An Unusual Fit of Clairvoyance
Last night I cooked tea...oh alright for the posh among you, I cooked dinner...growing up in 70's suburban Bristol, 'dinner' was what you had in the middle of the day...what? of course it is, why do you think dinner ladies are called 'dinner' ladies, they don't come to your house at 6 o'clock in the evening do they?...however I yet again digress. Whatever it is called, last night I cooked it, and not from a perambulating office chair...what do you mean, you have no idea what I'm wittering on about?...I have to use the office chair because of the cast...not ringing any bells?
OK, ok, I'll give you some back story, I've had an operation on my ankle that left me in a plaster cast for an unconscionable amount of time...for reasons known only to me the plaster cast was called Horris. In the past I have complained vociferously about Horris and his unreasoning hatred of my toes, well last Wednesday Horris got his comeuppance. Another visit to the plaster room was organised for me by the lovely people in the NHS. As far as I was aware I was visiting the plaster room, being divested of Horris, being given a shiny new boot and then peered at and prodded by a doctor. It didn't quite work like that.
Firstly there were some shenanigans involving a window company, an electricity company, my niece, my wife and lastly but not leastly, me. Before I started this benighted journey with the NHS I saw fit to buy myself a new car...well, new to me anyway...and for the first time in my entire life, I bought an automatic. This was prescient, since the operation was on my left ankle I can drive my lovely new car, unfortunately I can't walk any distance at all so this is of no use whatsoever in getting myself to the hospital, since almost certainly there will be no parking spaces for the locomotionally impaired and I would have to walk several miles to get into the hospital itself. This means that I need to be dropped off by some nice person. Helen is normally the driver of choice but unfortunately between us we had managed to organise both to have a new window fitted and a smart meter fitted at exactly the same time that the NHS wanted to remove Horris. My niece volunteered to be my carer for the day and we were all set, then the window company cancelled, and then the electricity company cancelled. This drove Helen into a towering rage since she had spent the entire previous day moving furniture and putting down rubber mats to save the lawn, which now all had to be taken up to...save the lawn. This meant that Helen was again available as the designated, albeit slightly miffed, driver.
I've done three of these trips back to the hospital and have become quite laissez faire about the whole process. I assured Helen that she could go off shopping and I would be fine on my own. She dropped me off at the main entrance and I negotiated the massive revolving doors only managing to set the bloody sensor off twice...if you go too slow the doors stop and if you go too fast, likewise and I managed both in one trip through. I then hopped purposefully toward the check-in area and the lovely retired ladies in pink and as before was picked up by one of them who took pity on my painful progress.
"Where are you off to love?" asked one of them
"The plaster room" I replied, "I need to check in first though"
I checked in using the automatic check in screen which...to my mystification...directed me to Gate 12.
"I'm sure I'm supposed to go to the plaster room"
"Not according to this", came the stern reply and I was dropped off at the reception desk for Gate 12.
I'd only just sat down when a nurse came out and called my name,
"You're not supposed to be here"
"Should I be at the plaster room"
" Oh no, you need to go to x-ray" and, without as much as a by your leave, she sent me off to Gate 18.
Unfortunately my retired wheelchair wallah had disappeared in the direction of the check in area and I had no recourse but to take to the crutches again. At Gate 18 I signed in and sat down rummaging in my bag for my book. I'd barely opened it when out popped another nurse, calling my name. I stuffed everything back into the bag and hopped over..."Follow me"...I followed him through about 20 miles of corridor until we reached the x-ray dept. By which time I was severely in need of a break and thinking longingly of the long departed retired wheelchair wielder. I sat down with a sigh of relief and rummaged once more in my bag for the book...bloody hell, I didn't even have any time to open it before a very attractive radiologist called my name and ushered me into the chamber of x-rays where she proceeded to look askance at Horris,
"You have a cast on" she stated, rather unnecessarily. "I need a weight bearing x-ray"
"I've been told not to put any weight on it"
"Yeah, I thought you might say that, hang on" and with this she abruptly disappeared out of my life only to reappear some moments later, "You should be in the plaster room"
"I thought that might be the case", I replied with a certain amount of asperity and gathered up my belongings once more to make the safari to the plaster room.
The plaster room, as usual, were extremely efficient and had Horris off and consigned to the bin in double quick time
"You need to go back to x-ray"
I waved my now naked and, frankly, horrifically nasty foot at them.
"Um, I'm supposed to have a moon boot"...I had no clue what a moon boot was but it said it in the letter and I wanted my moneys worth.
"You need to get x-rayed first"
I headed back down the corridor on the trusty crutches and found that the door to the x-ray department had inexplicably locked. I was ineffectually trying to find a way in when a helpful auxiliary pointed out.
"You can't get in that way, you'll have to go back to Gate 18", she pointed down the corridor to a distant door that was only just visible it was that far away.
"Oh for God's sake, can't you people even make a door open both ways", is what I wanted to say but of course I didn't, I actually said "Oh, thank you" and set off on another crutch based marathon...sounds like a very lengthy porn film, ah but that would be crotch based I guess...that took me past many interesting sights that I had no wish to see, after about half a day and roughly 7 miles I arrived back at the x-ray dept.
The radiologist looked at me in wild surmise, "You didn't come all the way round did you?"
I replied in the affirmative.
"You should have knocked, I'm in the room next to the door".
I refrained from replying as I was still too out of breath from my 7 mile crutch marathon and being rude to attractive radiologists is frowned upon.
"Right, I need you to put some weight on your foot for this x-ray".
I can't say I was terribly happy about this, not having put the foot to the floor for 2 months and it being covered in horrific scar'age. However I complied and I have to say it was quite remarkably uncomfortable.
"Jeez, you've got a lot of metal work in there!", and to be fair, I have.
This went on for some time with me hopping up and down steps to get my foot in the right position for the perfect photo, Once she was happy that she had captured the full horror she shooed my out of the room.
"Where do I go now", I cried plaintively, her look obviously said, "How should I know, you terminally deranged idiot" however, she actually pointed me back in the direction of the infamous Gate 18 via the plaster room. I wandered back into the plaster room and inquired about my missing moon boot but they just shooed my out again and I set off disconsolately for Gate 18 and the 'Trauma and Orthopaedic' clinic.
I arrived at the clinic busting for a piss and promptly made my way to the toilet. I had no sooner started a much needed urination when I heard a doctorly voice call my name outside. "Fuck, bugger, arse" I hopped around in mild panic,...I still didn't have the boot and was petrified of putting my foot to the floor...trying to wash my hands, do up my zip, gather my crutches and open the door pretty much all at the same time. I managed to hobble out of the door just in time to catch the doctor disappearing back into his office.
This is never a fun part of the proceedings as they always want to prod, stretch, bend and generally fiddle around with my foot and I am pretty much ideologically opposed to anyone touching it. I sat there with my teeth gritted as he cooed over my manky appendage.
"This all looks good...mmm verra good. Nay sure aboot they toes though"
"Fucking right mate, I'm not either"...I didn't actually say this although I'm fairly certain I was thinking it.
"They've no gone as flat as I would like"
"Tell me about it, they look like flattened cocktail sausages that have been attacked by an Igor"...no, sorry, I didn't say this either. I hummed and hawed and murmured agreement with everything the wee Scottish sawbones said. He was a very nice man with a lovely accent and to be completely fair, despite appearances to the contrary, the wee toesies did look somewhat better than they had been.
Within a couple of minutes it was all over and it was time for the famous moon boot, I was expecting another trek back to the plaster room but he nipped out of the room and came back with a couple of boots and proceeded to fit one. Luckily, in an unusual fit of clairvoyance I had bought along a sock to cover up the mankiness of the foot and it was but the work of a moment to get the moon boot fitted. I now look just like a fat, balding, middle aged terminator...no, honestly, the boot is enormous, it looks like it belongs on a storm trooper.
"So when am I allowed to walk on it?", apparently I have to let my foot tell me when it wants me to walk on it. I bade farewell to the doctor and set off for the far distant entrance of the hospital. I tried walking on the new boot and, he was right, my foot did start talking to me, and what it said in no uncertain terms was,
"Fuck off, you're not putting all that weight on me, lets get that straight from the start."
It's amazing how eloquent a foot can be and mine was shouting at the top of it's little footy voice that walking on it was strictly verboten, so I didn't, I chickened out and crutched to the entrance where Helen was waiting to pick me up.
...to be continued
Charlie
OK, ok, I'll give you some back story, I've had an operation on my ankle that left me in a plaster cast for an unconscionable amount of time...for reasons known only to me the plaster cast was called Horris. In the past I have complained vociferously about Horris and his unreasoning hatred of my toes, well last Wednesday Horris got his comeuppance. Another visit to the plaster room was organised for me by the lovely people in the NHS. As far as I was aware I was visiting the plaster room, being divested of Horris, being given a shiny new boot and then peered at and prodded by a doctor. It didn't quite work like that.
Firstly there were some shenanigans involving a window company, an electricity company, my niece, my wife and lastly but not leastly, me. Before I started this benighted journey with the NHS I saw fit to buy myself a new car...well, new to me anyway...and for the first time in my entire life, I bought an automatic. This was prescient, since the operation was on my left ankle I can drive my lovely new car, unfortunately I can't walk any distance at all so this is of no use whatsoever in getting myself to the hospital, since almost certainly there will be no parking spaces for the locomotionally impaired and I would have to walk several miles to get into the hospital itself. This means that I need to be dropped off by some nice person. Helen is normally the driver of choice but unfortunately between us we had managed to organise both to have a new window fitted and a smart meter fitted at exactly the same time that the NHS wanted to remove Horris. My niece volunteered to be my carer for the day and we were all set, then the window company cancelled, and then the electricity company cancelled. This drove Helen into a towering rage since she had spent the entire previous day moving furniture and putting down rubber mats to save the lawn, which now all had to be taken up to...save the lawn. This meant that Helen was again available as the designated, albeit slightly miffed, driver.
I've done three of these trips back to the hospital and have become quite laissez faire about the whole process. I assured Helen that she could go off shopping and I would be fine on my own. She dropped me off at the main entrance and I negotiated the massive revolving doors only managing to set the bloody sensor off twice...if you go too slow the doors stop and if you go too fast, likewise and I managed both in one trip through. I then hopped purposefully toward the check-in area and the lovely retired ladies in pink and as before was picked up by one of them who took pity on my painful progress.
"Where are you off to love?" asked one of them
"The plaster room" I replied, "I need to check in first though"
I checked in using the automatic check in screen which...to my mystification...directed me to Gate 12.
"I'm sure I'm supposed to go to the plaster room"
"Not according to this", came the stern reply and I was dropped off at the reception desk for Gate 12.
I'd only just sat down when a nurse came out and called my name,
"You're not supposed to be here"
"Should I be at the plaster room"
" Oh no, you need to go to x-ray" and, without as much as a by your leave, she sent me off to Gate 18.
Unfortunately my retired wheelchair wallah had disappeared in the direction of the check in area and I had no recourse but to take to the crutches again. At Gate 18 I signed in and sat down rummaging in my bag for my book. I'd barely opened it when out popped another nurse, calling my name. I stuffed everything back into the bag and hopped over..."Follow me"...I followed him through about 20 miles of corridor until we reached the x-ray dept. By which time I was severely in need of a break and thinking longingly of the long departed retired wheelchair wielder. I sat down with a sigh of relief and rummaged once more in my bag for the book...bloody hell, I didn't even have any time to open it before a very attractive radiologist called my name and ushered me into the chamber of x-rays where she proceeded to look askance at Horris,
"You have a cast on" she stated, rather unnecessarily. "I need a weight bearing x-ray"
"I've been told not to put any weight on it"
"Yeah, I thought you might say that, hang on" and with this she abruptly disappeared out of my life only to reappear some moments later, "You should be in the plaster room"
"I thought that might be the case", I replied with a certain amount of asperity and gathered up my belongings once more to make the safari to the plaster room.
The plaster room, as usual, were extremely efficient and had Horris off and consigned to the bin in double quick time
"You need to go back to x-ray"
I waved my now naked and, frankly, horrifically nasty foot at them.
