Above and Beyond

On this day 36 years ago, I was laid low with a nasty case of the mumps - eating, drinking and even breathing with considerable difficulty. In the evening, my best mate unexpectedly knocked at my parents' front door and we stood for a moment, one of us at each end of the hall, about 10 feet apart. I was in no condition to hold a conversation, so few words were exchanged and I was puzzled as to why he'd chosen to put his health on the line to visit me when he could've just picked up the phone to find out how I was. He reached into his backpack, pulled out a record in a carrier bag, crouched down and slid it along the floor, the length of the hall. 'I thought you'd want this, however rough you're feeling', he said. I picked it up and took the record from the bag. It was 'Sandinista' by The Clash, which had been released that very day. A brief nod of gratitude was all I could muster in my fevered state. He turned, opened the front door and was gone.

The Clash & Mikey Dread - If Music Could Talk / Living in Fame

Fever

Apologies for my recent radio silence, but I'm laid low at the moment with some form of bug, possibly man-flu. This is day three and I'm hoping that it fast tracks out of my system before a long arranged two day visit from an elderly Aunt tomorrow afternoon, as I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Among the current symptoms are very violent cold shivers and the opposite extreme of overheating and heavy sweating, which combine to litter what little sleep I'm getting with crazy, feverish dreams.

I managed to watch a little of the BBC documentary on the Russian space Programme this morning, before passing out again. Was it one of those feverish dreams, or did I really hear Eduard 'Mr Trololo' Khil's singular performance of 'I Am Glad, 'Cause I'm Finally Returning Back Home' playing behind one of the scenes?

You've probably seen this clip a million times, but if not, take a look - you'll be convinced that you're the one with the fever. It has to be seen (and heard) to be believed.

Normal service will be resumed when my brain's working properly again.

Good Technology

Just before the weekend, I had occasion to visit the kindly family GP (fear not, twas nowt serious). It's been a while since I last went to the doctor's surgery. So long in fact, that it's now no longer actually known as a doctor's surgery, it's been upgraded to a Medical Centre. A whole heap of expensive work has been done refurbishing and improving the place, inside and out, since my last visit, including the installation of an intranet connecting the doctors and nurses with each other and putting the reception desk in instant contact with all the staff in the practice. It's all very impressive. While I was there I had to have separate tests with staff located in different parts of the building and there were no hurriedly scribbled notes to be handed over, garbled phone calls made or shouted instructions barked along corridors. A quick internal email or two from my doctor to the relevant colleagues was all that was required to make the necessary arrangements. My whole visit was hi-tec and seamless, at least until the very end, when a survivor from the 20th century put in an unexpected appearance.

Returning to my own doctor at the conclusion of my visit, she suggested that I needed one more little test, one that couldn't be done there at the Medical Centre, but would require a trip to the out-patients department of the nearest hospital, 20 miles away. Not a problem I thought, expecting her to swing back to her keyboard and tap in an email request for an appointment, but no. She told me that I'd be informed of my appointment later in the day, as she'd first have to...., wait for it...., fax my details over to the hospital. Fax! I guess it goes to show that, for all the millions spent upgrading and improving the infrastructure, technology and communications, if a tried and trusted system still works and ain't broke, why fix it?

Here's a tune by the Red Guitars, from a time when fax machines were the very cutting edge of 'Good Technology'.

Bay 7, Bed 26

A little under two weeks ago, as I prepared to heave myself into the shower, I had what my Mum would have called 'a funny turn'. It felt as if someone stuck a needle into either side of my neck at the top of my spine and injected bolts of pure pain which spread instantly up and across my skull, leaving me barely conscious. It was, to say the least, a scary experience.

I stupidly tried to ignore the event and struggled on for several days, groggy and unsteady, before finally calling in to see my doctor, who referred me immediately to a neurologist and within hours, for the first time since my birth 52 years ago, I found myself in hospital.

A small bleed to the brain (subarachnoid hemorrhage) was a strong possibility - not dangerous itself, but potentially a precursor to something far more serious if it re-occurred. The specialist emphasised this point by snapping his fingers and saying it could be 'game over'. Dramatic, but he got my attention.

Thankfully, after three days of tests, including a lumber puncture (straight into the top five of the all-time most unpleasant experiences in my life) and brain scan, the diagnoses was that I had suffered a Thunderclap Headache, which may sound innocuous, but believe me, is not. A little rest and mild medication and I should be fine.

As the youngest and otherwise healthiest in my ward I was witness to the limitless patience and compassion offered by the medical staff during their 12 hour shifts to old, frail and confused men, some clearly approaching the ends of their lives.  I also briefly got to know some remarkable people who continually overcome seemingly insurmountable health problems and are determined not to 'go gentle into that good night.'

I may write about a few of those I met during my short stay in Bay 7, Bed 26, but I won't forget any of them.