I owe you all an account of my recent shenanigans at the behest of the NHS and there follows a summary (somewhat expurgated to avoid Exorcist type vomit being induced) of my merry pre- and post-Christmas horsepiddle holiday.
There I was, lunchtime Thursday 9th December, lining up a particularly tricky plant into the middle pocket on the White Hart’s pool table, when my phone rang. It was Sheila, saying that the hospital had been in touch – they’d had a cancellation and did I want to go in for my surgery on the Monday (it wasn’t due until sometime this month); errrrm, oh! Anyway, that was all decided (with no little trepidation, I might add) and, probably as a result of this sudden storm in the timetable, missed the shot.
I duly went under the knife on Monday – ileostomy reversed and (unexpected) hernia repaired - and allowed home late Tuesday – marvellous – or so I thought. All went well in the run-up to Christmas (apart from the ambulance a few days afterwards to whisk me back to hospital with yet another few episodes of posterior epistaxis - nosebleed to you - which necessitated another overnight stay – in all the excitement, I nearly forgot about that!) until Boxing Day morning when I realised there was something wrong with the wound; I didn’t think it should have been gushing brown foul-smelling gunge. Back to the hospital, then, and, during the next five days (two of which were a bit like Ray Milland’s Lost Weekend, much of two others spent in theatre), I was treated for a very bad abscess/infection. I came home on New Year’s Eve eve and I’ve seen a nurse every day since then to have the trench in my stomach packed and the dressing changed. Apparently, it’s very clean and healing nicely but I’m saying no more about it so as not to tempt fate!
I duly went under the knife on Monday – ileostomy reversed and (unexpected) hernia repaired - and allowed home late Tuesday – marvellous – or so I thought. All went well in the run-up to Christmas (apart from the ambulance a few days afterwards to whisk me back to hospital with yet another few episodes of posterior epistaxis - nosebleed to you - which necessitated another overnight stay – in all the excitement, I nearly forgot about that!) until Boxing Day morning when I realised there was something wrong with the wound; I didn’t think it should have been gushing brown foul-smelling gunge. Back to the hospital, then, and, during the next five days (two of which were a bit like Ray Milland’s Lost Weekend, much of two others spent in theatre), I was treated for a very bad abscess/infection. I came home on New Year’s Eve eve and I’ve seen a nurse every day since then to have the trench in my stomach packed and the dressing changed. Apparently, it’s very clean and healing nicely but I’m saying no more about it so as not to tempt fate!
Oh, and, by the way, when I went to bed at 9.00pm on New Year’s Eve, I told 2010 (rather more succinctly than hereafter described – this is a family audience, after all) that it could go away and have sex with itself.
And a Happy New Year to you all!
