National Humiliation at the Hands of the EU

It seems there is a growing consensus that a UK-wide backstop, to get round the Irish border issue, would be limitless purgatory and represent the worst response possible to the task of exiting the EU.  One has to ask, why did our Civil Service not see the border issue coming and draft the negotiation protocols accordingly?  Now, resulting entirely from collective incompetence, politicians and civil servants, our negotiating position amounts to conceding to the EU that, whatever the outcome, the UK will ensure that the EU is in no way disadvantaged. The concept of nakedness and conference chambers only scratches the surface of the current shameful debacle.

The Hip Replacement - 5

The whirlwind sequence continued unabated. Arriving at the hospital reception I was invited to take a seat.  Seconds later a nurse invited me to accompany him to the ward.  Then began the slick admissions procedure including the application of the ghastly anti-embolism socks. The surgeon breezed in, explained that he had just completed a session in the gym and he was all pumped up to go.  He drew a long arrow on my left thigh with a magic marker, smiled and promised to speak to me when he had finished, a couple of hours later.  The anaesthetist, a private pilot in his spare time explained what he was going to do and I felt the colour drain from my cheeks.  “Its not that I don’t hold your professional skill in the highest regard and neither am I technically disinterested,” I said, “It’s just that I’d rather not know about what is going on whilst it is going on!”  He had hardly left me before a couple of theatre nurses escorted me downstairs.  Sitting on the edge of a table we began a conversation about dog-fighting in aeroplanes and I explained, desperately trying to disguise my nervousness, the techniques we had been taught to withstand increasing g forces.  Then someone said,” hello, how are you feeling?” My surgeon appeared and assured me that everything had gone very well and that I would be back on the ward shortly – he would come and see me the following day.

Thereafter, everything appeared to be geared to getting me back on my feet, moving around, looking after myself and going home.  I eagerly complied with this regime and, just 3 days after arriving, I left the ward on crutches for the car park and the short drive home.  I had been royally treated meantime!

My recovery continues apace, thanks to some excellent in-house nursing care.  I am keeping up with my exercises and walking further each day.  Mobility is improving all the time and, apart from the anti-embolism socks, I can do everything for myself.  I abandoned the pain-killers when I found they made me nauseous and that, because the surgeon had done such an excellent job, I wasn’t in very much discomfort anyway.

After the Lord Mayor’s show hitherto, I visited my GP practice today, to have the wound dressing checked.  A twenty-minute wait in a hot and stuffy waiting room with Radio 2 blaring, preceded a four-minute consultation with a nurse during which a new dressing was applied.  I had some questions about the blood thinning medication, a little swelling round my left ankle and, of course, the socks which I attempted to address.  No answers but, fortunately, I was assured, "if I should be at all worried about anything, I should make an appointment to see my GP."  Sound advice, no doubt, but it certainly awakened me from my recent fairy-tale experience!

The Hip Replacement - 4

I am passing the time, until we need to leave get to the hospital by 1200, updating the progress on my dodgy left hip.  At the same time, as instructed, I am sipping the last 200 ml of “Nutrica Pre Op” – “a clear lemon flavoured drink that contains carbohydrates and minerals.”   The last time I wrote, at the end of June, I was about to embark on a couple of months of physiotherapy support followed by a further consultation to decide the way ahead.  Although, at the time, I had been slightly disappointed that the future is not yet settled, I was very satisfied with the consideration and efficiency with which I have been treated and somewhat buoyed by an increased confidence of an outcome.

My next appointment with the Musculoskeletal Extended Scope Practitioner was scheduled for 5 September.  Meantime, four sessions of group physiotherapy preceded by a hip problem pep talk had been arranged.  I had never considered myself “overweight” but, technically, with a BMI marginally over 25, so I was. The bright young girl giving the pep talk left no one in any doubt that being overweight, and a smoker would not be looked upon favourably when assessing priority for surgery.  She explained that by limiting one’s calories to 2000 per day, a male would lose weight at the rate of one pound per week.  She was right and the “Fit” tracker on my Android phone shows that my recorded weight on 25 June was 12 stone 8 pounds and that today it is 11 stone 7 pounds – a BMI comfortably in the “green.”  I also feel a lot better for it.  To help keep track of what I ate, I devised a simple Excel sheet which allowed me to enter what I consumed and read off a running total for the day.  After a few days, I knew instinctively what 2000 calories a day comprised and adjusted my diet accordingly.

The exercise regime comprised vigorous circuit training where we were encouraged to do as much as we were able.  I also stepped up my daily exercises at home and cycled and walked as much as I could.  I honestly felt that I had given the whole course my very best shot.  But when I was asked how things were going I remarked that I had just struggled to walk across the car park to get to the class – if this was as good as it gets with exercise, I needed more help for the future.

When I met the Musculoskeletal Extended Scope Practitioner on 5 September I made that point at the outset and immediately received sympathetic noises about surgery, having dismissed injections as unlikely to be effective, even in the short term.  Indeed, very shortly afterwards he had agreed to refer me onwards, almost congratulating me on my choice!  “Expect to hear from them within a week,” he said as I thanked him and we parted company.

Two days later, a polite chap telephoned and asked me to choose a place and time for an appointment.  Most venues would be a couple of months wait but, “hang on a minute,” he said.  “I’ve got a cancellation next Tuesday in York – would that be any good to you?”  It certainly would and I pitched up at the small hospital on 18 September to be seen by an impressively business-like surgeon who explained that I had two choices: either live with it and cope using increasing pain relief or let him fix it.  I signed the consent accordingly!  “Expect to hear from us in a few days,” he said as we parted company.

After a week of no communication I began to feel anxious.  I missed a telephone call on 26 September, calling it back as I drove home from the communications wilderness in which I had just had lunch.  It was the surgeon’s secretary who had only been ringing to see if I would be interested in a short notice appointment next week.  Unfortunately, when she could not contact me, she had gone to the next name on her list and had filled the vacancy.

I was disappointed not to have been able to fulfil the cancellation because, I reasoned, having made up my mind on the way ahead, it would have been nice to have got on with it straight away.  Amazingly, however, two days later, the secretary rang again, “would I be interested in an appointment next Tuesday at 1200 hours?”  Could I come in later today for pre-op tests? “Yes to both,” I said!  I reassembled the geared drive to the Suffolk Punch I was repairing, fastened the cover and headed for the shower.  Yesterday, I completed the second blood test and all was now in place for the hip replacement.

Today is Tuesday 2 October and my admission is scheduled for 1200 hours.  It is 0945 and, as instructed, I have finished the last of the Nutrica.  Joan will drive me to the hospital later.  I’ll write again when I wake up