new medical adventure

greetings

so another bout of troubling medical practitioners, look you see. no, though, nothing to do with the existing reasons for doing so, which (of course) can be followed by looking at all the carefully worded links off of this link. just a "one of those things" which developed (or happened), yet somehow got transformed into quite the faff on. 

as usual, then, i would appear to have nothing better to do with all of this than document it here. based on the fact that some of the images of what, exactly, happened would be "graphic" and somewhat upsetting, a mix of censored images and ones generated off of all that "ai" stuff (featuring my two most beloved forms of living creatures) shall be used. unfortunately selfies do feature, so warned you have been. 

much as was the case with the first instance of the ongoing medical quandary (go on then, direct link) it would likely be best to do this "in order", or if you will chronologically. so, here we go. 

SUNDAY

why does this sort of thing (not that sort of thing) always kick off on a sunday? anyway, i was pottering around, doing the usual, being aware that a sort of (kind of) lump had appeared on my upper left arm. part of the arm i now understand to be called the "deltoid", which i am reasonably sure was the surname of a character in A Clockwork Orange, yet the symbolism is lost on me. quite thick, i am. moving on and it was reasonably close to being around a "hole" or mark which i have had on my arm since the late 80s, presumed to be from one of those class inoculation injections we got at school. being honest and every now and then the area around that has swollen in the past (rather than the future), but never caused any discomfort or reason for concern, even allowing for my standard "if you ignore it then it will either mend itself or go away" approach. 

no immediate or obvious reason for concern exists, for it didn't knack or hurt and wasn't all that big, i carried on with whatever my usual is or was. 

quite a few of the images i got Skynet (or whatever) to generate would be more appropriate for later on, but i really can't be bothered to go and make more so here we are. 

MONDAY

uncertain if it was a "subconscious" thing or not (or what have you) when i woke up it did seem that the lump and gotten bigger, if only slightly. yet no pain or discomfort, so just got on with the usual, which of course would be verk stuff. no, i agree, this isn't all that exciting or interesting so (thus) far, but thanks for sticking with it. 

as the day progressed i was aware of being able to "feel" (or sense) the lump all the more, with use of my left arm appearing to become limited if not putting up some resistance.  in a rare moment of being sensible (which one dear friend refers to as being of "the new lee") i logged on to that class NHS app and did their online test thing to see what the issue might be. 

went through all of their questions on it (the app) and the conclusion was that a nurse would be calling me back. this did indeed happen (lovely lady) and after some more questions she more or less agreed with me that it didn't seem to need (or warrant) immediate attention, but (of course) needed an actual examination. so she booked in one of them referral things for the nice people at the clinic where they have been keeping me alive for the last 18 (eighteen) months or so (see above links). 

TUESDAY

by the morning of this day it (the lump) was very much overtly bigger, and was quite red. the redness of it was accentuated by quite the similar shade of red rash which had formed around the non-lump parts, and appeared to be spreading. oh dear. 

saw the doctor, had my blood pressure taken (spoiler warning - i had no idea at this stage exactly how often my blood pressure was going to be measured or what have you over the next 24 hours), and an examination of it. the determination was that it was an abscess (or similar) full of pus and the best thing to do would be to get to something called orthopaedics to get an incision and drain procedure. no real surprise that this department at the nearest hospital declined to answer her call. instead she gave me a prescription for some antibiotics (flucloxacillin, which would be an awesome word in scrabble) and advised me that she'd keep trying the department to get me a referral. fair enough really.  

later on, and yes this is (very much) where, if "it" has wheels, the wheels all fell off, the doctor sent a message saying no response from orthopaedics, so i would need to go to A&E and get them to do the procedure. anyone in the UK will have heard tales of legend of just how much of a nightmare going there is, so i was not all that excited. 

