News but no news really

I rose early enough to walk to the surgery at eight to arrange an appointment later in the morning and returned later to see my GP, who had two very young looking medical students in attendance. She was able to tell me that my MRI scan had been registered on my medical record database, signed off by the consultant radiologist, a whole month after it had been done. A week later than stated by the scan operator, six weeks ago. 

I expressed my concern that I had heard nothing from the surgeon, about when I would next be seen or operated upon, and asked (partly for the benefit of the students present) how so much time could have elapsed between the scan and its interpretation as during that time the wound condition would have changed again, for better or for worse, as happened in my case last time. Fortunately it has changed for the better, though the internal healing process is still incomplete. I could tell as much six weeks ago, but since the time of scanning, there's been even more improvement, as evidenced by the ease with which the wound can now be managed, as opposed to six weeks ago. 

The District Nurse team could corroborate that, but they are not consulted either by surgeons or GPs, and neither surgeon nor GP has checked it out since then. I declared that in my view it's bad science, not much better than magic to rely on an abstract body map without the evidence of the examining eye so many weeks later. I hope the young girls in attendance will hear what I was saying about the inadequacy of this process. 

Meanwhile, my GP promised to write to the surgeon and ask her to get in touch with me. I also learned there's still an appointment letter on the system for a September date. I received this at home around the time I went for the second operation, and was told to ignore it, as I could expect there to be more follow-up appointments before then. It's still on the system, however, and how do I know that this isn't contributing to delay on the part of some minor administrator who is unfamiliar with the case load. 

Sure, the NHS is overloaded, but so often there are alarming gaps in the accuracy of some record keeping, not to mention the patient mail-out regime, with differing information systems in place that don't automatically connect with one another, some using out of date software too.

I went into town in the afternoon, via the clinic to pick up some supplies, to visit the Co-op bank and close a Super Saver account I've had for years. It was used to deposit the content of an ISA which I cashed in, I emptied it, as it only gave minimal interest. Six months later, the last sum of minimal interest, just twenty pence, boosted the balance from zero, and I received a statement telling me so. I've intended to get around to dealing with it for goodness knows how long, four five years maybe? 

I just wanted to put the change into a charity box and put an end to this tiny waste of paper. But to do so I had to identify myself as the account holder, without an accompanying account card. Fortunately Coop bank makes this easy with a secret PIN code and memorable date, of which I'd kept a record. Mission accomplished, there was nothing else I could think of that I needed to do in town, so I returned home by bus. I had intended to walk but it started to drizzle

After supper I watched the first half hour of Cardiff's Singer of the World competition, and rather than sit for so long that I got really uncomfortable, I went to bed and read several chapters of Pablo Poveda's 'El Aprendiz', so I'm now half way through it, and pleased to find that it retains my interest, even when I have to look up or guess so many words which aren't quite in the dictionary. His trilogy is about a Spaniard but is set in today's Eastern Europe, and is bang up to date in the way it speaks of the information age and the surveillance state, in which countries East and West aren't that different from each other in the way they strive to control their citizens lives and behaviour.  

Most holy nights

On my way back from the Cathedral last night, I caught sight of the Passover moon just as it rose above the city's roofscape across Llandaff Fields. I dashed the last stretch home and took my Sony  HX300 to the attic, and got a fairly good picture of it as it emerged above the houses beyond. Not quite my best and sharpest moon pic, as holding the camera on the edge of an open Velux window was all I could manage - no time set up a tripod to capture such a huge low lying night time image with pale orangey brown hue.

Due to the routine disruption of the bank holiday weekend, I mis-calculated what medical supplies would be needed to see us through, and was obliged shamefacedly to call the out of hours nursing service and ask for a home delivery. This happened at tea time, with a cheerful nurse, at the end of what she described as the day's 'insulin run' - treating, I imagine, diabetic patients who cannot inject themselves. There so much with home nursing services that goes on quietly 24/7 which one never hears about normally.

