… CONTINUED FROM DIARY No 33 …
I was determined NOT to get into medical whinging in this week’s blog diary, but it didn’t work out…
SUNDAY 6th SEPTEMBER
In my last blog, I mentioned that, at St Pancras station, I had heard an announcement for ‘Inspector Sands’ which I said was a coded message meaning that there was a major emergency in the building.
World Egg Throwing Federation President Andy Dunlop today reminded me that the phrase “Inspector Sands“ was used because of the need to throw sand on a fire.
So it is fire-related.
“It could just be a bin fire,” he told me. “Major stuff (bomb, other terrorism, robbery, armed people) tends to have different codes… No, I’m not telling you what they are.”
Wikipedia reckons ‘Inspector Sands’ can involve bomb threats, but I trust Dunlop. He has been around a bit and is a President and therefore beyond reproach.
I also asked him about my doppelgänger dog Rigby, who had been exhibiting the same symptoms as me.
“He is doing great,” Andy told me. “Treatment working it seems. Very happy.”
I can only dream of having treatment.
MONDAY 7th SEPTEMBER
I had a bath. I had been having trouble recently – with no warning – getting out of my bath.
My new technique is to put in more and more and more water until the bath overflows, casting me out in a tidal wave of Archimedean proportions.
That may not be altogether true; but what follows is…
I got a text from my GP:
“If you DO NOT want a flu vaccine we would appreciate it if you would email us to let us know so we can remove you from our RECALL list. This is very important as, this year more than ever, vaccines supplies are expected to be in extremely high demand. Thank you.”
I have no idea if being injected with a small dose of flu when I already have some unknown calcium/kidney/other problem is a good idea. I will have to get advice.
In late afternoon, I got raging toothache.
What next? Gout? Hiccups? Bodily takeover by aliens from Alpha Centauri?
TUESDAY 8th SEPTEMBER
My raging toothache got worse overnight. A veritable symphony of comedic ailments. Might be an abscess. Might not.
After a couple of hours of not sleeping, I took a couple of paracetamol. No effect. I also managed to develop heartburn and, after an hour or so, chewed a Gaviscon tablet. And I then developed very loud, OTT hiccups. My nose started to get a bit sniffly. Then a hacking cough, though I think that was from the heartburn.
The only way to stop the heartburn was to try to sleep sitting upright in my bed, with a pillow between my head and the wall.
After about three hours of sitting upright, half-sleeping, I woke up with the raging toothache worse and the back of my neck and my right collarbone giving me pain. But that was to do with getting hit by a truck in 1991, not any current problem.
Well, I did say there was a symphony – a veritable cacophony – of comedic overnight ailments.
Obviously, when I woke up, there was my of-late normal bone-dry mouth – no moisture inside my cheeks, nor on the roof or floor of my mouth, nor on my tongue, which felt almost stuck to the inside of my cheek.
I drank water. As always.
All this pretty much repeated itself throughout the night, though the heartburn went away and I sort of was awake at 8.30am, having slept vey sporadically and, it seemed to me, rarely.
At 9.30, I phoned my dentist. There are still restrictions because of the coronavirus. Basically, you can only get an appointment if it’s an emergency. I could only see my own dentist for my toothache in a fortnight; I could see another dentist in the practice next Monday. I could have a ‘normal’ appointment in October.
As the paracetamol tablets were having no effect, I went to Boots the Chemist and they recommended I try co-codamol (paracetamol & codeine) of which I can theoretically only take two tablets four times a day for three days (because, after that, it can become addictive). In fact, the pharmacist told me, it would be OK to take two consecutive three-day courses, which would get me to Monday. And I also bought some Orajel Extra Strength to rub on the tooth; again, limited to four times a day “short term” (whatever that means).
For the rest of the day, the pain – not ache – pain – ebbed and flowed, depending on how close I was to the four-hourly point of taking the tablets/gel.
To add to the jollities, in the post, I got a CCd letter from my Kidney Man consultant to my GP telling him how I was doing. This was a duplicate of the same letter I got last week, except with an extra page showing dates.
The letter had been written by my Kidney Man on 29th July about the phone appraisal he had with me on 6th July. The letter had then been transcribed by his secretary/assistant on 6th August, modified by my Kidney Man on 28th August and the letter was posted out on 7th September.
It referred to a future meeting the Kidney Man would have with me in August which, of course, has already happened.
As if to confirm the dream-like nature of the day… at dusk, a bat appeared in my back garden.
My eternally-un-named friend tried to attract it by rubbing the edges of two 10p pieces together; then tried to ward it off by holding aloft a large bulb of garlic. I think this merely ended up confusing the poor winged creature. My eternally-un-named friend wore a jacket with her hood up in case the creature was suddenly attracted to and got entangled in her hair.
I can barely believe all this either.
But all this is true.
… CONTINUED HERE …