TUESDAY INTO WEDNESDAY

despite being no martyr, and (certainly) not all that interested in sacrificing myself to make tres rich shareholders even richer, i do have a sense of commitment to verk. i was aware i had some reasonably important things to do wednesday. so, with the arm feeling reasonably serviceable, and the lump smarting a bit but not overtly painful, i figured it would be all fine to just do what i needed the next day and then go off for the wonders of optimal inefficiency at A&E. 

yes, no, this did not happen. as i am (so) prone to do at my lodgings in this era of exile, i went to sit by the river momentarily, to engage in a certain habit (sorry). a friend joined me, asked how i was and, despite the laws of the English way of doing things preventing one from ever answering with something other than "fine", told her. she insisted on having a look at the lump (or abscess) and said no, really, i need to go to A&E as soon as possible. well, yeah, having looked again, the rash element was clearly spreading, and the lump (or what have you) was moving from smarting a bit to noticeably sore. 

a young neighbour of mine who(m) is a wonderful lad and always eager to help offered to give me a lift to the nearest A&E. this was very welcome. he has recently acquired a vehicle which he is most enthusiastic about how it can go faster than the speed of light, sound, etc, but i requested that he rather not showcase this. merrily he consented. 

just how inefficient our NHS can be (note, not all the time, i am indeed grateful that they have kept me alive no matter how many disagree with the wisdom of such) was exemplified pretty much on arrival. one is greeted by three (3) windows, "manned" by three (3) people not separated behind the window. with no discernible way of knowing which one to go to i went to one and got told off for going to that one when i "should have know" to go to the other first. did so (after saying sorry), had a chat at that window, got sent to the other other window and then referred to the initial one i went to. brilliant. for the record this was more or less around 9pm. 

so i waited for a while (an hour or so, i lose track) and then someone saw me. they took my blood pressure, which was fair enough despite it being done reasonably recently. i may well be missing out one "consultation" or what have you (reasons for forgetting shall become clear), but as i recall from that look at the lump (abscess) i was to be sent off for an x-ray and then  to a department which i was told was called "SDU" like i knew what, exactly, that was supposed to mean. 

it was within the realms of the x-ray department that i was confronted with just how damned, desolate, depressing and distressed my immediate future was. when i took a seat to wait there was  a lady of some year not (too) far behind me, along with a late teen (or early 20s, maybe) lad, likely her son. after a few minutes wait (which occurred after i rang the bell as instructed to on arrival, only to be told off for pressing the bell as they "knew i was there") the lady said "i cannot stand this any more, just take me home". the gent protested, but she continued, saying quite categorically that she had very much had enough, that everyone dies of something and she would presently rather face that death now than spend any more moments in there. 

upsetting and unsettling to hear anyone speak so, but after just a few moments it was (very) clear as to why her spirit was so crushed. it would seem, based on my (admittedly) limited experience, that the staff of the x-ray department consider themselves a self-styled elite clique. my attempt to register my presence was just the initial contempt displayed. precisely one (1) person was doing any actual work, as in taking x-rays. the others, maybe half a dozen (6) or slightly north of this number, were having a right good time in the staff only section, laughing away, talking loudly and enjoying the fact that they were flaunting how they gave exactly zero (0) f***s about doing that which they are employed to do. for some reason the political answer to how to "fix" the NHS is always throw more money at it. this invariably just gets squandered, just enforcing a sense of responsibilities and/or efficiency would do some wonders. 

easily the biggest waste of money (and time and effort) is the insane amount of "no smoking" signs placed around the entrances to hospitals, be it signs, "warnings" that it is a "smoking exclusion zone" or similar and even painting "no smoking on the path". between transfers i of course elected to step outside momentarily (sorry) and asked where i may go to do so, knowing such rules are in the place. the answer was, categorically, to just go and have one by the front door. because that is what everyone - and very much the staff of the hospital are covered by the use of everyone - just does anyway. 

from what i can recall my time at x-ray was somewhere (potentially just) south of an hour, and i got seen to somewhat sooner than i had anticipated by the one member of staff not involved in the party the rest of the department were having. yes, the lady there (nurse, presumably, or is it radiologist) took my blood pressure (again) and seemed quite pleased with the result of such, despite opting not to share with me what it was. getting my x-ray, or rather x-rays, done was not (alas) easy as, apparently, my "arms were too big" for the machine. quite strange, that. indeed i would suggest i am larger than average, but no, i certainly do not have Schwarzenegger style bulging arms or anything like that. 

