Visitors to these pages may wonder but I can assure you I really do know my arse from my elbow. I did have reason to question my ability to identify my own body parts at one stage of the day but I was right and the Consultant Surgeon, bless him in all his goodness was very much mistaken.
But thats leaping ahead, the day got off to a very early start with sparrows waking each other up to point out the zombie wandering from animal to animal dishing out buckets of feed, the recipients also had to be woken up to receive their rations. The reason for the earlier than usual start was that Patches and Pixie were being taken to the abattoir by the ever so helpful Stablesprite and I was being taken to hospital to have my bionic arm looked at.
I waved the pigs off and waited for my transport to long awaited meeting with Mac the Knife, a return match booked last year. Beth turned up only 20 minutes late and managed to drive me all the way to hospital without causing my heart rate to reach dangerous levels for a change and we arrived at the Hospital in time to be sent to two different locations by the nurses from Royston Vassey who still inhabit the corridors. At my third destination of the morning in the same hospital it was decided I was in fact in the right place but with the wrong injury. The radiographer wanted to x ray my right wrist, sorry its my left arm, you sure it says right wrist here, yes entirely sure here's the scar, two radiographers eyed me with suspicion as I was obviously an x ray junkie seeking random xrays. Well we cant do anything until we get the right instructions, sorry.
Why this should come a surprise I don't know given their track record. During the course of my treatment I was left in my underwear bleeding in xray after 8 hours of surgery while they tried to x ray my right arm, when clearly by the blood soaked dressings the damage was on my left. Then when discharged a district nurse turned up at our old address to see to my broken leg.
The Royston Vasey nurse shuffled along the corridor and gave me the correct permit to get my left arm x rayed and once inside the x ray department I was afforded the status expected by one who has suffered a catastrophic injury to a limb. They all gathered around the monitor to view the 15 or so pieces of metal in my arm, wow, one exclaimed, that's nearly twelve centimetres long, well its not the size that matters is it, its what you do with it, press ups now, really?
Back in the clutches of Mac the Knifes assistant, as he was on holiday, we examined the options. Through his comedy Greek accent I ascertained that it was a good healing and bends of those sizes after hurtings that much is pretty good. He would be happy. Removal of the metal was an option, well sort of, some of it is now me, and other bits were in place and taking them out would weaken the good healings. How did I feels? Well in pain really, only when I move it. We laughed.
That will always be. Great I can live with it, its better than not having it. He looked serious for a moment and said that he was an old doctors and arms like these get lost in his time. He poured a coffee and got out his beads. Outside I could hear a lucky patient asking why his ankle was being xrayed when it was his knee that was hurt. The nice surgeon smiled and rolled his eyes. I asked the killer question, if it was your arm would you remove the metal.
A definite no.
Solved, cheers doc, despite the rubbish admin, the MRSA and all the pain your team saved my arm. We shook hands and I left to the sound you don't want to hear on a surgical ward. One of the Royston Vasey crew "Any one seen my scissors?", those that could clutched their wounds and panicked.
For me.
Case closed.
Cured.
No comments:
Post a Comment