A disappointing setback

Last night was distressingly painful as the new wound opened further as I sat updating my blog, and then discharged even more when I came to get ready for bed. I wasn't sure how to handle this sudden change and phoned NHS Direct. Shortly after midnight I was put through to a nurse practitioner who quizzed me thoroughly before reassuring me that I was doing the right things, and visit my GP as soon as I could.

I slept badly, the way you do on a dreaded long haul overnight flight, and Clare very kindly went to the surgery and secured an appointment for me. The time clashed with my arrangement to say Mass at St John's for Fr Mark. He'd delivered his set of keys yesterday evening, and at five o'clock, I had one of those 'what if?' moments and emailed him to say I wasn't sure I could make it - which turned out to be precisely correct. Clare delivered the keys back to  the Rectory after visiting the surgery, while I slowly got up and got ready to appear in person. It was raining, but I felt better for being out in the fresh air. 

Having taken note of my vital signs, she saw that the surgeon's letter of response to GPs concern expressed, offering me an appointment, was already readable on the medical network. The surgery, like me, has yet to receive a paper copy. The doctor suggested a third visit of this week to the UHW Surgical Assessment unit. I explained it would possibly entail a long waiting time when I would unless I got lucky be obliged to sit in discomfort on a hard waiting room chair. My vital signs would be recorded again, it would be explained to me yet again that emergency surgery wasn't preferable to an operation planned to deal with the complexity of the problem. In their general terms of reference, despite the pain and stress I'm coping with, it's not sufficiently life threatening enough to warrant a 'quick 'n dirty' response. I just have to keep living with this and coping.

Anyway, she was quite understanding of this and prescribed for me another course of 'deep tissue' antibiotics which seemed to make a difference last time around. The nature of the new wound makes me more at risk of infection, so this is a preventative measure, that will hopefully see me through Christmas and New Year. I was advised it'd be unwise for me to travel with Clare up to Cheltenham for this evening's Carnival Band concert, in which she is singing with a scratch choir. I've hear her practicing her parts daily for the past three months. So sad not to hear it all come together. We had an overnight hotel stay booked as well, which would have given us an opportunity to look around and do some shopping before the return journey. Kath will be there to hear the concert, but I have to languish here and try not to feel too sorry for myself.

All talk, nothing doing again

I went to St Luke's by bus and on foot to celebrate Mass this morning, but nobody showed up. I said morning prayer and then returned home. We went to the Parish Christmas Fair in St Catherines Hall after lunch. The place was very busy with cakes and other goodies on sale, second hand books and records, and lots of parishioners working hard and apparently enjoying themselves in this congenial atmosphere. I found and bought the Bob Marley CD 'Natural Mystic' on the second hand books and records stall. The songs I remember well from the streets during our time in St Paul's Parish Bristol, though I didn't buy the album. Clare objects when I play music too loud, so I have to wait until she's out to enjoy the benefit of reggae from my hi-fi. Even my ears can't take it quite so loud these days, as in younger days.

After late evening Direct Message to Talktalk last night, complaining about the engineer no-show, another booking slot was agreed for next Monday afternoon with only a vague explanation being offered for yesterday.  Yet another unresolved concern to have to wait patiently to get dealt with.

I had another lengthy Direct Messaging conversation about the router password not working. I still couldn't get a straight answer about any possible change in Talktalk router security policy. I posed the question of whether the lockout could be due to the device being maliciously hacked, and this was dismissed as unlikely, despite us being the target of so many scam calls purporting to come from Talktalk in the time since their big data hacking theft two years ago. The perpetrators were in the news this week as they received prison sentences for their crime. But the damage it caused still rolls out, nevertheless. The only half explanation for router inaccessibility offered was that it was due to the, as yet undiagnosed line fault, a somewhat lame idea in my opinion.

As I was experiencing an unusually high level of swelling and discomfort. My blood pressure was consistently much higher than usual, using a new sphygmometer I bought earlier this week, despite it having been satisfactorily lower than usual when I finished the course of antibiotics I was taking until Thursday last. This bothered me, so I called NHS direct, and had a long conversation in which I explained my recent medical journey and reason for present concerns. This was followed up an hour later with another conversation with a 'nurse consultant' in which I imparted the same information and received no practical advice in return, apart from "Call us if it gets worse, or else 999." That's another couple of unrewarding hours of my life I won't get back. Tough it out until Monday, then go and see my GP. The alternative would be hours and maybe tests in a crowded A&E department with a further risk of no outcome and more wasted time.

The last episode of 'Beck' on BBC Four this evening, an all too short series this time, sad to say.

A tale of the Unexpected

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.