Urgh. I’ve had one of those weeks. You know the sort – full to the brim with medical appointments – a week spent going back and forth between surgeries and pharmacies and hospital departments.
It began with my infusion, which was no big deal. Nothing terribly untoward happened there – just the usual blood test, the “sharp scratch” of the needle and a minor leak in the tube resulting in a dribble of magic juice running bloodily down my arm.
Next on the agenda was a simple flu jab and what should have been a simple smear test – conveniently booked for the same time (2 birds and all that…) This is the eleventh year I have had the flu jab and the first time that I have felt any adverse effects from it; I felt heavy (more so than usual!) and achy for a couple of days as though my body was caught in a fight against the, well, against the flu.
The Smear Test, or Cervical Screening as it’s now called, was way more traumatic than it needed to be. Perhaps this is too personal to get into, but stuff it, I’ll just say that the nurse had a fair old time poking about and yanking at my coil, which she dramatically discovered has embedded itself and will need surgical removal at the hospital. I waddled out of that appointment like a duck who has just given birth. Let me tell you, being a woman is no walk in the park!
I didn’t have too long to stew over all the gynaecological rubbish, however, just 2 days later I needed to switch my focus to urology. That’s right, I was back in the hospital’s Physiology department discussing wee with a very enthusiastic nurse (they flippin’ love their job in that place!) Going over my form, where I’d diligently recorded all the measurements of what went in and what came out over the last 3 days, I got a slapped wrist for not drinking enough. If you don’t count the wine, I drink around 500ml a day, which I thought was pretty good, but which is apparently 3 times under what I should be drinking – oops!
We discussed the usual options of tablets, catheters and botox before the nurse suddenly said, “Do you think you could do a wee for me now?” To which I replied, “No way! I only just went before I came in here”. “What? Just now??” she virtually screeched. “Yes” I replied.
The nurse suddenly leapt from her chair and in one swift movement spread a clean sheet of tissue over the bed and dashed out of the room. When she returned she was sporting a grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s and excitedly waving a bladder scanner. “Let’s see how well you’re emptying that bladder!” she said.
As she smeared cold jelly on my belly I couldn’t help saying, “You just got way too excited about that!” and we had a good giggle.
Anyway, that was as invasive as things got and I was free to leave, clutching a bundle of leaflets that I’d been handed about healthy eating and drinking and the delights of using catheters and having botox in the bladder.
Just 2 days later, and to round the week off nicely, I was due in hospital again. This time for a painfully long MRI scan.
Like I said, it’s been one of those weeks – Urgh!
To be continued…
The Wibbly Dinosaur 