Tag Archives: health

At the Garden Centre

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We had some time to kill yesterday in Peterborough so we went to Notcutt’s Garden Centre at Ferry Meadows for an Apple and Cinnamon scone. I took the opportunity for some spring flower photography.

The scone was large and had a good flavour (much of it down to sugar, I think). On the downside, it was a bit dry and crumbly and could have done with more apple. It wasn’t bad but I won’t be rushing in to buy another.

Dad’s brother Tom was down visiting from Lancashire. He’s 86 and much fitter than Dad, who just turned 88. That’s probably due to a lifetime working outdoors, in contrast to Dad who spent most of his time in cars and offices. He travelled with his son and daughter-in-law this time as the drive is getting a bit tiring these days.

After Peterborough they are going to Buckinghamshire to see my Uncle Jim (94). He spent his life using a bicycle and never owned a car. He met my aunt when he was stationed in Lancashire during the war and after he left the army cycled up from London to see her. He’s still 100% mentally, though he recently had a knee replaced.

I’m seeing a pattern here.

Down at the Doctors

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Yes, I was down at the Doctors today.

8.30: Arrived at City Hospital – damp Victorian red brick and escaping steam being the motif of the morning

8.45: Found parking space and stood in queue behind lady who couldn’t work the ticket machine

8.50: Walked into automatic door, which turned out to be broken and thus not automatic

8.55: Booked in

8.57: Seen by Anaesthetist, who provided clear and practical information

9.15: Back at the car, feeling reassured, but also £4 poorer for car parking (I’d allowed for up to 2 hours) and wondering why the Anaesthetist I saw five days ago couldn’t have given me the information

9.25: Back home eating healthy cereal (see, I have been listening to the doctor) and croissants. OK, so I’m leading into this health stuff gradually.

Saturday’s list

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Mainly, I’m going to see my Dad today, but the morning will be taken up with yawning, displacement activity, moving books into piles mentally marked “Keep”, “Possibly” and “Not Yet” (you can see why the charity donation programme is grinding along slowly), and watching cookery programmes.

Cookery programmes fall under the categories of “Health”, “Nutrition” and “Education”. I have no conscience about watching them while Julia works. I do have a conscience about watching comedies and crime fiction, so I don’t watch them on Saturday and Sunday while she is at work. Quizzes are “Education”. Soaps, Australian soaps, most American comedy and programmes about the emergency services are, if I find myself watching at any time, are a sign that I need to go for a walk.

Since my trip to the doctor in December I have been given another blood pressure tablet, aspirin, and a pill to stop the aspirin eating my stomach away. The Taking of the Tablets is now quite an undertaking. That is now something I need to schedule in my day.

When you are taking pills to nullify the side effects of other pills it is time to start thnking about some serious weight loss. We are still, little by little, getting through the sweets and biscuits we were given for Christmas. Another week should do it. Next year I think we may allow ourselves a week of relaxed diet and then donate the remaining calories to charity. It’s a bit Scrooge-like but I need to get a grip.

I’m off to see my father now. I will spend the journey down looking for Buzzards and Red Kites. The journey back will be occupied by me musing on mortality, and (mainly) by wondering how a man with Alzhemer’s has beaten me at dominoes. Again.

The bird pictures are ones from the day we were attacked by the swan.

Gadwall drake – Rufford Abbey lake

Gadwall duck on Rufford Abbey lake

Moving on

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Events are moving on. The hospital rang this morning and I am now booked in for a pre-operative assessment. I gather that I am not too far from being back in hospital as previously they had me in within weeks of the assessment.

It didn’t go particularly well, as they didn’t have a bed for me on the first date. They took me in on the second attempt. Unfortunately it didn’t work, and they had to have me back. At that point there was a repeat of the bed scenario. Four attempts, two admissions and one fix.

I’m going to adopt a patient attitude and see what happens.

That’s an attitude using patience, not the attitude of a man in pyjamas and a hospital bed.

No pictures today as it’s been overcast.

The Coming Year (Part 2)

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The plan for the year is gradually coming together, which is good, because I want something to take my mind off yesterday.

First, I’m spending time on getting my health in order. This isn’t really an active choice, after the pre-Christmas admission to hospital it was more or less forced on me. I’m in hospital tomorrow, though I’ve already covered that.