After a quiet restful Holy Saturday, I returned to the Cathedral as the sun was setting for the Paschal Vigil, which had the virtue of being at eight, just at sunset instead of eight thirty. I was last there for the Vigil four years ago, Archbishop Barry's penultimate. Again, it was lovely to be on the receiving end, even if Bishop June's sermon around the harrowing of hell seemed a bit off the point after the proclamation of the Gospel of the empty tomb. It was good just to pray, enjoy the music and sing a few favourite Easter hymns loudly with gusto. There were about a hundred present, half of them congregation, half choir and servers. I can't think of a better place to come and renew my baptismal vows, if I'm not on duty officiating somewhere. 

I value this occasion more than I do the Maundy Thursday Chrism Mass, with renewal of ordination vows introduced only in the 1970s by Pope Paul VI. Anglicans for the most part followed suit with this innovation. To my mind it's unnecessary, as baptism is the one thing that unites all Christians. Ordination sets people apart to serve others, but is it really so helpful to emphasise the distinction and status it confers, for bettor and for worse? It's something about which I always had misgivings.

I got back just after ten, and having missed the first of this week's double episode of 'Follow the Money', decided not to  bother the catching up, but to saviour without diversion the joy and peace of a calm warm Paschal night-time "... when heaven is wedded to earth". He is risen indeed! 

Spring light, Lenten pleasure

Clare and Ann went yesterday morning to the National Museum to see exhibitions of Leonardo da Vinci drawings and Kyffin Williams paintings, and then have lunch in town. I did my bereavement visits and for the first, I caught a convenient to bus out to Ely. Later in the afternoon, it was a matter of driving to Penarth for the other. Had I not siesta'd quite as long, I might have also caught a bus for this as well, but didn't give myself enough time. It's good to know I can drive modest distances again should the need arise. Wound healing progresses well, and it's a lot less weepy now than even week ago, though for no discernable reason I still get bouts of discomfort.

In the BBC Four prime time evening slot, another Icelandic drama, this time a tragic modern ghost story. I wanted to watch this but the girls wanted to watch something else, so I went to bed after supper and used my Chromebook. First, I watched an episode of 'Vanished by the Lake' on the Walter Presents Channel'. It's a fair compromise, and if sitting for any length of time is too uncomfortable there's a fall back option, literally.

This morning I celebrated and preached at St Catherine's, then walked to St David's clinic just on time, only to find it deserted. While we were away there was a phone call, left on our answering machine, about a schedule change from 15.30 to 12.20, which was actually more convenient for us. Clare rang back to confirm acceptance of the schedule change, but was kept on hold for so long with the call handler 'just checking', she thought she'd been cut off, so she put down the phone, and hoped for the best. The confirmatory call wasn't registered on the nursing computer schedule, explaining how nobody was there to see me, so I left an explanatory note on the treatment room door and went home for lunch. Ah well, I got the exercise, just turning up, and home dressing is fine, until we start running out of medical supplies.

After a siesta, a walk around Thompson's Park, enjoying another cheering day of blue skies and sunshine. It was Spring Equinox on Thursday last, and the clocks go forward next weekend. It's lovely to have lighter evenings worth enjoying outdoors. Leaves are starting to unfurl next to the blossom on many trees, the colours are exquisite. It's very much a season of renewal, and I must keep reminding myself of this at a time when Lent type efforts seem to me foreign and irrelevant. Unless being obliged to give up over-activity is really a form of renunciation!

Clare still reckons I'm doing more than I should. I'm pretty tired after the past few days of travelling, as I often seem to be after a period of non-routine activity, but it was so good to go away and see the sea again, something I've missed all winter. I must be sure to let my body catch up, even if it's hard to build up stamina reserves at the moment.

