How good to have a lie-in on my first morning at home! A new luxury single bed was delivered just before my return. We need somewhere to take refuge in these days for when one or other of us has a restless night, or works late, and doesn't want to disturb the other. Mostly that's me. Good sleep, and plenty of it, is more of a priority these days, we both find. Gratification must be delayed however, as Gail, our late friend Mike's wife arrived at lunchtime to stay with us for tomorrow night's WNO performance of Prokofiev's 'War and Peace'. She'll be the first to try out the bed.
After tea this afternoon, I started having stomach cramps, however, and these became increasingly intense until I vomited violently shortly before supper, and the pain didn't subside. I wondered if this was a reaction to the penicillin I started taking last night. Clare rang NHS Direct, and I was quizzed by the triage call handler, who thought I should be seen as soon as possible. He give us the number of the Out of Hours medical centre at the old Cardiff Royal Infirmary building in Longcross Street. I then had to be interviewed again by their call handler, and repeat my story, before being given an appointment at 21.30. As our car battery is dead there was no alternative but to call a taxi. Given that it's Friday evening, we were fortunate that one arrived in ten minutes and delivered me there with ten minutes to spare.
Although I was feeling quite rough and a little dizzy with shock, I was dealt with very kindly by a taxi driver, who could have been Afghan, Kurd or Pakistani. I told him I'd just returned from abroad and he told me he'd just returned from the Hajj. We swapped pilgrimage stories from then on, and marvelled at how good people can be to each other when hearts and minds are focussed on God. His prayer time alert went off just as we arrived, so he was able to pause for this before continuing his night shift. A comforting surprise in what could have been otherwise a distressing ride.
I was examined by a doctor whose accent suggested she was Polish. Again she asked for my recent story in detail - apparently there's no integrated system for passing on information taken down by the two call handlers to the doctor. But, at least it gives one an opportunity to recall all the details in the correct order, which may help, I suppose. She found a swelling like a golf ball beneath by right rib cage, symptomatic of an inflamed gall bladder. Her information system is linked to the GP network, so that record will be available to the King's Road surgery team by the time I show up for another 'book on the day appointment on Monday morning.
By this time, the cramps were reducing, but not the nausea. I was offered an anti-inflammatory and a pain killer as well as an anti-nausea medication, but took only the latter, as I knew I had adequate supplies at home, and how to manage them to reduce symptoms. I didn't feel like taking a taxi home. In any case it can be both difficult and extra costly to get one from the city centre on a Friday night, as demand is so high. In any case, I needed a walk to calm me down and clear my head, now I had an idea of what needs dealing with. I eventually took a 17 bus from outside the Holiday Inn, on the other side of city centre, and walked home from Canton Cross. Before bed I had a good chat with sister in law Ann, who'd been so helpful when it came to managing pain back in Montreux.
It seems I now have to aim at a diet as free as possible of dairy products unless they are very low fat. I'm quite used to this as Clare eats very little dairy products. She tries and buys all the alternatives available in our local health food shops and I already find them acceptable. But, I will greatly miss full fat cheeses and thick Greek yoghourt, amongst other things. The inflammation crisis may well have been precipitated by an excess of cheese and eggs in the food I ate before and during travel. It's not the first time I've had niggles in my right side over nearly forty years, but previously this was oddly attributed to high stress levels at work. Over the last year or so the amount of cheese and eggs I have eaten has reduced somewhat. I've felt satisfied eating less of them, rather than by an issue with digestion. The body has its own way of knowing what it needs more or less of.
Who knows where this little episode will lead me next? Just as well my diary is pretty empty, and I have no travel commitments in view for the rest of the year.
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