What can birds see?

Crossing Llandaff Fields on my afternoon walk, I noticed in the distance a flock of about fifty birds flying in close knit formation, then settling on the ground to feed, before repeating the action, and then flying into the same tree. They were smaller and more agile in flight than the resident flock of pigeons. When I stood under the tree I could hear the characteristic chatter of starlings, and this was confirmed by a ground photo taken at fifty yards distance, in which the typical underside markings of a starling were visible. I noticed another flock of starlings coming out of another large tree a hundred yards away. I haven't seen so many starlings in one place for several years. Such a lovely sight.

I was examining the photo I'd taken when an lady walking her dog stopped to ask me what I thought they were, and the chatted about the variety of birds that are to be seen in the city centre parklands. She then told me a story about swallows flying low over muddy puddles, hunting insects, and how she and her partner were standing watching them when two birds came surprisingly close to them and hovered, as if inspecting their human observers for a short while. An unusual, wonderful moment, but when her partner died three months later, she started wondering if it had been some kind of omen. 

Do we ever consider, I wonder, that other creatures may be more aware of us at different levels, than we are of them. We tend to think of nothing more than the instinctive fight-flight reaction we share in common. It's already been observed that dogs with their acute senses react to the presence of cancer and maybe other ailments in human beings, and this has inspired researchers to take breath analysis to a deeper level as a diagnostic tool. It's amazing to how birds of prey react to movement, and the heat signature of a creature way below them on the ground, because of how their eyesight has evolved differently from ours. Can birds see things about us that we're incapable of noticing? There's so much potential for awe and wonder in this, that supernatural considerations seem unnecessary.

It's one year today since, I was examined and then operated upon by Dr Cotton at Quai Santé Medical Centre in Montreux to relieve the swelling in my right buttock caused by that perianal abscess I didn't know I had, as it hadn't been diagnosed in the two back-end examinations I'd undergone back home in the months beforehand. 

It's been a miserable and frustrating year, tied down in this miserable country by waiting for scans and then surgery, plagued by delays. Would the significant worsening of my condition last autumn until Christmas have been prevented by a course of antibiotics from day one? Would earlier referral for treatment by the district nurses have made a difference/ We'll never know. There's no point in looking back, even if the future of this course of treatment is still uncertain and gives nothing to look forward to yet. Maybe things will be clearer as a result of the third round of surgery in nine days from now. I hate not being able to make real future plans. I can't live off dreams.

Parting and recuperating

It was a pack, tidy up and wash sheets type morning before Clare and Rhiannon departed for Geneva and their return flight to Birmingham. I went to the Quai Sante medical centre early, to collect my bill, pick up a GP referral letter for Clare to take home with her, and have a final inspection from Mr Cotton, before he discharged me. All I have to do is keep the wound clean and let it breathe. Nature will do the rest. Certainly the bill is affordable, since I received extra for the wedding blessings. It was a great relief. I should be able to recuperate two thirds of the expense after paying a premium reducing excess. 

I did some food shopping and returned to Church House within the hour, in good time a accompany Clare and Rhiannon to Montreux gare by bus for their 11.47 train. This time around, I took the cash and paid the bill. A satisfying sensation. Now I have to download an insurance claims form and hope for the best that I fill it in correctly. But that's for another day.

Clare said they had to wait 45 minutes to drop off their bags at the airport, and were glad to have got an earlier train and have enough time reach the boarding gate as the flight was being called. Later in the evening she messaged me to say she was on her way to Birmingham New Street, having met up with Kath and Anto at the airport to hand over Rhiannon. She got back home by ten, eleven hours after we parted company in Montreux. The rest of my day was spent 'in rest and quietness' reading not venturing out again, even though it was sunny all day. It's what it needed to do most. 

Montreux with Rhiannon - Day One

After a long lie-in Rhiannon emerged, still sleepy and we started breakfast together, then I had to go into town and have my wound attended to. Mr Cotton declared his satisfaction with progress so far, and suggested that now Clare was back, it could be done at home. This would clearly save him time and me money! He's writing a letter for my home GP, and I'll be able to collect the bill for payment in a day or so. While I'm able to benefit in part from use of my EHIC card here in Switzerland, the cost of a significant proportion I will have to pay for an seek reimbursement from my EHIC Plus travel insurance. I don't mind paying whatever it takes, as the relief I'm experiencing now is worth the expense.

I was back again within the hour range of the bus ticket, then the three of us walked into town along the promenade to the Casino, where we visited the Freddy Mercury Experience. This involves a free visit to the recording studio where several of Queen's Albums were made. The walls display photos and a timeline, and there are cabinets of memorabilia on display. Frankly, I lost interest, as I never was a fan of their music, and took  no interest in their affairs. Also I began to feel the aftermath of my wound treatment session, which entailed some painful probing an puncturing to stimulate the release of the residual inflammation fluid, so I walked back to the house and took a rest.

After the necessary photo opportunity with Freddie Mercury's statue on the quayside by the Place du Marche, the girls returned, and we had a snack. Later on, we took the funicular to Glion to show Rhiannon the amazing, albeit cloudy panorama of the mountains and lake. Then a drink at the gare funiculaire cafe-restaurant, with a boule of chocolate sorbet for Rhiannon, tea for Clare and a biere Bernoise for me, before returning on the funi. As we got out, Clare realised that she'd forgotten her rucksack, and so the girls went back up to retrieve it. Thankfully the two hour fare card still had time on it to make the aller-retour trip at no extra cost.

But the time we got back y wound dressing needed changing, only this time, Clare took charge of it at home, after careful preparation to ensure cleanliness and sterility. Not easy first time, but quite a learning experience for both of us. And she did well. I had a pain free and comfortable evening.

