Turamber
Part of the furniture
- Joined
- May 15, 2004
- Messages
- 3,558
Hi folks. In case you missed my ascerbic comments, sometimes silly sense of humour and general unpleasantness ... I've not been too well, just starting to feel anything like my normal self really.
Back on 8 July I was sent home from where I work on a self employed basis, with a seeming IBS attack. I had instructions to come back as soon as I was feeling better, which was fair enough really.
Except what seemed to be IBS very quickly turned into something else with vomitting and endless toilet runs. I visited my GP on 9 July first thing and was told it was IBS, given medicine to take after food and some rehydration sachets for post vomit.
Unfortunately I couldn't keep any food down so the (pre-food) IBS medicine seemed a waste of time, and as soon as I took the rehydration sachets I was immediately sick again.
Night and day rolled around with little if any sleep and even the end of the World Cup held little interest. I couldn't sit at my PC for any length of time and Xbox games required far too much concentration and general verticalness to play.
Anyhoo. By Sunday morning my stomach had become absolutely huge with part of it enflamed and standing out of my skin. I called NHS Direct and was told I probably had food poisoning and was put through to my GP's out of hour service.
What pathetic people they were. I was told to drive over and see them. I said I couldn't drive at this time. They told me to get a taxi. When I said I was too ill to get a taxi the cheeky bint asked if that meant I actually had no money for a taxi, I kept my good humour somehow and explained that I was unable to travel and wanted a Doctor to come to me.
Ten minutes later a kindly sounding practice nurse rang me, assured me that I would be better soon and to go to see my GP on Monday. No home visit for me on a Sunday.
Monday morning. A different GP saw me, within five minutes had rung the local hospital and packed me off to hospital with instructions not to go home, not to pass Go and I had no time to be collecting my £200. He was very worried indeed.
Much better quality of care from that particular GP and I think he saved my life.
I was admitted to the Surgical Assessment Unit of the Queen Elizabeth Hospital here in Birmingham on Monday 12th. After various tests, one of which involved an incredibly pretty Asian Doctor having to insert her hand in my anus (after four days or so of heavy toilet action... yuk). When she told me to pinch her finger internally she giggled. One thing I hadn't expected to happen that day at all, possibly there is something in the old maxim to always wear clean underwear just in case...
The Hospital Registrar called appendicitis almost immediately. None of his colleagues agreed. Ultrasound showed he was quite correct. They were very concerned about the state of the appendix and what it was doing to my stomach and I was scheduled for emergency surgery that evening, although it turned out to be a midnight procedure in the end.
I really thought I was going to die. Because of the state I was in they had to perform open stomach surgery. I have been struggling with my Christian faith and the religion that I am baptised into for sometime but I decided very quickly that I didn't want to accept blood as part of the treatment.
The surgeon and anaesthetist were both extremely impressive. They oozed confidence, were happy to comply with my wishes ("It would be a better world if we all respected the beliefs and standpoints of others" was one phrase that filled me with tears, I really was feeling very emotional).
They pointed out the dangers and that my scar would be much worse with a vertical incision into my stomach, but it was agreed that they would carry out the surgery without blood. Because of the amount of rubbish my appendix was producing internally they couldn't use cell salvage which made me even more certain I would die.
But I didn't die. I'm here and I am feeling so much better. Unable to work, worried about my 31 July tax payment and VAT liabilities, annoyed that I had a holiday booked with Gold Trail and the buggers have gone bankrupt on me, missing my Xbox, sad that I was too poorly to attend the London sci-fi con this year despite £200 of pre-booked tickets for the event, fed up of leaking wounds day and night....
But life is good. I'm alive!
The NHS get a bad press but with the exception of a few half soaked nurses and long waiting times for scans and machinery they are a pretty decent lot. I have some woolly idea that I will go an volunteer a day a week at the hospital in future to express my thanks, but in the short term I'm off to watch Toy Story 3 with my niece and mother.
If I have ever been rude to you, given you reason to think I'm a complete nob: I am sorry. New life, new me.