with the x-rays done, and my world moving into the wednesday aspect of all of this, off i was sent to the mysterious "SDU" department. via a step outside momentarily (sorry). 

it was to be within the realm of "SDU" that i would learn the true meaning of endurance, that i would experience what it is to be left exhausted, drained and broken by just how inefficient our supposedly brilliant NHS is. anyway, it turns out that "SDU" stands for "surgical decision unit". now that i think (or if you will in retrospect) this should have set off an alarm bell. a doctor had established the issue and come up with the solution, i had been referred there just to get it done. 

overall, or all in, it was four (4) hours i was in the hallowed grounds of "SDU". quite a few staff there too, although rather than have a party they seemed to just wander up and down a bit, doing little. from what i was able to tell there were, eventually, just another 3 (three) prospective patients as well as me, and did we all indeed have to wait. to be fair they did give us (serviceable) coffee and water. my time waiting was spent trying to get some sleep (not bad chairs) and taking a stroll every 45 minutes to an hour or so to be outside momentarily (sorry). 

yes, irrespective of who(m) arrived when, as if by fate i was last to be seen. at no stage did i raise any concern at that, for i was content that my treatment was straightforward and realistically unlikely to be as urgent as that which others needed. still, around 1am (or half past) when one of the people that came in after me was called a nurse took a break from doing a bit of a stroll to tell me that the "specialist doctor" that needed to see me was "stuck" in an emergency operation. i, and i do not feel unreasonably, asked exactly how much of a "specialist" one needed to be to simply make an incision and drain an abscess. this was a question which went unanswered. 

be warned as the next image is (quite) likely to be a distressed selfie. when it got to around 2:30am, or maybe (patience allowing) i asked one of the staff (a nurse, presumably) if i may possibly have another coffee, and also borrow a scalpel or similar sharp implement with which to stab myself so i could be taken to A&E and this "specialist" doctor could get on with seeing me. i got the coffee. 

coming up to around 3:30am i got told that the doctor would see me "now". as long as you accept that in this instance "now" was 15 or so minutes later, whilst he did something. probably wander around a bit aimlessly, for this seems to be the done thing in "SDU". eventually he led me to an entirely empty ward, directed me to the bed at the far (right) corner and made a performance of pulling the curtains around the bed. i suggested that i was perhaps not as modest (or shy) as he may have thought. he kept motioning for me to sit, but kept trying to join me on my right hand side. when he asked why i kept shuffling along i suggested that he might wish to sit (or stand) by my left, since that was the business end, the arm on which the issue was. 

he sort of looked at it briefly, prodded it, took my blood pressure (again) and measured it (which was done before, sorry, forgot to mention and as regular readers know editing doe snot happen here). then he produced a pen, drawing a circle around the abscess and writing the date (which was then wednesday) at the top of it. i did not feel unreasonable asking what, exactly, he was doing that for. he said he wished to see if it would get any bigger. indeed i said well no, it shall not if you just get on with doing the incision and draining thing what i am here for. apparently he was not going to do this, as he "was not sure" that it was an abscess with pus in it. surely, i stated, the doctor who examined it (what felt like a long time ago) and the x-ray clarified that? apparently not, at least not in his opinion. he wished to have it reviewed "in the morning", or rather later in the morning. then a letter would be posted advising of another appointment. this did not fill me with confidence, because if one considers the NHS to be woefully inefficient one really needs to experience the vagaries of Royal Mail and the Post Office. 

appreciating that some (hopefully not all) of you would think i should have rather censored the top left of this picture i (all the same) thought it best to use a tasteful picture of Larry Grayson to cover up the actual abscess, whilst leaving some of the circle on display for you. 

yes, for sure (to be sure) it was tempting to let the doctor experience just how hard i can punch, or call him some names. instead it was, of course, that i followed the rules of the English way of doing things, which effectively was that i thanked him very much indeed for having me be there for north of 7 hours for the issue not to be addressed. off i went home, then, via one of them "uber" things which was quite expensive at that time, but i feared how much a "regular" taxi would be. 

