Thursday, 14 March 2013

Nearly there people!!

You all knew what you were getting into when I started this so it’s too late to back out now. We’re in this together but fear not there is an end game in sight, no really. I know I’ve said that before but rest assured that the adventures of Scaphoid and the Hurty Wrist are barrelling towards a full stop just as I did last October when this Lord of the Rings style epic yawn fest began. What you’re reading now is the penultimate chapter of a book that even Tolstoy would consider wordy. This is a novel that has about as much depth as Ant & Dec, with more twists and turns than snake in a drainpipe. The chief protagonist is a sweet toothed hero in more than just words, there are paragraphs and commas and everything.  The antagonists are gravity, NHS waiting rooms and chocolate biccies.
The latest ramble began on Monday with some interarmular arthroscopy and the slim chance of a permanent fix. I say slim because with the amount of damage I’d already done a quick in and out fix was unlikely despite the fact that the CT scan had come back more or less ‘alright’. I was checked in and made comfy before the endless wave of fans came by to catch a glimpse of their hero. Doctors, nurses, surgeons and an anaesthetist all wanted a piece of my ass. There were endless forms and questions to answer and I had to keep reminding them all that they didn’t need to make up excuses to see me, and that under this epic layer of awesome I was just like they are but a little bit better.  

outpatient fashion baby!

Unsurprisingly some of the nurses remembered me, well, how could they not? They took my post-op food order of sausage, egg and chips with a smile and a “I’ll see what I can do”. I hadn’t eaten all day so as a distraction I parked my bum in the TV room half expecting some show tunes from a drag act but instead was greeted with daytime television and a second floor window in which to jump out of. After minutes of local Beeb programming my thoughts turned to our home Sky TV subscription and how it was now worth every single penny.
the hours of waiting just flew by
After a few hours of unconscious viewing it was my turn to head to the theatre. This was another play that I didn’t want to miss or be awake in. The junior meat slicers had yet more questions before wheeling me off to the knocker-outer room. I think my confidence and general awesomeness unsettled them. I don’t think they’re used to patients that aren’t bricking it. The lovely Tina wired me up to the monitors while hippy Rob banged the cannula in. Flexible friend Harry and I compared how bendy our joints were before he slammed in the morphine. This was the weirdest feeling in the world. It resembled someone lightly grabbing my insides and was not unpleasant but way too weird to be nice. A bit like the wife’s attempt at a meringue. Next, the hibernation hooch was injected.  As my eyelids closed I pondered whether my sphincter would still hold back the guff I needed during unconsciousness. Ah well, it was too laa........ zzzzzzzzzzz 

When I woke up I was on my way back up to the ward. I couldn’t smell any sausage, egg or chips, maybe it was already waiting for me. It wasn’t. Yet again all they had in the cupboards was toast and the offer of some hot brown stuff in a cup. I opted for the hot brown stuff labelled coffee. Last time I was here I asked for tea, that was a mistake. That was about as close to tea as North Korea is to Amsterdam at night.
As I munched I perused the medical notes left behind. Blah blah blah, what a hunk, blah blah, awesome this, blah blah epic that, blah blah blah another surgey. Wait! What the fudge!?!
At the start I referred to this as the penultimate chapter because there is one last throw of the dice which will start in a couple of weeks. A finale surgery to end all surgeries and it will be awesomely epic. A Ben Hur style reconstruction of my wrist using bits of me that aren’t being used (i.e. stomach muscles, bollocks, brain etc) to form a new tendon to anchor my absconding osseous matter. My scaphoid’s days of wondering free are now numbered, and when the little fecker has been lassoed with some high level hatcheting the mountain biking will commence once again. Only then will this drivel end and you will be free to get on with your lives.
bye bye..for now

1 comment: