As I feared, I suffered from having sat so many hours yesterday. The pain got worse after I went to bed. From midnight until four I passed the small hours on the toilet, my pulse racing.
It wasn't due to an excess of food or drink, nor a stomach bug, but the impact of inflammation on the vagus nerve, running in the vicinity of the perineum. It's happened with this intensity before and resembles a panic attack with added physical symptoms. It's enough to make you anxious about bringing on a stroke or a heart attack. After a couple of hours I called the GP after hours service for advice.
I had to wait for a call back from a doctor. This came around four when I was away from the phone in the bathroom. It didn't ring long enough for the answering machine to activate, and desperate for sleep, I resigned myself to just coping. The phone awakened me around eight. I had dropped off to sleep at five. The on-call doctor was helpful and reassuring, ordering a house call from a local District Nurse later in the day to assess and give some help with wound dressing.
Nurse Emma arrived at midday, and ministered to me with an expert hand and eye. The team she is part of works from Riverside Health Centre, a ten minute walk from home. In addition to a wealth of hands-on expertise, this team has state of the art wound management resources. She not only made me feel safe and comfortable, almost painlessly, but left me a kit of temporary dressings to use in case I needed to change before her next visit tomorrow afternoon. Apparently the materials now used are good for up to a day's use without needing a change.
From Friday, I can visit a specialist clinic in nearby Riverside to get nursing attention. It means I get a regular eye on this precarious condition, right up to the operation in three weeks from now, and thereafter when even more careful attention will be required until propert healing is finally well under way.
When I told Emma I was a cleric and had worked at St John's City Parish church she said with delight, "It's our family church, I was christened there, and a couple of my kids later!" Small world. She also has a daughter with the same birthday as me. This visit restored my spirits in more than one way.
More time in bed recovering rather than out walking with the family this afternoon. I have a funeral to officiate at tomorrow, and must be fit for purpose. Emma's ministry to me helps me believe I can, rather than having to hand this back to the hard worked parish clergy at the eleventh hour. They too need rest and recuperation.
In the evening we sat down en famille and watched another movie on Netflix 'The Grand Budapest Hotel' about which I knew nothing. It was a sheer surprise and delight, funny, thought provoking and theatrical, as it told the story of a five star central European resort hotel through the most turbulent years of the twentieth century through the eyes of a hotel concierge.
The script was outstandingly well written in its eccentric use of an erudite literary style for its narrator, from start to finish. This was enough to keep you laughing all the way through. It looked back to an era when conciergerie was a lifelong vocation to care for others with courtesy, loyalty, discretion and pastoral knowledge of every guest, transient and returners alike. It portrayed a secular self effacing kind of priesthood, always there, facilitating, never attracting attention. 'Among you as one who serves', and reveling the art of true service. I found it hilarious and inspirational, and it certainly made up for the horrid night preceding it.
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