WEDNESDAY

with a (knowing) sense of optimism i set an alarm for 6:30am, retiring to bed just around 4:30. i was fairly certain verk was not going to happen, but there was a chance i might be all right, figuring i could just call a colleague to pick me up. the alarm went off, my arm was really sore, and so i went no, not at all, there is f*** all chance of me doing much of anything. 

oh, sorry, yes. the doctor also said he was going to "prescribe me some antibiotics", which were exactly the ones i already had. i pointed this out, which confused him, and he said he was giving me some more anyway, and that i should just double up the dose. despite (of course) him not being aware of what my current does actually was. so, between 6:30 and, say (around), 7:30am i took pills, drank coffee, had speaks with colleagues, got all the urgent verk i had covered, logged in as absent / sick on our new fangled, awful verk system for such and went back to sleep. pretty sure i did wordle too, but what the answer that day was escapes me. 

just (momentarily) south of 8am, as i was dozing off, i heard my phone ping. on instinct, as is the woeful way of the world we created, i checked it. it was this message. 

see, (some) people think i am exaggerating when i state that the medical profession in England (or the wider UK for all i know) has dumbed down to the point where anything and everything wrong with a smoker is purely because they smoke. whatever merits (or value) there is in the above (and there was certainly no "referral" when i was there, i assume this is automated whenever someone says yes they smoke) it's quite a bit of a kick in the teeth or wherever. as in seven odd hours for them to not fix what i was sent there for but here, we can help you quit smoking, honest. 

all is hazy but i believe (or think) it was just after 9am that i was woken by the sound of my phone ringing. i did not recognise the number, but as a "landline" (or if you will proper phone) was on display i thought it best to answer. oddly enough it was the hospital, for some reason reminding me that i was in there last night and a fair chunk of this (that) morning. apparently "on review" they all of a sudden needed to see me as soon as possible to get it sorted out, but i had to hurry as, and here we go with the efficiency again, they closed at 12 (noon). 

putting on some clothes i made my way to the nearest bus stop. surprisingly, since non-London public transport has been (pretty much) decimated to the point of being useless, a bus heading to the hospital arrived. not using the bus often i asked the driver what was my cheapest option for a return ticket to the hospital. he told me that it was £3 there and £3 back, or £6 for a day ticket. nice one. 

one would think being on a bus (ever so slightly but still) north of two hours before the efficient closing time would see me get there fine. not really, not really, no. somehow, or for some reason, the bus driver managed to take a wrong turn, and had to make a massive detour to "correct" the route. really do wish i was making this part up, but no. so a bus trip of around two (perhaps three) miles took in the region of one standard hour, yet i made it there on time. 

i checked in (just a regular desk, no ridiculous windows) and was advised to wait in the "sub waiting room", since the waiting room was packed. oh, great. whereas there was a quite formidable number of people there not so many were actual patients as such. lots of people would appear to think that a hospital appointment is just one of two birds one can kill with a single stone, the other being "family outing". make no mistake, i understand injured people requiring someone to take them there, and i certainly do not have an issue with children being there (it is school holidays). just, you know, a lady in her mid (to late) 20s there with her parents and one set of grandparents, with the grandfather visibly upset that so many other people had dared to be there, struck me as a bit much. 

not, i am happy to say, too much of a wait in this instance, and a merry lack of tattooed f***wits playing tinny, sh!tty rave music through the tinny, sh!tty speaker on their phone. by not all that much of a wait i do of course mean i was seen (slightly) within an hour, not far off their efficient closing time. 

this is all quite dragging on a bit, isn't it? and here i am assuming you are still with me. quite a bit more to go, alas, but hopefully this isn't all as dull as if, for instance, for some preposterous reason i wrote of visits to things like a car wash or a laundry. 

a different doctor, one who(m) practiced medicine without drawing circles, spoke to me and informed me that i had an abscess on my arm, and that it required an incision and draining. not sure what answer he was expecting (or hoping) for, but i did indeed point out that i was (very much) aware of this and that was why i had spent over 7 (hours) there, only for it not to be done. moving on he said right, let's get you checked in. i asked him to clarify what he meant by "checking in", and he responded that i would be put in a bed on a ward for the night ahead of surgery the next morning (thursday). i assured him that this was not going to happen. 

