Thursday, August 16, 2007

Bruise update...

Wow! From certain angles this bruise looks like one of those Pacific archipelagos. The sort with shallow lagoons and coral. Or maybe a stigmata that got smudged, though I think of knee stigmata as more an indication of poor aim than pentecostal fervour. But what a stigmata! It's huge, a person would have to be really holy to be visited by something of this order. Either that or my leg was in the way of a sign meant for a local saint, it could even be a multiple stigmata originally destined for the nearby elderly and infirm. Bloody hell, all that suffering concentrated in one place, no wonder it looks a mess. That said, I think it best not to dwell too much on those waiting for the message that's now caught in the Limb of Leviticus. Hmmm, I feel saved already, might apply for a shrine grant from the Vatican, become bigger than Lourdes, lay down a car park and maybe an airport like Knock in Ireland. Of course the neighbourhood would have to go, but hey, sacrifice without pain, what would be the point of that?

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

I'm sticking with my leg theme...

for a little while longer. This morning a nurse removed the dressing exposing some fine bruises, as shown in this fetching photograph. I'm impressed with keyhole surgery, minimal damage, quick recovery and returned to bar of life in the blink of an eye. What more can a leg ask? And once again the National Health Service comes to the rescue. I didn't agree that they hired a South African firm to do the job rather than it be done in house because I see this as part of the creeping privatisation of a trusted service, however, the job's done and I'm glad about that.

Wey hey!

Monday, August 13, 2007

I'm having a mid...

summer clear out and decided to start with changing the colours on my blog. Hmmm, not sure about the yellow even though it gives the ol' place a summery feel. The leg on the right, by the way, belongs to me and the bandage covers surgical injuries because on Saturday I let a Hungarian rummage around in my knee. Actually, his actions were a little more focused than rummaging and he did a good job because, hurrah, he sorted out my cartilage problem. Or rather he repaired a tear in the meniscus via a procedure called an arthroscopy. I was very impressed though it all felt a little strange at the time.

The procedure started when a Scottish anaesthetist injected a drug into my spine that numbed everything below the waist. Now that felt really weird because it became as if my legs were no longer part of me even though I could see them. When I touched them they didn't feel like me and this was hard to realise because the evidence of my eyes was contradicted by the experience of my hands. Very odd indeed. I suppose it must have been a similar experience to those who suffer from paraplegia.

I didn't like it.

Initially I was offered a sedative, but scoffed, "Sedatives are for wimps" as they wheeled me into theatre. And lo, there I was, ringside seat whilst my Hungarian began to wrench around the table this leg that so clearly had very little to do with me. He cast a professional eye over the leg whilst I cast a sceptical eye over the same object and wondered what it was that had come between us. Just above me and to the left was a flat screen TV showing a knee that was strangely familiar. I liked the cut of its jib, I was amused by its form, I was taken by its sturdy, nay manly pose. That, I said to myself, is some knee. Whoever possesses such a knee must be successful in life and is no doubt a fellow well met, he may even have a girlfriend.

It was around this point that I asked for the sedative.

The remaining time went smoothly. I sang sea shanties and kept a weather eye on the TV which showed round things in liquid and instruments snipping and pushing and pulling and bits floating and other things that had so much and yet so little to do with me. Having exhausted sea shanties and about to move onto songs about herring they suddenly declared it was all over. I was whipped away to the recovery room where a nice chap called Mark checked my vitals before dispatching me to my room where I then lay for four and half hours until my legs returned once more to the fold. I was pleased to see them, would normally have partied but decided that such a thing may have been a touch too prodigal for the poor blighters so we had a cup of tea and some toast instead.

So, there you go. And my knee? Oh it's fine. A lot more subdued which is good because of late it had been getting above it's station, mocking the other one, not pulling its weight. Hah! Well no more. Fetch me the rubbing alcohol mother, the double K's back in town and it's dancing time again!!! Yee Haw!