What a Nice Way to End the Year

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

Let’s have SURGERY! Something I haven’t had in 31 years, after accidentally smashing a light globe with my guitar and a big chunk of glass landing on the base of my thumb, severing a tendon. The club where that accident happened took full responsibility and paid for the surgery, which would have cost me $3200 even though I was insured at the time. The surgery itself went fine, and even though the thumb’s flexibility is not 100%, at least it functions normally.

The surgery we had this time was a little less intense, but because it was around the Christmas holidays, it wasn’t a matter of just making an appointment and getting it done. However, the UK has the National Health Service, which the Brexiteers claimed a couple years ago would be enhanced by Brexit,  as the £30 million that UK gives to the EU in annual dues/fees/whatever could be re-channelled into improvements in the NHS. Don’t hold your breath on that one. My adventures over the last couple days show the plusses and minuses of the system, but the doggone thing works and that’s the bottom line.

Between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning this year was an absolute nightmare, though not literally, as I could barely sleep. What had happened was a mere cyst that I’d had for two years with no visible evidence of growth became infected below the skin and an abscess had developed, creating a lump about the size of a plum, and pretty much the same colour. This sudden growth happened over about two weeks time, and I kept thinking well maybe it’ll just burst on its own. Messy and maybe more detail than anyone needs to know. It didn’t, but somehow I made it through Christmas and Boxing Day, doing what I would normally do on those days, i.e. drink, eat, and sing.

Last Monday, I’d gotten a prescription for antibiotics, which the doctors here tend to do when they can’t think of anything else, one of the previously alluded-to minuses. I thought at the time it was a bit ludicrous to believe that a bunch of capsules were going to magically shrink this metastasising blob, but the doctor also said that once I’ve used up the 4-a-day, 7-day course, if it’s not shrunk, they would then refer me to a dermatology clinic. 12 capsules went down, and the thing had only gotten bigger!

The decision to go to Emergency on Thursday came at the end of a night of extensive partying, not just with singing, but continuing to have further shots of energy, in this case Australian whiskey that Maggie had received from a childhood friend. That took us to 1:00 in the morning, and about an hour later, when we finally crashed out, we were certain I’d be going in next day, screw the antibiotics. When we got up next morning about 9:30, I was ready to go to Emergency and have the thing lanced despite a hangover. Maggie was initially going to join me, but was a bit unwell and not prepared to wait for god knows how many hours, another of the NHS’s minuses. That would turn out to be a great decision on her part.

I dilly-dallied through most of the rest of the morning, finally arriving there at 11:30. I thought I would be lucky this time, as there were only about four other people waiting in reception. I felt even more optimistic when I was called in about ten minutes later, but my hopes would be dashed as soon as I went through that main door.  The first person to interview me was a young man clearly still in training. He asked the basic questions, had a look at my growth, had no idea what it was, then showed me to the waiting area, where I would be planted for the next hour. Thankfully I had several newspapers to peruse, and lots of puzzles in them to kill time.  Finally a nurse called me in, and I thought my wait was over, but no, this would only be the first of three times they would take my blood pressure and temperature. She also took blood samples before sending me out to wait in that hallway for the next two hours.

It was also advised that I not leave to have any food as they were uncertain when the proper surgeon was going to be in, and if they were actually going to do the surgery that day, I needed to fast. As it got on to 2:00, 2:30, 3:00, the first guy who examined me expressed alarm that I was still waiting there while other patients had come and gone. The other nurse came by with her assistant, and since they had no further ideas, they took my blood pressure again! I did manage to get some tea and yogurt out of them once it became clear I wasn’t going to be operated on that day.

The surgeon finally arrived at about 3:30, and after yet another blood pressure/temperature check, and the same barrage of questions I’d been asked maybe a dozen times that day, she told me exactly what was wrong, and that they could operate first thing next morning, meaning 8:00.

Sure enough, this morning they were ready for me. I checked in at 7:30, was given my own cubicle shortly after 8:00, anaesthetised at 8:15, and when I woke up again it was 9:45, and I had lost a couple pounds. They were cautious enough to keep me around, and even called Maggie to let her know exactly when I was conscious and fit enough for her to come pick me up. And God amighty, I got enough drugs here to open up my own dealership! I’m on drugs as I’m writing this, can’t you tell?

There are plenty of flaws in the NHS, but at least the politicians know not to mess with it, and even after Brexit (if that REALLY happens), it will probably remain intact, though it’ll probably struggle like most other enterprises. When I first came here, I didn’t even know it existed. Once again I’m thankful it does, plus I’m in a lot less pain to start the New Year.

 

 

 

December 28th, 2018



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