back in the 70s, likely most of the 80s and (potentially) some of the early 90s it was indeed "the done thing" for certain people to simply spend a lot of time taking up a hospital bed. leaving aside the genuinely ill, all sorts of hypochondriacs, shirkers, workshy types and "people who fancied a bit of a holiday" would merrily stay in a hospital for a week or so, with it al being seen as a bit of a laugh, or some harmless fun.  our population has more or less doubled since then; our hospital capacity has most decidedly not. we all too frequently get reports of patients seriously ill just being left on beds in corridors due to the lack of capacity, so there was absolutely no f****g way i was taking up a bed for something as minor as an abscess on my arm. 

perhaps sensing there was no conversation here the doctor said it would be fine for me to go home, i must not eat after 6pm, drink only water and be back there for 8:30. to clarify (or make clear) i said then you shall do it and i can go home, yes. his answer was yes, but only "after 5 or 6 hours". i asked why so long and he said "because that is how long it takes to recover from general anaesthetic". my response to that was that it didn't need a general anaesthetic, just a local so i could be on my way. he protested, saying that it "would hurt" and doing it that way "would leave me disfigured". once i said i was not worried about some scar and stressed that the "hurt" part was likely less ("fewer") that would be involved if i walked out and went and did it myself at home, he said that if i was certain then they might as well do it right now. i said thank you, that would be lovely. 

a nursing team then came in to do the procedure. having recently watched Marathon Man (and indeed here is the obligatory link) i asked if they were going to repeatedly ask me "is it safe" as they did it. they said no. yes, of course i asked if it would be all right if i had a cigarette whilst they did it (sorry) and they once again said no.

quite a wonderful opportunity was there as i laid and watch them cut into my arm and drain all the gunk. i said that there are 2 (two) theories as to what actually runs through my veins. some say it is pure, black ice, devoid of emotion and can never melt, whereas others are convinced it is just a blend of cigarettes and coffee. the nurse declined to answer. i don't believe she was really used to people being awake, having a look and asking questions as she cut into parts of their body and pulled stuff out. 

the whole thing, once they actually did what they were supposed to, took little more than ten minutes, perhaps at the most (a very Andy Warhol) fifteen. sure i could indeed "feel" them as they cut, pulled and what have you, but it was all numb so not painful at all. and no pain has visited me since. maybe i am just as emotionally heartless as some have observed. 

no, i am (most decidedly) not saying the NHS is all busted, broken, a mess and a disgrace purely on the basis of my experience. i am not all that self-absorbed or egotistical no matter what you may have heard. what i am saying, though, is very similar incidents to mine happen probably at least a thousand times a day in the NHS. leave aside my wasted 7 or so hours. just look at the ridiculous resources they were prepared to waste - a bed for the night, a surgery team and general anaesthetic - for a relatively simple, rudimentary procedure that took minutes. stop thinking that throwing yet more money at it all will fix anything, start asking them to be more better with the billions they have. 

i asked the nurses what, exactly, i should do about a bath or shower, as in would covering the bandage with cling film be sufficient or would it be better to use something more substantial. they looked at me rather like you would have hoped (if the stories are true) the staff at that one hospital should have done so when Sir Jimmy asked for a bit of privacy and a key for the morgue. apparently they were surprised at me wishing to wash, taking it as a given that i would not do so until at least my appointment to have the dressing removed. that appointment is for monday, whereas we were sill (as far as i was aware) very much on wednesday. 

yes, i managed to sort out some cling film around it and cracked on, so to speak. 

strewth, this has been one one (somewhat meandering) post. hopefully not all of it has been oh poor, poor pitiful me, yet i suppose by default (believe me i designed none of this) some if it shall very much be such. 

 

for those interested and a few days later there is no pain, just feels (slightly) tender which i think is what a 9cm gaping wound bandaged up should be like anyway. no, i simply cannot wait for the return to get the dressing changed. surely they can't make that much of a faff on with that one. or can they. 

let me go and consider thinking about how unwise i am in getting all worried that nothing (much) of interest shall happen that i can go ahead and write of here. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!