Second, I’m doing more exercise and making sure I get out in the open air. We said we would do it and although it’s a bit patchy it’s going quite well. Having blown a few cobwebs away I’m now feeling a lot fitter. Again, it’s not taking a lot of effort as I like getting out with the camera and binoculars.

Third, we’re putting a few plans in place for holidays- a long weekend in the Lakes and a week on Mull. Last time we had a full week the Beijing Olympics were on. Again, it’s not difficult to manage this.

Fourth, we have the permaculture and nature books out and we’re planning the changes in the garden. We’ll start with a good tidy (we’ve neglected it badly over the last couple of years due to the time we’ve spent on the farm) and see how it goes. This is going to take more effort. I’m starting with a wildlife pond and gooseberry bushes. Well, you have to start somewhere.

Washing up basin wildlife pond

Fifth, we need to declutter the house and do some decorating. (See comments in Four). So far I’ve taken some books to charity shops. Every journey starts with a single step…

Sixth is weight loss. No plan just yet, it’s just sitting their like the elephant in the room. That’s what Julia has started calling me anyway.

The featured picture is a Robin from Rufford Abbey, all puffed up against last week’s cold. It’s hard to beat a Robin photo for cheeriness.

The Perils of Self Diagnosis

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Guess where I spent the day after Wednesday’s party?

It had occurred to me during the week that my diagnosis of man flu wasn’t exactly correct, as the fever was linked to an infection rather than a cold. The infection, in turn, was linked to some painful swelling. I think that’s all we need to say on that matter, as this is a family blog. If I was on TV this would be the foundation for half an hour of post-watershed hilarity based on the embarrassment of a middle-aged man, but I’m not sure I should inflict material of such dubious nature on my readers.

Once the party was out of the way I thought I’d better see the doctor about getting some antibiotics. Generally I avoid the doctor as bad things happen to middle-aged men who visit doctors, but the pain, and the inability to walk without impersonating John Wayne, persuaded me.

Googling “The Perils of Self Diagnosis” shows that self diagnosis really isn’t a good idea. There are two ways it can go – one is the Cyberchondriac route, where people decide they have rare and interesting diseases and scare themselves to death. The other way is the one used by most men – treating serious conditions by gritting their teeth and taking ibuprofen.To be fair, it often works.When it doesn’t work the consequences can, however, be quite serious.

Shortly after seeing the doctor I was in hospital for a second opinion, where they insisted on me filling in lots of forms and having a cannula fitted in case they decided to operate. They also labelled me “nil by mouth”, which made me very unhappy as I’d starved myself in the morning in case of blood testing. Even so, it didn’t make me as unhappy as the prostate examination.

Finally they fed me, which was very welcome after 22 hours without eating. It was an excellent meal (Somerset Pork with mixed veg and mash, followed by a creamy rice pudding with a hint of nutmeg), and they eventually remembered to remove the cannula, just as my antibiotics arrived.

Currently I’m having a quiet Christmas, and wondering what 2017 will bring.

An Ambassador calls

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THis is a picture of Sue, who is the new Health and Wellbeing Ambassadoer to the High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire. You can tell she’s an ambassador because she arrived with a box of Ferrero Rocher. If you live in a country which doesn’t use an ambassador for advertising this reference will probably mean nothing to you.

This is the ancient and revered office of High Sheriff rather than the Sheriff of Nottingham who is a sort of second mayor and not at all as posh. This year’s High Sheriff attended the ceremony in full ceremonial regalia and a turban, which looks a lot better than a cocked hat. I’m told (as I don’t get invited to such things) that as it was conducted in a Sikh temple and that the male invitees (including a judge and a Bishop) had to wear blue handkerchieves on their heads. I’m put in mind of a blue hankerchief looking like a do-rag . I may be wrong, but you can never tell.

The High Sheriff, when chosen, is pricked with a bodkin, though (disappointingly) it’s really only a parchment that gets pricked. It would be much more fun to stick a needle into the actual High Sheriff and watch him jump.

However, eschewing all comedy, and banishing thoughts of Alan Rickman, this is a serious matter. We’re going to be part of a big push to make Nottinghamshire a more healthy county, and it all starts here! It’s a case of one step at a time but with Sue driving it and taking a group of enthusiastic volunteers with her I’m sure we’ll be seeing a change by the end of the year.

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Life after the Care Farm