Hospital.....again....or not!

I woke yesterday morning all prepared for the afternoon flight to Inverness and an evening in Raigmore Hospital's "accommodation block" called `Kyle Court  I had already thought up the blog post on the joys of 'Kyle Court',  hoping that I might eventually get a meal in the hospital (several hundred yards walk away across a gravel car park possibly in the pouring rain) and return to my room (not even with en-suite facilities) and, hopefully, sleep until this morning when my uretic stent was due to be replaced. 

However, early yesterday afternoon my cellphone rang. "Mr Edwards. where are you?"  Panic. Had I made a mistake? Was I supposed to be in hospital in Inverness having my operation? I answered that I was still at home just about to go to the airport for the afternoon flight to Inverness.  "Thank heaven for that!" was the reply. "Your operation has been postponed." It would appear that there was no theatre available because she then said that she would have to phone the surgeon (who was apparently not in Inverness) and tell her the operation had been postponed. 

I had already been told that it was important that the operation took place "on time" because of my "habit" of getting sepsis if the operation was delayed.  Not that long ago when the op was delayed I had to be flown on a Sunday afternoon by helicopter across The Minch to Inverness and have an operation the next morning before the infection really set in.   

So here I am a day later waiting for a new date when I should be resting after surgery and contemplating another 3 or 4 months before the next stent change, 

Ah well, c'est la vie. There is nothing I can do now but wait for the new appointment date. 

The Time of Life

I am very fortunate. I admit it and am happy to shout it from the rooftops.

I'm not too far off the respectable age of 80. I appreciate that a good few of my readers have reached even more respectable ages but there's still a few of you youngsters knocking about too.

Despite the fact that I've got more metal and plastic inside me than many people (and have lost more parts than many people too)  I am still fortunate enough to be able to lead a very full, active and very happy life. 

Since my partial lung removal at the age of 16 and many other life-saving procedures for cancer and its effects and life-enhancing things like a replacement knee (due to the fact that I was a fencer and fencing coach at one stage of my life) everything that has been done to me has been done by our National Health Service. 

I hate to even begin to think of the cost over the decades. 

Of course if I hadn't had my lung operation (and as it was very major surgery in 1960) I wouldn't have needed the NHS for the next 70+ years because I'd not have existed much after my 16th year.

I would not be surprised if the gross income and national insurance taxes I paid over my lifetime was a net loss to the economy (although it did help pay a lot of NHS wages!).

Despite everything we hear in the news every day of the appalling situation that our NHS finds itself in, the majority of us still are net beneficiaries of the service.

So the fact that the hospital (on the Mainland) has had to delay my uretic stent replacement because there are no beds available, did not stop immediate treatment on Saturday when I presented myself to A & E (Emergency Room) in Stornoway. Longer term readers of this blog will know that I've got an unfortunate tendency to develop sepsis (because of the uretic stent) and constant UTIs. That's what I thought was developing on Saturday. As it happens the sepsis hadn't got established and after lots of tests and treatment I was out later that day feeling great again having been told that I'd done exactly the right thing and made their job easier because the sepsis hadn't got established.

I have no idea what the solution is to the problems of our increasingly aging and sickening population requiring more and more treatment but it's not just money and nor is it wholesale privatisation.

The one thing I am absolutely certain about is that I, and my generation, have lived through the best of the times Britain has seen. I think that subject may be continued at some future blog date.

And After Something Serious

My knees don't match any more!

Rather A Good Day

Today has been by far the warmest day this year in this little piece of paradise: 20℃ and hardly a breath of wind and no midges!  

I woke at 0420 and was astonished to hear something I've rarely heard before here in Eagleton: a dawn chorus. I accept that it was fairly limited but there was a blackbird and quite a few other songbirds welcoming the new day.

Pat and Dave took my car and me into town this morning. Then they dropped me at The Woodlands whilst they took Briagha for a walk in the Lews Castle Grounds before joining me for a coffee. 

Photo by Dave of Briagha in the Harbour

It was so warm and wonderful this afternoon I decided to start planting seeds in pots to put in the mini greenhouse propagator. I'd not got far when Gaz and Carol turned up. Gaz fresh from his 81 mile Caledonian Etape cycle race yesterday in the Pitlochry area of the Highlands where he had come in the top 12% with a time of 4:06:12. He raised a very respectable sum for the Marie Curie Cancer Foundation in memory of his brother Andrew who died of the disease 10 years ago.

We sat outside in the warmth unable to believe our good fortune and musing on summers past and what this summer might be like. More 20 degree days would be very welcome. We saw a Cuckoo being chased by some smaller birds and then heard it calling for the rest of the afternoon. We drank in the Skylarks singing their hearts out.

