Sunday, December 23, 2007
BROKEN WOMAN
Christmas is a time to think of those less fortunate than yourself, i.e., ME. So here's an update on my heartrending wrist fracture saga.
The cast came off last week. The consultant didn't seem too happy about my lack of ability to do one or two of the flexibility tests, so I now do a selection of exercises several times a day, and it seems to be taking forever to improve.
It feels as though someone has injected quick drying cement into my wrist and it looks all thick and disgusting. It feels as though I have two left arms. So it looks as if I have a bleak future with an unsightly, gammy arm. Boo hoo.
Even better, my arm was cruddy and covered in skin scales when the cast was removed. The skin scales have been depositing themselves everywhere ever since. There may not be snow in Bexleyheath this Christmas, but there is a two inch layer of dead skin wherever I walk.
So, spare a thought for me as you tuck into your Christmas dinner, and let that thought be tinged with pathos.
:(
Still, upwards and onwards. Here is an old chestnut, a Christmas tune by a mate of the late lamented Princess Of Hearts. Judging by the amount of face pulling and general effervescence, I would hazard a guess that our Reginald has been tooting at the Christmas bugle a lot.
... "We can watch the snow for ever and ever." Yeah ... riiight.
Happy haaahlidays, you lot.
The cast came off last week. The consultant didn't seem too happy about my lack of ability to do one or two of the flexibility tests, so I now do a selection of exercises several times a day, and it seems to be taking forever to improve.
It feels as though someone has injected quick drying cement into my wrist and it looks all thick and disgusting. It feels as though I have two left arms. So it looks as if I have a bleak future with an unsightly, gammy arm. Boo hoo.
Even better, my arm was cruddy and covered in skin scales when the cast was removed. The skin scales have been depositing themselves everywhere ever since. There may not be snow in Bexleyheath this Christmas, but there is a two inch layer of dead skin wherever I walk.
So, spare a thought for me as you tuck into your Christmas dinner, and let that thought be tinged with pathos.
:(
Still, upwards and onwards. Here is an old chestnut, a Christmas tune by a mate of the late lamented Princess Of Hearts. Judging by the amount of face pulling and general effervescence, I would hazard a guess that our Reginald has been tooting at the Christmas bugle a lot.
... "We can watch the snow for ever and ever." Yeah ... riiight.
Happy haaahlidays, you lot.
Labels: Colombian marching powder, Elton John, fractured wrist, fractured wrist - not healing properly, pathos, two left arms
Saturday, November 17, 2007
THE ADDAMS FAMILY
You may have gathered by now that I managed to avoid any of the horrendous operations that were described on the internet, and was sent away with a cast on my arm which will be removed in five weeks.
The cast was put on by a young bloke who had a wonderfully delicate and precise touch. All the grains of the bandage seem to be aligned to one another! What an artist!
Then he ruined the effect by saying "two fings you need to know: DO NOT get the cast wet and DO NOT put nuffin daaaaahnn it".
When I escaped from the hospital, I was deliriously happy. Of course, this didn't last long.
I returned home to find that the Ongoing Problems with the elderly and ailing relative in the Midlands were getting more complicated.
I don't want to turn this into one of those Boo Hoo, Pity More Me blogs, particularly as most other people have horrible things to deal with themselves, but it really would be nice to get through a few years without having to deal with family illness, hospital visits, a responsibility to everyone in the S*rbian community to look after *family*, oncology units, phoning social services, people going a bit loopy, emotional blackmail, people who refuse to have medical treatment, weird Orthodox funerals, missing wills, solicitors and every kind of hassle you can think of.
Still, hey! That's my crayzee family for you. Anyone who wants to house and look after the ones that are left is quite welcome to them. The further away you live the better.
If anyone wants to leave a comment advising me that I should have a more positive outlook on life, and that worrying about things is a waste of time, perhaps they should consider putting their fingers into a paper shredder instead.
Grr.
Rant over. I will leave you with a test card. A test card for monochrome TV sets, no less. Keep raising money for Pudsey Bear, you lovely people, and have a nice weekend.
The cast was put on by a young bloke who had a wonderfully delicate and precise touch. All the grains of the bandage seem to be aligned to one another! What an artist!
Then he ruined the effect by saying "two fings you need to know: DO NOT get the cast wet and DO NOT put nuffin daaaaahnn it".
When I escaped from the hospital, I was deliriously happy. Of course, this didn't last long.
I returned home to find that the Ongoing Problems with the elderly and ailing relative in the Midlands were getting more complicated.
I don't want to turn this into one of those Boo Hoo, Pity More Me blogs, particularly as most other people have horrible things to deal with themselves, but it really would be nice to get through a few years without having to deal with family illness, hospital visits, a responsibility to everyone in the S*rbian community to look after *family*, oncology units, phoning social services, people going a bit loopy, emotional blackmail, people who refuse to have medical treatment, weird Orthodox funerals, missing wills, solicitors and every kind of hassle you can think of.
Still, hey! That's my crayzee family for you. Anyone who wants to house and look after the ones that are left is quite welcome to them. The further away you live the better.
If anyone wants to leave a comment advising me that I should have a more positive outlook on life, and that worrying about things is a waste of time, perhaps they should consider putting their fingers into a paper shredder instead.
Grr.
Rant over. I will leave you with a test card. A test card for monochrome TV sets, no less. Keep raising money for Pudsey Bear, you lovely people, and have a nice weekend.
Labels: Children In Need, fractured wrist, Monochrome Set, my crayzee family, ranting
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
BIONIC WOMAN
Thanks for all your kind comments about my current predicament. Sadly, I STILL haven't been given any money or beautiful Scandinavian men. Ah, well ... I know who my friends are, that's all I'm saying ...
So: how did it happen?