We're alive!
Back on 8 July I was sent home from where I work on a self employed basis, with a seeming IBS attack. I had instructions to come back as soon as I was feeling better, which was fair enough really.
Except what seemed to be IBS very quickly turned into something else with vomitting and endless toilet runs. I visited my GP on 9 July first thing and was told it was IBS, given medicine to take after food and some rehydration sachets for post vomit.
Unfortunately I couldn't keep any food down so the (pre-food) IBS medicine seemed a waste of time, and as soon as I took the rehydration sachets I was immediately sick again.
Night and day rolled around with little if any sleep and even the end of the World Cup held little interest. I couldn't sit at my PC for any length of time and Xbox games required far too much concentration and general verticalness to play.
Anyhoo. By Sunday morning my stomach had become absolutely huge with part of it enflamed and standing out of my skin. I called NHS Direct and was told I probably had food poisoning and was put through to my GP's out of hour service.
What pathetic people they were. I was told to drive over and see them. I said I couldn't drive at this time. They told me to get a taxi. When I said I was too ill to get a taxi the cheeky bint asked if that meant I actually had no money for a taxi, I kept my good humour somehow and explained that I was unable to travel and wanted a Doctor to come to me.
Ten minutes later a kindly sounding practice nurse rang me, assured me that I would be better soon and to go to see my GP on Monday. No home visit for me on a Sunday.
Monday morning. A different GP saw me, within five minutes had rung the local hospital and packed me off to hospital with instructions not to go home, not to pass Go and I had no time to be collecting my £200. He was very worried indeed.
Much better quality of care from that particular GP and I think he saved my life.
I was admitted to the Surgical Assessment Unit of the Queen Elizabeth Hospital here in Birmingham on Monday 12th. After various tests, one of which involved an incredibly pretty Asian Doctor having to insert her hand in my anus (after four days or so of heavy toilet action... yuk). When she told me to pinch her finger internally she giggled. One thing I hadn't expected to happen that day at all, possibly there is something in the old maxim to always wear clean underwear just in case...
The Hospital Registrar called appendicitis almost immediately. None of his colleagues agreed. Ultrasound showed he was quite correct. They were very concerned about the state of the appendix and what it was doing to my stomach and I was scheduled for emergency surgery that evening, although it turned out to be a midnight procedure in the end.
I really thought I was going to die. Because of the state I was in they had to perform open stomach surgery. I have been struggling with my Christian faith and the religion that I am baptised into for sometime but I decided very quickly that I didn't want to accept blood as part of the treatment.
The surgeon and anaesthetist were both extremely impressive. They oozed confidence, were happy to comply with my wishes ("It would be a better world if we all respected the beliefs and standpoints of others" was one phrase that filled me with tears, I really was feeling very emotional).
They pointed out the dangers and that my scar would be much worse with a vertical incision into my stomach, but it was agreed that they would carry out the surgery without blood. Because of the amount of rubbish my appendix was producing internally they couldn't use cell salvage which made me even more certain I would die.
But I didn't die. I'm here and I am feeling so much better. Unable to work, worried about my 31 July tax payment and VAT liabilities, annoyed that I had a holiday booked with Gold Trail and the buggers have gone bankrupt on me, missing my Xbox, sad that I was too poorly to attend the London sci-fi con this year despite £200 of pre-booked tickets for the event, fed up of leaking wounds day and night....
But life is good. I'm alive!
The NHS get a bad press but with the exception of a few half soaked nurses and long waiting times for scans and machinery they are a pretty decent lot. I have some woolly idea that I will go an volunteer a day a week at the hospital in future to express my thanks, but in the short term I'm off to watch Toy Story 3 with my niece and mother.
If I have ever been rude to you, given you reason to think I'm a complete nob: I am sorry. New life, new me.
We're alive!
None of the nurses were fit, however, although there was a military nurse (and a sergeant no less) on secondment there who was great fun. She was full of stories of Afghan, Iraq and Kuwait -- yet she felt safer there than in Birmingham!
