at that moment, the woman at the counter pulled out her purse and thrust two ten pound notes at me.

‘Here,’ she said, ‘take this.’

I was horrified.

‘I couldn’t possibly take that,’ I insisted,

‘Come on,’ the lady responded. ‘Take it, quickly. I’ve got a baby in the car.’

Still not quite believing what had happened, I clutched two crisp ten pound notes and watched the lady leave, tears of gratitude in my eyes.

As I went back towards my car, the lovely lady was still sitting in the driver’s seat of her own vehicle, and it dawned on me that I would not need twenty pounds to get home, so I knocked on her windscreen and passed back one of the notes through her lowered side window, effusing my gratitude once more. Nam Myōhō Renge Kyō.

I continued with my mission, to the doctor’s, the pharmacy and, wisely avoiding the park, decided that the chalk meadow was a safer bet to walk the dog. He received a shorter walk than usual as the dinner still needed to be cooked, and time was marching on. The idea of fish and chips sprang to mind on the way home. I was pretty hungry as I had not had any lunch, and I knew my family would be delighted, nay disbelieving, at their luck. Junk food, and it was Mum’s idea? Never.

After dropping the dog home I set off back to Tinkle. It was the night of the Victorian Market and the car park was already filling up, but I managed to find a slot, and even remembered to buy a parking ticket.

Filled with the wonder of life, I strode towards the centre of town and my eye was caught by a closing down sale. Aware of my shortcomings in the area of Christmas shopping, I looked with interest at the window display.

It is not good practice to walk in one direction while looking in another and as my toe hit the curbstone I found my body launched towards the wet pavement, bag clutched to my chest. There was no saving myself, my centre of gravity was at about my knees, and as I landed on my bag, my body see sawed over it and my face hit the pavement. Grit filled my mouth as I heard the concerned voices of two ladies, whose feet soon appeared in my field of vision

‘Are you alright?’ Asked an anxious voice.

‘I think so.’ I replied from my undignified position.

‘Sue!’ Announced another voice and I turned my head a little to observe a friend.

‘Hi Bess.’ I struggled to my knees. Everything seemed intact, in fact nothing hurt.

‘We must have coffee some time,’ the friend murmured as she kissed me goodbye.

‘Yes.’ I promised, feeling shaken and surreal.

I rubbed the dirt from my face and having bought two cod and one haddock, all with chips, I sped home, where all was warm, normal and hungry. I told Whizz and Mavis what had happened but I played it down a bit because no harm had been done.

Of course when I woke up the next morning I had a headache and was very stiff in the shoulders and knees. The headache worried me and thoughts of hemorrhages and detached retinas floated before me. Whizz was still asleep so I got up, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to nip down to A&E. Just to be on the safe side.

I woke Whizz and as we set of for the hospital, Sounds of the 60s began playing Poetry in Motion. Whizz and I began to giggle, years of marriage has placed us both firmly on the same basic level of humour.

‘Falling tree in motion’ sang Whizz.

‘Launching by my side,’ I sang back.

Our visit to A&E was much briefer than we expected. We were sent to the Urgent Care department and were seen in about 15 minutes. Brilliant NHS.

I had whiplash and a bashed TMJ (Temporomandibular Joint), the cause of the pain.

Apparently I need to talk less to rest it!

 

Dear Hospital

Georgia O'Keeffe - Breasts
Not mine, unfortunately.
Georgia O’Keeffe – Breasts
Alfred Stieglitz
(American, Hoboken, New Jersey 1864-1946 New York)

During my last hectic visit to A & E in Stoke Mandeville I noticed boxes with slots on top, plastered with signs asking for feedback from people tired of waiting, in pain and worried. I believe there are similar ones in the cancer unit at Wycombe hospital but I didn’t spot them, being weighed down with other thoughts, my eyes turned inwards.

Having returned to Wycombe Hospital for treatment this week I can report that, as is usually the case, the demeanour and intentions of the staff were exemplary.

We all know how short of staff the NHS is – scheduled to get shorter I suspect following the Chancellor’s latest decision to freeze public sector wages again.

‘We’re a caring profession,’ one nurse said to me. ‘Don’t they care about us?’ Continue reading Dear Hospital

A funny thing happened in the hospital

There’s not much to laugh about when you’re undergoing a pre-op for breast surgery (don’t worry, just some abnormal cells that need to be removed in case they became cancerous), however I did laugh at this.

Hospital picture for blog post A Funny Thing Happened at the Hospital
Thanks to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York for allowing this, and many other images to be shared.

It was the usual, depressing room. A bed to my right, and on the left a desk and a chair. There was a computer, surgical gloves, blood pressure monitor, clanging bin, you know the kind of thing – I’m certainly becoming familiar with it.

Voices outside, then the door opens and a very smiley, attractive man with an Eastern European accent, is followed in by a younger, equally handsome student with a ‘Land of Opportunity’ drawl. They shake my hand, introduce themselves, and the student perches on the bed while the surgeon drops into his seat at the desk. Continue reading A funny thing happened in the hospital

A funny thing happened …

 

 

 

banana fingers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Having reported yesterday that nothing funny had happened for ages, I have to tell you that my memory had let me down. On Monday evening after a frustrating time trying to get to grips with a plastered foot and crutches, and having struggled upstairs on my bottom and crawled into the bedroom because I couldn’t stand up without putting the damned foot on the floor, I finally managed to sit on the edge of the bed to start the unbelievably tedious process of undressing.

It was at this point that I realised my trouser leg was too narrow to go over my plaster and the trousers would need to be cut off. This didn’t matter as I’d already taken the knee out of them in my fall. The problem was that I didn’t have any scissors. What I did have was my phone, so I sent a text to Whizz, who was downstairs in the office, oblivious to all my troubles: Do you think you could come and shut the curtains and help me cut off my trousers please?

I waited a while then began to get irritated so grabbed the phone again with the idea of ringing him and telling him to get a move on.

I expect you’ve guessed by now. Yes, this was the moment when I discovered I’d sent the message to a teacher at school. I hurriedly dashed off an explanation and sent another message to Whizz.

Whizz giggled all evening and the teacher hehe’d me a message the following morning.

I need smaller fingers, or a bigger phone.