After supper, Rhiannon watched pop music videos on the TV until ten, then I watched the final episode of 'Keeping Faith', which sustained its brilliant sense of tension right to the end, apart from a strangely ambiguous final frame in which the husband who disappeared for a week appears out of nowhere with all three children around him, while she is about to embark on a romantic tussle with a local criminal on her own doorstep. Is this a guilty flashback?

Possibly, if this is a one off serial, but the ambiguity opens the door for a second series, I suppose. Since it first went out in bilingual formal six months ago, I believe a follow up has been commissioned, but this final anomaly was a bit unsatisfactory in my opinion. Nevertheless some brilliant acting from a predominantly female cast, showcasing some of our best Welsh talent - plus the lovely Carmarthenshire landscape. I bet this series will boost tourism in the region. 

Patiently waiting

Tuesday, Joy took me to have the wound dressed at eleven. In the afternoon there was a bible study session in church. We used Ephesians 6:10-20 and discussed aspects of spiritual struggle, using the Charles Wesley hymn 'Soldiers of Christ arise' (sung twice at Villars on Sunday) as a parallel text, as it is based on this passage of scripture. Sitting down properly all the time wasn't possible, but I got through it without making things worse for myself. Olive baked some wonderful rum-laced chocolate muffins, doing an extra three for Clare Rhiannon and I since she remembered what I had said about Rhiannon coming. How thoughtful! What a welcoming treat for a teen chocolate lover!

This morning wasn't very comfortable, I had diarrhoea half an hour before I was due to celebrate the midweek BCP Communion. I had a congregation of four adults and a child, bigger than usual, so I had to battle on, occasionally making verbal mistakes, which is unusual for me, probably due to the shock of the unexpected.

Before I could go and have the wound dressing changed, I had a meeting with Bruce and Tatyana, to prepare them for Saturday's wedding blessing. She and I have corresponded over months past. As a Bulgarian Orthodox Christian, I was keen that we should find ways to include traditional music from the Eastern liturgical tradition as well as the Western. It's involved a certain amount of on-line research, to obtain suitable material, but that's been a pleasant occupation, and they were pleased with the ideas I presented them.

After the rehearsal I took the bus into town for the surgery appointment. Mr Cotton himself treated me rather than a nurse, Being a hand-on sort of medic he was keen to inspect how the drainage was going. He declared himself satisfied, and said that the earlier bout of diarrhoea could probably be due to the blocked gland functioning properly and signalling to the bowel a return to normality. An interesting thought. I did a small amount of shopping after the treatment, then took a bus back to the house. I was able to use the same ticket, as I was within its hour's usage limit. 

As I got off the bus, there were two burly black clad ticket inspectors on the pavement checking people's tickets. It's rare to see an inspector on much local public transport apart from trains, but even rarer to have one on only my second bus use in three duty tours here. Getting single use tickets from a machine here is far too complex, though Clare has now mastered it, which is why we have tickets. Previously I've just given up in frustration and walked instead. 

Clare and Rhiannon's flight was subjected to a half hour delay, but without cabin baggage they were able to walk through and dash for a train which arrived Territet at eleven thirty. The happy arrival was celebrated with chocolate muffins!

  

Unexpected diagnosis

After lunch, Clare left for Geneva Airport and her flight to Birmingham to collect Rhiannon for a few days stay with us. They return late Wednesday night, and Tuesday is Kath's 47th birthday, so she's pleased to be there to celebrate with her. Determined to do something about my painful affliction, I sought Joy's help to get an introduction to a local doctor. She arranged an afternoon appointment and took me by car to a surprising place, Montreux gare. 

We parked underneath the station and took the lift up to platform one, the original station platform along which the first railway administration offices and booking hall were built in the 1970s, with imposing municipal facades. In the 21st century the property has been re-purposed for commercial purposes and contains a gym and a medical centre, while down at ground level a mini-Migros supermarket and modern toilets are housed. The medical centre covers two storeys of medical facilities and consulting rooms. 

Here, I met a charming Swiss GP who heard my story. She introduced me to a colleague, a Mr Michael Cotton, an Englishman and a surgeon who'd served for 24 years in Zimbabwe and South Africa, then ten years at the CHUV, Lausanne's University Hospital. I learned that he's a member of our neighbouring Vevey English Church congregation and a Licensed Lay Reader. I couldn't have ended up in better hands!

He took a case history and gave me a thorough physical examination and identified the source of the problem, not with errant haemorrhoids, but a blocked gland in the anal sphincter, which developed an abscess. This hadn't been spotted back home in the pre colonoscopy examination, and maybe it only developed noticeably afterwards. Anyway it was now giving serious trouble. It would need to be operated upon immediately. He said he could do it there and then with local anaesethetic, but if not it would mean a few (costly) days in hospital in Lausanne. My confidence in him was already high, so I agreed to let him work on me.

Assisted by two nurses, who did all the preparatory work including the local anaesthesia, he tackled the job, effectively carving a drain hole in me to let the accumulated fluid escape. With the wound dressed, I walked out two and a half hours later, with the task of managing the effluent to occupy me for as long as it takes to take away the swelling. Thankfully Joy returned to take me back to the house and see me in safely. 

The operation was not without pain, despite anaesthetic, but once it was over I began to experience a sense of relief, as my body de-stressed from having to cope with pain and discomfort for so long. I felt I was on the mend. The pain now is different, and I'm having to clear up behind myself, and go about everyday business as usual on my own. It'll still be a while before I can sit down properly, only lying down is possible. I have to stand to use a computer. It's awkward using a table or a phone lying on one's side. Screen auto-rotate definitely has to be off. It's tiring but I shall be able to sleep more comfortably at last, thanking the Lord for providing the right man at the right time.