Wednesday, 30 March 2011

Appendix: the story so far!

So let's recap. Diffuse stomach pains on evening of 4/2/11. Facebook status whinging about same on 4th, 5th and 6th. Message from Rahul on 6th. Saw GP, referred to Macc A&E, had perforated appendix removed 7th. Out 8th. Back in on evening of 16th, as dressing dark with "blood" - actually huge infection of faeculent gunk which was squeezed out onto three A3-size sheets of medical papery stuff. Two different anti-biotics (one every four hours, one every six hours) from 16-22. Released with oral anti-biotics. Daily dressings at home, then every second/third day, then dressings at local small hospital/ Would have been at my GP's practice, but one of their nurses was on holiday, and it proved impossible. Back to Macc 14/3 for Outpatient's Appointment. Doc says "no need for dressings. We'll pop these little sticky white strips over the wound. With any luck you'll get a much smaller scar. Go see your doctor to have this removed in a fortnight." Had already been told by someone (and didn't mind one whit!) that I'd have a big scar. Had to have dressing changed on 21/2, because it was getting raggedy. Anyone who believes one of these dressings will stick to a fat man's stomach for a fortnight is misinformed. Nurse cleaned it, removed the layers of sticky white strips (she thought there were rather a lot of them), and popped on a new dressing.

I couldn't get an appointment with my GP for this Monday; this morning was the earliest. Saw him. He couldn't understand why the Outpatient doc had passed me to him and not to a nurse. "Ooh, you don't want a dressing from me." Passed me over to the nurse. She took the dressing off. Conversation amounted to: might be infected, might not. Come back Friday afternoon and the nurse then will take a swab to check. It's been far too long for there to be a thin scar. A big fat one is the only possibility. I asked "Two weeks?" She answered: "Oh, less than that, I should think." I confessed that I have been getting told it'll be fine in two weeks for two months.

It might sound like I'm griping about the medical care or the personnel. I'm not. They have been great. I don't blame anyone for anything. The infection was chance. The two weeks thing is clearly something one says to shut up patients. Maybe it's even true in most cases. I'm just hugely frustrated that I can't exercise, go get a job, start dieting, or - which I would like to do now as a form of catharsis - go smash something up! I have had my whole life on hold until about 2/2/11 because I was terrified of strangers, couldn't work, didn't want to live. In desperation I went and saw a lady about EFT, and in one session, I was pretty much cured after two decades of being various levels of wrecked. But two days later the appendix goes boom. I didn't want to do anything for five years, then as soon as I want to do something I can't do anything!

I don't think that the English language is sufficiently evocative for me to express the frustration, vexation, irritation, annoyance I feel at this. On a day-to-day basis I can happily treat this as a blackly comic series of disasters. Today, almost two months after the original operation, when I finally hoped I might get free of this blasted nonsense, and be able to start doing things again, I find I am still stuck with this enforced inactivity, and I am narked. I can't even go for a walk as it's tipping it down. I must admit, that does make me laugh! Ho hum. Another few days. Maybe another round of anti-biotics. But then. But then you'll be amazed! I will soar to the heights! Not in an office. My car's exhaust had developed a corroded hole in the two months I hadn't driven it, so it sounded as though someone had attached a megaphone to it. Dad drove me to pick up my car, and his was at one everyone says is a normal temperature, about 20 Celsius. Bugger off, you lunatics! If I was in that an hour I'd be drifting off to Snooky-Wooky Bye-Byes Land. I felt a mite drowsy after ten minutes.

So I shall find a job sellotaping ice cubes to my body or something. That gag copyright Jim Davis, if my brother's memory's right.

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