If you’d asked me on Saturday, what I really wanted most in the world it would have been a mix of things. Family, a nice home and happiness would have been the top three. Well, I have family, I will have a nice home after we move (this one needs work, as I may have said and I am mainly happy. That’s not bad.
Ask me Monday and I would have been terser, and much more basic. By that time I would have killed for the ability to empty my bladder.
Yes, I’m back in the grip of urological problems, which regular readers may remember from before.
I won’t give too much information, as there is a very fine line between frankness and over-sharing. One is desirable in autobiographies, the other is a modern curse. Forgive me if I stray over the line.
Let’s just say that after a difficult day I went to the A&E department at our local hospital at 4am, and when they asked, reported that my problem was that I hadn’t been able to pass urine for eight hours. The NHS, on their website, considers that 4 or 5 hours is a serious problem. At A&E they are much more casual about it. I was seen after an hour then waited around four more before I went to ask what was happening and was told to ask round the corner. I went round the corner and asked, where I was told dismissively that my name was on the list for a scan and that I would probably be able to see a doctor around midnight.
Fortunately, at that point, I found myself able to pass a little urine – it was erratic and we are talking about very small amounts, but it did offer some relief, both physical and mental.
Eventually they got the scan result showing my bladder wasn’t emptying despite my efforts. I had actually told them that seven hours previously. That’s a working day for many people. It seems that in the NHS it’s a perfectly acceptable time to wait between tests. It’s a long time to retain urine at any time, but on top of the original eight hours it was quite a worry.
Think of a shop. You go in at 9am when they open, tell them you would like a coin, are interviewed an hour later, confirm your desire to buy a coin, and are made to sit round waiting. Eventually, after waiting, you ask again and are told that you have been put on a list to see if you can pas a test to buy a coin, and that you will be able to see a coin salesman when you have been waiting for eight hours . . .
To cut to the chase – blood pressure again, doctor (diagnosis given that seemed to have little to do with the facts of the case I had provided them with) urine test, another scan, another blood pressure test, blood test, doctor again, cannula removed, pills given. And, I think, blood pressure again. (After 20 hours with no sleep, things were getting hazy). I’m glad to say that mine stayed own through the whole experience, as I meditated.
From entry to the system to seeing a doctor, a little before midnight – almost eight hours.
However, from seeing a doctor until release, a little over seven more hours.
Yes, a total of fifteen hours.
I arrived home just as Julia was leaving, ate the breakfast she had left for me and went to sleep for eight hours. She has, as they say in the Bible, a price above rubies. It was only her text at 1am, suggesting that she report the NHS to the Police for kidnapping, that kept me going. The anti-biotics have had little effect and there has been no improvement as I continue to struggle.
This is merely a narrative account of my life, so I will offer no further commentary.
I thought fruit and veg photos would be a calming motif.
