Early Assumption

Monday, we walked with Rachel to the coach station in Sophia Gardens, said our farewells. Her flight to Phoenix is from Heathrow, early Wednesday morning, but she's visiting a friend in Gravesend until then, and making her way to the airport very early, for a seven thirty check-in. We then walked on to Barker's coffee house in Castle Arcade, to meet Graham and Eleri for a chat. It's the first time we've been there, and we appreciated the intimate ambience, although the piped music was a bit too loud if you're trying to converse. 

Sleep on Tuesday night was much disrupted by wound pain and discomfort. I seem to be having one or more good nights, then a bad night. It's impossible to work out what I do exceptionally that sets off bleeding. Daytimes, I have very little trouble with the wound, but the nights are worryingly mixed.

This morning I went by bus to celebrate Mass at St German's again. It wasn't as convenient as it used to be, since the 61 bus no longer crosses the city from Pentrebane to Splott, but turns in the centre and re-traces its route out o the west. I had to get off in Westgate Street, walk through to a St Mary Street stop to pick up a number 11, which took me to Longcross Street. Only a quarter of a mile of walking but enough to leave me with a sodden rain jacket.  

As Fr Phelim is still on holiday there's no Mass of the Assumption tomorrow, so we anticipated the feast. Christian tradition tells several different stories about the death of our Lord's mother, not based on scripture. What they have in common is the sense that her departure from this mortal life is a source of wonder, joy and mystery, at the end of a life fulfilled in trusting God's Word in every sense. When I was thinking about what to say at a brief homily at Mass, it occurred to me to reflect on the contrasting experience of our own mothers' deaths. It was safe to do this as all the worshippers were old enough to have lost parents a good while back.

Peter and Hilary gave me a lift back to Pontcanna, and dropped me off at King's Road GP surgery, as I'd obtained a 'book on the day' appointment, to discuss with a doctor my concerns about the erratic behaviour of my wound over the past week. The result of this was a walk over to UHW's Surgical Assessment Unit, and another six hours wait there, being interrogated, getting a blood test, and finally a physical examination with a young surgical registrar at the end of his shift, all kitted out in his surgical scrubs who, I suspect, was aching to finish work.

The triage nurse was the same woman I'd seen on December 21st. She recognised me as a walked in, and could hardly believe it's eight months since she saw me last. Thankfully, the Unit wasn't as busy as last time I was here. My blood condition tested out OK, and the surgeon said there was no sign of anything anomalous or any infection that he could see. The hyper-granulation didn't seem to concern him, ans he said that I could expect blessing as long as the Seton's suture remained in place. I didn't really get answers to the question of why the outbreaks of pain and discomfort were so random, or what I could do to mitigate this. I'm just left with having to tough it out until operation day.

Yet again I succeeded in catching a bus which took me the long way to the city centre for another bus to get back home. I could have walked much quicker.

A glimmer of hope?

I finished off editing and uploading the concert videos yesterday, despite experiencing more pain and discomfort than usual. I contacted the surgery late afternoon, and spoke to a GP, who said that if this persisted overnight, I should come and pick up a referral letter and take myself back to UHW's surgical assessment unit. There was no improvement overnight so I went to the surgery at eight and obtained the first 'book on the day' appointment available with the GP I'd spoken to, two hours later. Then, Clare drove me to the hospital, where I spent the next four hours. It was even more crowded than on Friday, and it was fortunate that the Nurse in charge and the triage nurse remembered me and were able to access my notes and re-examine me.

The upshot of this was a blood test which showed I'm still infection free, and a meeting with the colorectal surgeon I was examined by before being sent for the MRI. He told me that Friday's visit report had already been seen by the surgical team leader, and would be the subject of this Friday's operation planning meeting. He said that the condition was complex enough not to warrant making an emergency surgical intervention, as there was a risk that such a measure would not be thorough enough to prevent further recurrence of the condition. I suspected this might be the case, and it was good to hear this from a team member who had previously examined me and was familiar with all the issues. The team is making to clear their operation backlog before Christmas, so there's a modest hope of being treated before then. I may be walking wounded through this festive season, but really I can't envisage a better present than seeing an end to this nightmare.

I walked back to Tesco's, where I stopped to buy two new SD cards and some more Nero d'Avola. Clare came to meet me there, and hunt for chocolate decorations to hang on the Christmas tree. This year she's been unable to find them in other stores. It was good to get back home, have a shower, a change of clothes and eat a late lunch at teatime, before relaxing for the evening with a couple of old episodes of NCIS, running while I took phone calls from people asking how I got on.

  

Medical morale booster

This morning's GP visit resulted in my being sent directly to the Surgical Assessment Unit attached to UHW Heath hospital, to get the expert physical examination he agreed I needed, after waiting so long for surgery. Clare drove me there before taking the train to visit Marion over in Bristol. 

On arrival, a charming young nursing assistant from Poland took my details and checked my vital signs, then after a short wait, I was summoned by the triage nurse to tell my story, and for her to see how this checked out against my computerised medical record. She was a senior, experienced nurse, and I learned she lived in the Vale of Usk and was involved in the life her rural group of parishes. She understood, that I'm still a working cleric and need to be clear about my own condition, given the possible demand on my services over Christmas and a parish interregnum to help cover in the New Year. I think my concerned made sense to her. 

After a longer wait I met the Nurse Practitioner heading the team in partnership with whatever doctors are on surgical duty, not that I expected emergency surgery today. She had the measure of the situation, and having examined the wound and medical record, proposed an unexpected course of action. She'd already ascertained that my MRI scan was stored on the network, and rang around her contacts with friendly colleagues at work and found a Radiological Consultant who would agree to read and write the necessary referral report before the afternoon was out. Then this, along with their own report, would go to the colorectal surgical team for urgent attention Monday next.

There was nothing more to do except wait, and I was kindly offered a spare bed in a treatment room to take the pressure off my backside, where another patient was being fed on a drip before moving him to a ward. No, I was reassured, I wasn't bed blocking. I was glad of this, not least because there were two men about my age waiting to be seen, and expressing their anxiety by complaining to the nurses about the lack of duty doctors, demanding they do something about it. I would like to have taken them to task for their impropriety, but couldn't summon the energy to challenge them. It was a relief to escape from the whingeing into another room. 

I dozed for a couple of hours, occasionally answering incoming texts and emails, as the mobile and free wifi signals ebbed and flowed according to demand. I enjoyed being there listening to the comings and goings of the staff. Always busy, cheerful, easygoing, calm, quietly purposeful, no tense voices, no arguments. A real team, fulfilling its vital purpose, and make life more tolerable.

Although there was no colorectal specialist among the doctors on rotation today, one was recruited to come and give me a cursory examination, for the purpose of completing their investigation and recommendation. Then I was discharged, having been reassured that the condition is not, as I feared worsening, just chronic but stable. I am doing the right thing to manage it and prevent it getting any worse. It was so reassuring to hear this, like a weight falling from my shoulders, after coping without support, apart from sister in law Ann's advice, since the summer. Much cheered, I walked home in the rain via Tesco's to buy some more Nero d'Avola to drink over the weekend. My favourite tipple at the moment, in modest amounts.