Anyway, I retired early again and watched a couple more episodes of 'Vanished by the Lake'. It's set in the Provencal pre-Alp mountain town of Sainte Croix du Verdon, north of Toulon. It has the same main detective characters as in 'Killer at the Lake' which I watched a few weeks ago, except that the lake in question isn't Annecy, as in the longer later series, but the Lac de Sainte Croix. There seems to be no indication in either series of the back story behind the change of setting. A mystery!
  

Welcome home Rhys

This morning at St Catherine's Fr Rhys Jenkins presided and baptised at the Parish Eucharist. It's his first Sunday as NSM Associate Priest in the Benefice, a welcome addition to the team, as he lives in the community and is already well known and loved. Although this was a Sunday off for Emma, she took part in the celebration, welcoming Rhys at the start and administering Communion with him.

After an early lunch, I went to the wound clinic in St David's. Only on my way back did I realise that I had no appointment booked for tomorrow. I called the nursing helpline, but they were unable to fix one for me, as this team doesn't have access to the clinic's booking diary. I found St David's hospital reception number on-line, however, and was able to contact the clinic and obtain a date. It seems to me that the NHS suffers greatly from not having an computer data management system handling all the information of every department in an integrated way. It's not an impossible thing to achieve. 

The problem is, that the use of computer systems in hospital medicine evolved at different rates in different departments over decades. And each is a law unto itself. Many existing systems are out of date. Also they are not as secure as they need to be against malicious hackers. In other countries it seems, integrated information systems have been the norm for decades. Attempts to do the same in the UK have so far been expensive failures. To what extent, I wonder, does this reflect lack of shared vision about the future of the service offered? A bit like the failure of the brexit process to declare unequivocally what kind of future the UK wants, as opposed to what brexiteers are clear they don't want in future. 'Without a vision people perish' as the saying goes, as we spiral into chaos.

We didn't go out together in the afternoon. It rained. After a siesta, Clare had a school meeting from four until six with her eurythmy colleague Jacquie, so Russell came over with her, to drink coffee and chat for the duration. It was good to welcome him here for a change. 

After supper I watched the last episode of ITV's Inspector Morse prequel 'Endeavour', and very good it was too, telling a story of police corruption in the seventies. Before and after I watched on iPlayer the two episodes of the Icelandic crimmie 'Trapped', missed last night. It continues to develop interestingly, touching on current themes of multinational industry colonialism, environmental pollution, homophobia and political corruption, xenophobia and nationalist extremism. So many themes, tightly played out in a constricted social setting with awesome landscapes. Very much a modern Icelandic saga.

Post-op day two

A slightly more disturbed night's sleep, but very little pain or discomfort throughout, apart from a strained back muscle from unusual exercise getting on and off beds, and holding positions for wound treatment. I think I've found a remedy for this however, in the form of a stool placed at the bedside that can take my weight and help me maintain unstressed posture when moving on off a mattress that gives too much at the edge. The stool was placed there accidentally when Clare needed it to take a small water container while cleaning me up. It'll stay there now as long as it's needed!

Just as I was finishing lunch we had a nurse visit, to do a dressing and bring us fresh supplies to see us through the weekend. Another Q&A session about wound care for Clare. She needs to feel sure and confident in dealing with a changed scenario. I'm a lucky man to have such a caring wife.

Today, I've been noticeably tireder and slept deeply in the afternoon. Nevertheless I did get out for a walk as planned, while Clare was out at the gym, and walked a mile or so to the shops and back. I needed to walk at a slower pace than usual, being careful to work within my energy limits. Apart from that, I spent several hours watching catch-up TV crime series - 'The River' from Norway on More Four Walter Presents, and 'Trapped' from Iceland on BBC Four. Heavy stuff, both recently made and both reflecting emerging political and social concerns in telling tragic human stories. It brings a different more real perspective to the endless stream of news and comment to which we are daily exposed.

