Tuesday 17 November 2009

Pain in the Arse

Still out of work, I recently found out that the agonising pain I've been suffering in my butt hasn't been down to the Job Centre at all but has its origins more in a damaged vertebra in my lower back.

Ok, "damaged" is a bit of an understatement. The kind of understatement that leads to highly skilled, very attractive, very naughty spinal consultants to stick very large needles in your spine in the name of pain relief and to look positively cheerful doing it. Mainly because they know you need fusion surgery that takes at least four hours and allows them to use that fancy fibre-optic, key-hole surgery kit I suspect.

I was worried but now am freaking.

Why, oh why is it so difficult to find the real information about what to expect post-operatively on otherwise excellent medical web-sites? I can't begin to tell you how many "My spinal surgery left me crippled for life" stories I've failed to avoid whilst looking for something realistic. Something that would let me know if I'm going to be able to cope at home given there's no one to care for me. Something to let me know if there's anything to assist me? Something that's actually HELPFUL, for F***K's sake?!

Of course, I should have known that the NHS site would be as useless as ever. What is it about British sources of information that seem to take the line that the patient should be told nothing more than the sort of basic facts that you could get from a good dictionary's definition of your condition? God forbid you should want to know something about the surgery itself.

American sites are so much better at this. It seems every clinic has material on what to expect post-operatively, though it's depth and currency are somewhat variable.

Come on NHS, treat us like adults. We can take it you know!

By the way, Patrick, I was only kidding. I know you have my best interests at heart........ will you put that bone-saw down now, please... Please?!

Cats!

This evening, I'm sat on the edge of my sofa, Facebooking, etc with my cats beside me. At least, they were. After a while, Nutmeg starting rooting around behind and under me.

Of course, this got kind of annoying so I asked her what she was up to. Much purring and rooting later, I asked Max "What on earth is she doing? It feels like I have rats in my knickers".

I stood up and, there it was, jammed between the sofa cushions, a rabbit-skin mousie!

And people wonder why my nerves are shot?!


From Anna's Visit July 2010