It's three weeks since I had my knee replaced. It's doing very well indeed. The exercises are quite demanding but I don't need (but do use when outside) a walking stick and I'm off all pain killers. The knee is healing and therefore tightening so it's exceptionally important that the exercises are done properly and frequently

With staples in

Two weeks and staples removed

Today: three weeks and healing well

A Week and A Day

Yesterday, one week after I returned from theatre, David took me back to the hospital. I wanted to walk onto the ward without any stick or aids to take a thank you to the staff and find out how one patient in particular was doing. He had gone to surgery a good few hours before I left the hospital but hadn't returned when I left. He'd had a rough time but was doing well.

I felt good being a walking beneficiary of all that is best in our National Health Service.

Today's been an easier day: coffee at The Woodlands and then rest and exercise. I cannot believe how much time getting back to full strength occupies. All the plans for doing this and that have still not materialised. No showers until the dressing comes off means washing takes up quite a lot more time as do exercises (absolutely essential) and rest (unfortunately also essential). And I don't even have to do anything else because David and Molly are looking after me.

This will probably be the final 'bulletin' post although the fact that I shall not be allowed to drive or put too much pressure on the knee for another five weeks at least will doubtless get a mention as my knee gains in strength and I want to do things.

After some glorious days (with lots of sun but cold winds) when David planted out my potatoes in sacks and tubs:

Yesterday, however, turned wintery with a blast from the Arctic and snow on the Mainland hills driven by near gale-force winds. This morning, for the first time, I saw the ferry MV Loch Seaforth venture past the house in the lee of the Island before executing a u-turn to run with the heavy northerly swell down and across the Minch to Ullapool. I may be sitting in the conservatory soaking up the heat from the sun but David and Molly are walking on the shore dressed up to the nines against the icy conditions.

Thankful Thursday: Home

I'm writing this coming up to midnight on Friday 22 April just over 100 hours since I had the new knee. It has been an amazing week and absolutely nothing has turned out as I expected. The operation was, apparently, textbook. I had an epidural and whilst I didn't actually see what was going on I was certainly aware of it. I didn't, of course, feel any pain at all at the time.  I was the first on last Monday so by the time the day had ended I had had a good chance to catch up with things and realise what was what. It wasn't the best of days. However I slept well and by Tuesday lunchtime the angels of mercy had the pain under control and I never looked back. 

I was up and about and on Wednesday the surgeon was so pleased he said I'd be out on Friday. However on Tursday morning he was so pleased with progress he said, if the physiotherapist was happy, I could go that afternoon. He was so I went!

Obviously it's not the end of the journey but the physical recovery so far has been remarkable. My only problem is nausea and a complete lack of desire to eat. I'm sure that will all be sorted soon.

The staff were so kind, caring and thoughtful and my thanks to, and praise of, everyone involved is fulsome and heartfelt. The four of us who were recovering together in the room were together for just a few days but the craic was brilliant as we all discovered the links we shared in the community and, in some cases, reminisced.

I had been convinced when I went in that I would have lots of time in Blogland and writing letters etc. I did virtually none of that. I slept and I exercised. I ate (the food was good) when I could and the rest of the time was taken up by visiting and the like. I was in hospital for 96 hours. Four of the fastest days and nights I've lived. Four days for which I am very thankful indeed.

Early

It's 0500 and I've been woken out of a deep sleep to start my Operation Day. It will be the last occasion for a long time when I'll be able to sleep on my side or curled up. It's been a Good Night. I have to drink two pre-op drinks. Breakfast. 

The first time I spent time in hospital for major surgery was when I was 16. The ward had 30+ patients and was a fairly noisy place even in the middle of the night. This room, with 4 beds and only 3 patients (I assume we are still patients and not customers) has been as silent as the grave. One of us snores lightly and contentedly. Perhaps two do. Maybe I do as well but unless someone mentions it I may never know. I was told once that one of my (few) saving graces was that I didn't snore. Mind you it's hard not to snore if you are lying in your back. 

The English language is strange in many ways. One of the most curious is the singular 'S'. We all know that s is used for plurals. However at some time in the middle of the night when I got up for a comfort break it occurred to me that one person snores but two people snore. Strange. Or perhaps it was just because I was half asleep in the middle of the night. 

The surgeon came yesterday. He has a very good reputation but I'm glad this is his chosen profession because he'd make a lousy salesman. He certainly accentuated all the possible pitfalls of the op and didn't even mention the likely benefits. Mind you unlike my last two major operations it's not a question of "You will die if you don't have this."

And on that note, my drinks having been drunk (ablative absolute I think YP?) I shall see if I can have another few minutes sleep. 

Waiting

Well there's just a night's sleep separating me from the operation to replace my right knee. I'm on at 0900 tomorrow. The disadvantage is that I'd fully intended to write some letters and even read a book. However I'll have at least 5 days to do that after the operation apparently. 

I've discovered that we are allowed our phones or iPads and that there is wifi. So instead of being separated from my phone for 24 hours until tomorrow night  I am able to communicate to my heart's contentment. Mind you writing emails, comments and now a post on the iPhone is an interesting experience. 

So this is me signing off until after the operation and when I'm back in the land of the living.