On Friday morning, I put some washing in the tub and got the laundry basket from the top of a cupboard.
I turned, lost my balance, reached out for the wall to stop my head bashing into it, and the next thing I knew was that I was looking at my right arm, which was horribly lumpy and distorted.
A few minutes later, I had put the washing on, because I was taught that we have to pull ourselves together, keep a stiff upper lip and, if the worst comes to the worst, have a cup of sugary tea.
For the next half an hour I was frantically tidying the living room.
I still hadn't had a cup of sugary tea.
Then I thought it might be a good idea to phone around to see if I could get a lift to the local minor casualty department.
"Oooh, poor you, that looks horrible!" said the woman behind the desk. "Helen, come in here and see this one!"
"Oooh, that's a good one, that's really different!" said Helen, David Lynch fan and collector of pictures of Victorian sideshow freaks.
An X-Ray later meant that I was on my way to A & E.
Well, I say "on my way".
My in-laws were the escorts.
My MIL delayed the journey by about ten minutes. "Looook, it's my friend Barbara over there!" she said in the car park, which meant that she had a good old chinwag with Barbara when I was potentially DYING.
When we got to A & E, and after the inevitable NHS hold ups and mix ups, I was given some sedatives and put on a trolley bed and told that there was a *possibility* that I would need an operation.
Within minutes, a couple of people seemed to be trying to stretch my arm to approximately twice my height. It's possible that I may have a lucrative future career as a human cherry picker.
"I've got it!" one of them said.
A cast was put on my arm and I was whisked off for another X-Ray.
An appointment was made to see a specialist.
When I get home, predictably enough. I START GOOGLING.
The potential operation could involve having pins inserted ... or a bone graft from my pelvis.
*faints*
*faints again*
On the plus side, my forthcoming infection with MRSA and subsequent death will lead to some very frank and moving writing here, which may even mean that I break through the Post Of The Week four nominations but no shortlist barrier. I won't win though, beaten by a frank and moving account of someone's pet chinchilla having kidney failure, surviving against all the odds, but tragically dying in a fire.
Then, the posthumous written collection will do great business in WH Smiths Stories Of Great Personal Suffering section, and Geoff will be able to give up his job, move to Hollywood and *find happiness* with a 19 year old blonde socialite-turned-reality TV show star.
The hospital appointment is tomorrow :(
I should say as a footnote that anybody who slags off people who work at the coalface of the NHS is a c*nt, by the way.
So: how did it happen?
On Friday morning, I put some washing in the tub and got the laundry basket from the top of a cupboard.
I turned, lost my balance, reached out for the wall to stop my head bashing into it, and the next thing I knew was that I was looking at my right arm, which was horribly lumpy and distorted.
A few minutes later, I had put the washing on, because I was taught that we have to pull ourselves together, keep a stiff upper lip and, if the worst comes to the worst, have a cup of sugary tea.
For the next half an hour I was frantically tidying the living room.
I still hadn't had a cup of sugary tea.
Then I thought it might be a good idea to phone around to see if I could get a lift to the local minor casualty department.
"Oooh, poor you, that looks horrible!" said the woman behind the desk. "Helen, come in here and see this one!"
"Oooh, that's a good one, that's really different!" said Helen, David Lynch fan and collector of pictures of Victorian sideshow freaks.
An X-Ray later meant that I was on my way to A & E.
Well, I say "on my way".
My in-laws were the escorts.
My MIL delayed the journey by about ten minutes. "Looook, it's my friend Barbara over there!" she said in the car park, which meant that she had a good old chinwag with Barbara when I was potentially DYING.
When we got to A & E, and after the inevitable NHS hold ups and mix ups, I was given some sedatives and put on a trolley bed and told that there was a *possibility* that I would need an operation.
Within minutes, a couple of people seemed to be trying to stretch my arm to approximately twice my height. It's possible that I may have a lucrative future career as a human cherry picker.
"I've got it!" one of them said.
A cast was put on my arm and I was whisked off for another X-Ray.
An appointment was made to see a specialist.
When I get home, predictably enough. I START GOOGLING.
The potential operation could involve having pins inserted ... or a bone graft from my pelvis.
*faints*
*faints again*
On the plus side, my forthcoming infection with MRSA and subsequent death will lead to some very frank and moving writing here, which may even mean that I break through the Post Of The Week four nominations but no shortlist barrier. I won't win though, beaten by a frank and moving account of someone's pet chinchilla having kidney failure, surviving against all the odds, but tragically dying in a fire.
Then, the posthumous written collection will do great business in WH Smiths Stories Of Great Personal Suffering section, and Geoff will be able to give up his job, move to Hollywood and *find happiness* with a 19 year old blonde socialite-turned-reality TV show star.
The hospital appointment is tomorrow :(
I should say as a footnote that anybody who slags off people who work at the coalface of the NHS is a c*nt, by the way.
Labels: Barry Sheen, David Lynch, fractured wrist, Green Wing, Kanye West, MRSA, Post Of The Week, the MIL, worrying
Saturday, November 10, 2007
BONER
This is me at around 15:30 GMT today hyped up on a cocktail of painkillers and sedatives (that Codeine is some good shit man, as a Spacemen Three fan might say).I've got my arm in a semi-cast to allow it to swell up and cause me to have sleepless nights because of the fucking pain. I've got a fractured wrist and will furnish you with the full, tedious details in the next post.
I'm trying to make a rude gesture in the picture, but have got limited arm movement and can't get it up.
*waits for inevitable comment from MJ regarding previous paragraph*
In the meantime, all messages of sympathy, donations of money and offers of help to look after me from beautiful Scandinavian men to be sent to the usual address.
Labels: beautiful Scandinavian men, fractured wrist, painkillers, the finger