"Um, I'm supposed to have a moon boot"...I had no clue what a moon boot was but it said it in the letter and I wanted my moneys worth.
"You need to get x-rayed first"
I headed back down the corridor on the trusty crutches and found that the door to the x-ray department had inexplicably locked. I was ineffectually trying to find a way in when a helpful auxiliary pointed out.
"You can't get in that way, you'll have to go back to Gate 18", she pointed down the corridor to a distant door that was only just visible it was that far away.
"Oh for God's sake, can't you people even make a door open both ways", is what I wanted to say but of course I didn't, I actually said "Oh, thank you" and set off on another crutch based marathon...sounds like a very lengthy porn film, ah but that would be crotch based I guess...that took me past many interesting sights that I had no wish to see, after about half a day and roughly 7 miles I arrived back at the x-ray dept.
The radiologist looked at me in wild surmise, "You didn't come all the way round did you?"
I replied in the affirmative.
"You should have knocked, I'm in the room next to the door".
I refrained from replying as I was still too out of breath from my 7 mile crutch marathon and being rude to attractive radiologists is frowned upon.
I can't say I was terribly happy about this, not having put the foot to the floor for 2 months and it being covered in horrific scar'age. However I complied and I have to say it was quite remarkably uncomfortable.
"Jeez, you've got a lot of metal work in there!", and to be fair, I have.
This went on for some time with me hopping up and down steps to get my foot in the right position for the perfect photo, Once she was happy that she had captured the full horror she shooed my out of the room.
"Where do I go now", I cried plaintively, her look obviously said, "How should I know, you terminally deranged idiot" however, she actually pointed me back in the direction of the infamous Gate 18 via the plaster room. I wandered back into the plaster room and inquired about my missing moon boot but they just shooed my out again and I set off disconsolately for Gate 18 and the 'Trauma and Orthopaedic' clinic.
I arrived at the clinic busting for a piss and promptly made my way to the toilet. I had no sooner started a much needed urination when I heard a doctorly voice call my name outside. "Fuck, bugger, arse" I hopped around in mild panic,...I still didn't have the boot and was petrified of putting my foot to the floor...trying to wash my hands, do up my zip, gather my crutches and open the door pretty much all at the same time. I managed to hobble out of the door just in time to catch the doctor disappearing back into his office.
This is never a fun part of the proceedings as they always want to prod, stretch, bend and generally fiddle around with my foot and I am pretty much ideologically opposed to anyone touching it. I sat there with my teeth gritted as he cooed over my manky appendage."This all looks good...mmm verra good. Nay sure aboot they toes though"
"Fucking right mate, I'm not either"...I didn't actually say this although I'm fairly certain I was thinking it.
"They've no gone as flat as I would like"
"Tell me about it, they look like flattened cocktail sausages that have been attacked by an Igor"...no, sorry, I didn't say this either. I hummed and hawed and murmured agreement with everything the wee Scottish sawbones said. He was a very nice man with a lovely accent and to be completely fair, despite appearances to the contrary, the wee toesies did look somewhat better than they had been.
Within a couple of minutes it was all over and it was time for the famous moon boot, I was expecting another trek back to the plaster room but he nipped out of the room and came back with a couple of boots and proceeded to fit one. Luckily, in an unusual fit of clairvoyance I had bought along a sock to cover up the mankiness of the foot and it was but the work of a moment to get the moon boot fitted. I now look just like a fat, balding, middle aged terminator...no, honestly, the boot is enormous, it looks like it belongs on a storm trooper.
"So when am I allowed to walk on it?", apparently I have to let my foot tell me when it wants me to walk on it. I bade farewell to the doctor and set off for the far distant entrance of the hospital. I tried walking on the new boot and, he was right, my foot did start talking to me, and what it said in no uncertain terms was,
"Fuck off, you're not putting all that weight on me, lets get that straight from the start."
It's amazing how eloquent a foot can be and mine was shouting at the top of it's little footy voice that walking on it was strictly verboten, so I didn't, I chickened out and crutched to the entrance where Helen was waiting to pick me up.
...to be continued
Charlie
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