Having completed all but one of the French Duo Lingo exercises, I decided to abandon it. One set of tests of a past subjunctive I repeatedly failed, not just because of its difficulty or its irrelevance, but because it insisted on English expressions and translations which made no practical sense to use. Just a bad set of exercise, which seem designed to humiliate. I continue daily Spanish drills however, as it's far less annoying. I know I can communicate in French, but I have yet to prove to myself that I can communicate just as well in Spanish. I look forward to more opportunities for this once I have recovered and am fit to travel again.

Post-op day one

I slept better than I expected to. The pain and discomfort from the wound is less that what I've been used to these past couple of months. Best of all, there's an absence of that indefinable sense of stress to the nervous system which was due to internal pressure on my vagus nerve. I'm no longer trapped in state of coping and hoping things won't get worse, unable to make progress simply waiting for  surgery. Although there's quite a long healing process that needs to happen from here on, I'm feeling strangely elated, better than I've felt for many many months.

A member of the District Nurse team came just before lunch. She did an assessment, changed the dressing and took my vital signs. The blood pressure reading she took was the same as mine, normal as the doctor would have it be. Clare checked with nurse about how to dress the wound, which looks quite different now. I have a 5cm incision along my perinaeum, and a couple of Seton's sutures to drain the opened cavity. Clare took a photo so I could see and understand better. It's looks strange to me. The suture ends are tied together for neatness, and are a surprising pinky red  colour, so that they stand out for anyone treating the wound to notice.

I had a message on my phone from our GP surgery cancelling an appointment made last week to visit the nurse for a blood pressure check in a month's time. Nothing to do with the nurse's findings, but a clue that the surgery already knows I've had the op, and that a different regime of medical attention will now be put into place. 

For the past couple of months the fortnightly surgery check was the GPs way of checking that my condition didn't worsen before an operation took place, and not get noticed. It's reassuring to reflect this has worked well. I have been quietly accompanied by medics and District Nurses all along this precarious journey. Bravo!

I spent a lot of time today talking to people by phone or email, updating them. We intended to go out for a short walk, if I felt up to it, but ran out of time before it rained. But never mind. So far just enjoying feeling different and resting is enough to be going on with. Praise God.

  

A Saint for Unity Week

This morning, I had an early phone call from Pidgeon's funeral directors about a funeral at funeral at St John's which Emma isn't free to take on. I then walked down to St John's to celebrate the midweek Eucharist for a dozen people. Thank goodness I am still able to do some useful work. 

It's the feast of St Francois de Sales, the 17th century Bishop of Geneva in exile. This had me reminiscing with the congregation about visiting the basilica of the Visitation in Annecy where he and St Jane de Chantal are buried. His book 'Introduction to the Devout Life' written especially to nurture lay people's spirituality in the everyday world was the first of its kind. As the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity nears its end, a saint whose teaching is appreciated ecumenically these days, and linked with Geneva, birthplace of the World Council of Churches, and neighbouring Haute Savoie is particularly appropriate. 

Sadly, as old wounds of division in the Body of Christ are healing new ones open. I am thinking of schism between Moscow and Kiev Patriarchates, between conservative fundamentalist evangelicals and the liberal mainstream. It's a pity that ecumenism doesn't get the same attention these days as it did when we were young. Nowadays it's being taken too much for granted, and the imperative to 'be reconciled' slips out of focus.

After returning home to cook lunch in time for Clare's arrival from her morning in the kindergarten, I went to Riverside Health Surgery for another dressing change. Later we went into town to browse aimlessly in the shops (on my part at least) and end up with tea in John Lewis'. A rather dull routine really, to punctuate the passage of time between today and operation day, supposedly three weeks from now. 

I can't help wondering if it will be postponed again and what I'll do if this happens. Becket's play 'Waiting for Godot' comes to mind. Or maybe Kafka's 'The Trial'. Three months delay has taken its toll in stress and weight loss. The gentle care and support of GPs and the District Nurse team keeps me from despair at the apparent indifference to suffering of both the hospital management and surgical team.