Today is six days since my pre-op assessment visit to UHW Heath hospital. Still no news of an ultrasound heart scan, so I thought I would ring the colorectal surgeon's secretary and enquire about progress, as this was said to be a precondition of the operation taking place, and I had been advised to enquire in this way.
The person answering the phone wasn't the one whose name I had been given. I was told she had only started work on Monday as the previous secretary had changed jobs, and as a newbie was not yet familiar with all the details of the work in progress. Nothing on my case file referred to the required scan, I was told, also my name was not on the schedule for operation on 17th January. She said she would have to enquire further and get back to me. Somehow the account of my pre op assessment seemed to have vanished without trace and my case unexpectedly cast into limbo.
My heart sank, and it's just as well that wound pain and discomfort was minimal. The impact of this brief conversation caused me to feel as if I had been physically assaulted. Clare was shocked and equally bewildered, but what do do?
Well, I went to the midweek Eucharist at St Catherine's, needy for the normality of routine prayer and worship, and traditional memorised words. I wasn't expecting God to magic a way through this bureaucratic nightmare, I wanted consciously to let myself be carried to wherever this situation is meant to take me.
From there, I walked to the wound clinic for a dressing and inspection appointment. Nurse Emma was there, the first to see my sorry state on Boxing Day, and on two subsequent days. She expressed satisfaction at the way it had improved under the right care. At least the deterioration has reduced in the past fortnight. The wound condition, although undesirable and unhealed, is stable for now. One less thing to fret about. I think the two nurses present were also shocked at the news, but I suspect not that surprised. It's all part of the NHS running battle to juggle resources against demand.
On the way back, I called in to our GP surgery in the hope of having a brief word with a doctor at the end of morning appointments, to flag up the problem. Instead of a doctor, after a half hour wait, Debbie the practice manager came and spoke with me in a by now, empty waiting room. I think she recognised that I wasn't my usual self, and asked what was the matter. She was astonished when I told her what I'd learned. Having gathered relevant detail and checking this against the hospital's intranet, she promised to get on the case and report back as soon as possible.
After an unsettled evening in front of the telly, I had a nosebleed as I was getting ready for bed, the first since September. What a crazy unsettling day!
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