I slept for six hours last night, and woke feeling
rather chipper. I got up, make up my saline solution, washed out my sinuses,
and felt worse than I did when I came out of that anaesthetic a couple of days
ago. I went from feeling fine to having headache, dizziness, toothache and
intermittently pouring blood-stained snot from my nose for the next hour.
Still, judging by the amount of muck that comes out
of my conk when I give it the douche, I dare say it is better out than in. And
this is only day two - I’ve got a couple of weeks before I need to be well
enough for work.
I had a little look at Facebook over brekkie and
sniggered. There seems to be a growth industry in pages devoted to traffic and
travel in which all sorts of people offer all sorts of suggestions about the
best way to drive down a road. Very few of these who are offering such sage
advice would seem to be acquainted with the tried and tested Highway code. One
chap in particular appears over many of these pages. Being a lorry-driver he
seems to have a great chip on his shoulder about the matter. Why do people hate
lorry drivers he asks? From what I read on these pages, people don’t dislike
lorry drivers in general, they dislike him being a twit. Given that he is
driving from one point to another some fifty miles away, why isn’t he taking
the motorway rather than ranting about how narrow the country lanes are when he
has no need to have his lorry on a country lane?
I also had an email from Amazon asking me to rate
my recent transaction. Perhaps my head was still spinning, but I sarcastically
waxed lyrical about the rapture that was a new pair of bootlaces. Isn’t this a
sign of our times; you can’t just buy a pair of bootlaces; you are expected to
judge the quality of the entire “buying bootlaces” experience.
Despite my better judgement I took the dogs out for
a walk round the park. As I walked into the park my phone rang. It was the
local hospital’s waiting list department who wanted to arrange a date for my
polypectomy. I suggested that we might go with last Tuesday. They had no record
that the surgery had already been done. With that level of incompetence it is
hardly surprising that I waited nearly three years for the operation. When I
was at the hospital two days ago I could not fault the place in any way. But
actually getting the surgery booked took some doing.
As we walked round the park I got chatting with
OrangeHead who had spotted Fudge’s shaved areas. Her dog has an enlarged liver,
but rather than treating him with tried and tested medicines, she’s giving him
some homeopathic rubbish. Although it has been proved to do sod all,
homeopathic stuff does have the advantage of being cheaper than effective
medicines.
As OrangeHead receded into the distance my phone
rang again. It was the vet. She said that Fudge’s blood pressure was
borderline, and she didn’t want to start him on medication for it just yet. I
was pleased about that, but when the time comes we will have proper medicine.
We came home and fed the pond fish. Having got
over-excited barking at them, both dogs ran round the house for half an hour
barking at anything and everything until they finally wore themselves out.
I ran round with the Hoover and did a bit of
washing. With two weeks sick leave I have so much I might be doing, but these
doctors know what they are talking about. They’ve given me sick leave because
they knew I wouldn’t be good for much. After I’d hung out the washing I felt
like death warmed up.
I made myself a cuppa, then continued with my
Wherigo project. I can do that when sitting quietly. In addition to the yellow
brick road, shooting gallery and several brain-teasers I thought I might
include a bingo hall. This kept me constructively occupied up till lunch time.
Over a bite of KFC I watched the second episode of “Pride and
Prejudice” then incorporated a quadratic equation and a
petting zoo into my Wherigo. The quadratic equation took half an hour; the
petting zoo took most of the afternoon.
As I wrote logic tree after logic tree my canine
associates guarded the front window. If anyone so much as walked past the house
on the other side of the road, the pair of them went ballistic. Despite feeling
rather grim I spent much of the afternoon sniggering; the dogs were utterly
unaware to two blokes from the water board who were in the back garden trying
to sort out the back-up from next door’s drainage disaster.
By the time "er indoors TM" came home I was
beginning to feel more human. I made up some more salt solution to wash out my
conk and made myself feel ill again. I like being able to breathe again, but this
constantly feeling ill is getting rather wearing…
No comments:
Post a Comment