Wednesday, 18 November 2015

Road Worthy Certificate for the old body.


Yep it was time for a good going over today - a less than regular M.O.T. which I had put off prior to my Blighty get away cos I wasn't interested in getting any bad news.

So Jane and I exchanged usual sillyness and a brief analysis of the Rugby - yeh she gloated cos she is a Kiwi afterall, and then we got to it.

I had sent myself a text listing all my ailments and Jane copied them into the machine. It was a silly list and if there was only one itty-bitty symptom, then even the craziest amongst us would never pop to the doctors, but the list was long enough to bother.

Jane wasn't best pleased with the combo, she'd certainly have been happier with a supersized Maccas combo but hey ho.

I've had this pain in my ribs since I got home and Steve has put it down to a probable pulled intercostal muscle as a result of hurling suitcases around, however, when Jane popped the twinge and the shit blood pressure and the fat fat fatty woman, into the blender, she came up with a possible DVT - an embolism from my jet setting lifestyle. She sent me off for an emergency scan.

And so then I was thrown back into the medico bullshit, where no-one gives you a real answer to a specific question. Jane had explained it all but by the time I got to the Xray shop the story had changed and instead of having a little go over with a slow moving donut machine, I was reading of and then having to agree to angiogram needle and cannula action which was definitely more than I had bargained on.

I had a little melt down. I need time to get my head around all this and surely I cannot be the only one with this sort of medical anxiety. Yeh I still had a choice - I could have walked away and just gone with the belief that I had chucked one suitcase too many, but the wonder would have still nagged at me, so the pressure was on.

I quizzed the radiologist about his expertise in cannula installation, and it has to be said that Michael was very patient with the inquisition. He was patient as I baulked about getting onto the table and he was patient as I had a little cry before handing over my arm to him to do his best. He was as good as his word. He popped in the plastic on his first try and then the whole thing can have only taken a few minutes from start to finish. He pulled out the plastic tube and gave me a tissue and found a way around my allergy to adhesives and then expedited the reading of the scans and delivered the news that I am fine to me personally. Really he was such a sweetheart.

I am pleased that I don't have some miserable, unpredictable, glob of shit promenading around my veins, and I am pleased that twice today I have been stuck with a sharp in my arm and I have survived. I am less pleased that Jane has finally suggested that I do something to loose some fat but I imagine that when she gets the blood tests back it will only reinforce that I have not been kind to the only body I've got, all that ice cream has come home to roost, ho fucking hum.