TWOC’d and Sky-boshed

 

Before I get on to the events of the other Saturday I will return to my post (Send for a plumber) which was about what I said was my fourth visit to A&E. It was in fact my fifth trip to A&E – I had forgotten about my second visit. (The first was when I thought I had broken my ankle, the third was when I ran a temperature when on chemotherapy and the fourth was when my platelets went missing.)

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThe missing second visit was when we were rescuers for our local wildlife hospital. We got all the bigger (and in some cases messier) animals – swans, foxes, badgers and deer. This time it was one of the smaller deer, a muntjac, which had been hit by a car and was concussed. It was spotted by another driver who was able to pick it up and put it in the front footwell of their car. I was told that it was very docile. However when I opened the car door and went to grab an antler (always my first move with a male muntjac) he immediately leapt up and bounced around the car, onto the parcel shelf, into me and on to the parcel shelf. My face felt wet and I realised that I had a couple of cuts. I shut the door and stepped back. After liberal application of elastoplast I returned with a large net which I put over him before grabbing his antlers and picking him up. I put him in a deer shaped box and took him back to the hospital. By the next day he had recovered well enough to be released. Meanwhile I headed off to A&E where I was patched up with stitches on my cheek and above my eye. It could have been much worse. The rather noticeable gauze and tape covering much of my face caused a number of comments at work the next day.

The other day I was looking at a letter from my consultant that started “I saw this 71 year old gentleman . . .” and thought I wonder who he is talking about. Anyway it looks as if I am going to add another “-ology” to my list of consultants. A week or so ago I went to Ward 12C (Urology) to be TWOC’d. It is in the hospital’s newer building built on what used to be Wycombe Wanderers football ground (they have gone off to the end of an industrial estate at the edge of town). I was shown into a day room with a balcony overlooking, well, a sort of triangular courtyard and walls with spikes on to keep the pigeons off. Unlike previous hospital visits I didn’t get weighed or measured or checked to see that I still had a pulse.
Continue reading “TWOC’d and Sky-boshed”

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Send for a plumber

Last week I had my fifth visit to A&E. My first was 20 or so years ago when I thought I had twisted my ankle. Initially I didn’t do anything about it but when it continued to be painful and my foot was pretty shades of blue and yellow I went along to A&E and said “I think I have broken my ankle“. They looked at it, said “Yes you probably have” and sent me on my way – it was too late for any intervention and taking an x-ray would have been a waste of time. My third visit two years ago is documented in Beetroot is not my colour and my fourth in A new word.

Now for my fifth visit. Continue reading “Send for a plumber”

A new word

When we were on holiday I wondered whether I would have anything to say to keep my blog going. Yep, looks like it won’t be a problem.

Today’s new word is thrombocytopenia. We had timed our holiday* so that I could go for a blood test before seeing the oncologist on Monday (looking at the all important PSA levels). I had been going to go first thing Friday morning but a meeting had come up at our daughter’s Day Centre (rumours of it closing) so I had popped over to phlebotomy on Thursday afternoon. Continue reading “A new word”

Beetroot is not my colour

I had thought I was doing so well until my temperature hurdled the threshold for contacting the hospital. I have a little red book which gives a list of things to look out for with strict instructions to contact the Cancer Care and Haematology Unit (or the Cancer Ward at the Churchill  if outside “office hours”) should my temperature go over 37.5 degrees (or below 36 degrees). Mine was 38.8 degrees and my face was impersonating a beetroot. Continue reading “Beetroot is not my colour”