Hypochondriac, with mitigating circumstances

Sorry, not been posting very much lately. Lost my mojo. I blame my socks. I have far too many because I just can't help buying them. Three pairs for £10 - who wouldn't?


Anyway, a close friend of mine recently went to the doc's because he had what he thought was a large floater in his eye





Turned out he was getting a detached retina, so had an op, and although he had to lie with his head horizontal for five days

Picture of the patient lying down, assisted by his missus, before they'd got the seating arrangements sorted out


he seems to have made a full recovery.




So of course, since then, I have been scrutinizing my eyes and sure enough, a week or so ago, I developed a ton of floaters in my left eye.


Mentioned it to my missus, who suggested going to see the optician, so last Friday, I made an appointment for this morning. Of course I spent all weekend and yesterday googling white sticks, learning braille and generally coming to terms with the fact that I was going blind and probably also had an inoperable brain tumor.


My missus was very sympathetic, said it was probably nothing, but I could see she was worried, which made me more anxious.


So off I went this morning to the opticians, and bade a tearful farewell to her. She was being very brave. To be honest, I was almost more worried about her than me, and all the way to the appointment I was imagining her devoting the rest of her life to looking after this brilliant but tragically flawed and blind genius.

Picture of me in my heyday. What a waste.


Anyway, they do various tests and take pictures of my retinas and turns out I'm fine. Just a symptom of getting on a bit, but was told to "keep an eye on it". Big joke.




So I come out, full of the joys of spring and can't wait to give the missus the good news, so I call her. Takes an age to pick up. Conversation goes like this


"Hi it's me!"


"Who was on the phone?"


"What?"


"aren't you upstairs?"


"What? NO!! I've just come out from the opticians"


"Oh, OK. When did you go out then?"

What a view

Four weeks today since my op. Two steps forward, one step back. Feeling quite a bit stronger now and going for longer & longer walks. Weight seems to have stabilised just under 80Kilos.


Went for a lovely, autumnal blustery but bright walk this morning through Ally Pally



 Hello. Ally Pally here. I'm not quite sure what I'm for.


Beautiful view across North London with the sun glinting off the Edmonton Incinerator



Did you know that from the top of the Edmonton Incinerator, you can see five continents?

Gallbladder VII - Finale

Another poor night, Vague pains all over the place, bloated stomach, lots of restless, internal action seems to be going on. I get the feeling the bastard gallbladder is sending out its sneak troops to all points.


Next morning it's a waiting game. We see the anaesthetist. They'll do keyhole surgery, and only open me up if absoloutely necessary. Sounds OK to me. I sign all the consent forms, including allowing them to put pics of me on YouTube with barnyard animals.


About 12.00 off I go. Should take about an hour or so. Lots of ceilings. Lots of masked people peering at me. And then...

BLACKOUT

I do have one picture of me being operated on:


I become vaguely aware of lots of voices and people arranging me. I'm being wheeled around and end up back in my room, or I am told it is my room, but I don't believe it because it is now dark. I hear my wife's voice, rather anxious. I open my eyes and see not bags of liquids, stuff draining out of me, tubes, machines bleeping, but a large spoonful of custard coming towards me



First thing I see on coming round
"Here eat this" says a female voice. Remarkably, despite my comatose state, I feel suddenly a bit peckish, and I manage to spoon down a bit of custard and fruity tart hidden in the depths.
"Now try this" and a salmon and cucumber sandwich is thrust at me. I manage a nibble. I realise, for the first time in maybe two months, that my innards are quiescent. There appear to be no D-Day type manoeuvres going on down below.


"What's the time?" I croak.
"Six" says my wife. It took five hours. Should have taken one.
"Am I OK?"
"Apparently"


As if on queue, in comes one of the surgical accolaides, who looks tired but relievd, and he takes the time to explain it to me. "That was an extremely difficult and technically very challenging operation. Very, very complex. Your gallbladder was very infected, full of pus, and had started infecting all the organs and areas around. The other organs: liver, colon, stomach, had all been trying to isolate the rest of the body from the gallbladder, and had probably been doing it for some time. I must say, you have a very robust immunity system, and it has been fighting this for, probably, months. The gallbladder also had an abscess, which is extremely rare, and we now also know from miscrobiology that you had the start of blood poisoning. Septicemia. You have been extremely ill."


Jesus


"Fortunately, we got to the gallbladder before the abscess burst. It was very difficult to get at and separate it, as it had stuck to all surrounding organs, but we eventually successfully removed almost everything except a small piece still attached to the liver. However, it is open and uninfected, and will present no problems, It took 4 litres of fluid to irrigate clean the area. We are very relieved. You should make a full recovery. A very very difficult operation."


"That's extraordinary. I guess I was much iller than I thought. Did you have to open me up?"
"No, Mr Gonzales was able to perform all procedures using keyhole surgery. Have a look."


With much trepidation, I lift up my gown. My belly is white and shaved and bloated from the op, but all there is to see is five little sticking plasters, about the size of something you'd put on a paper cut. Unbelievable.



Picture of me and my belly following the op


I thank the surgeon profusely and ask him to convey my heartfelt gratitude to Mr Gonzales and everyone else. He smiles tiredly, says he will, and leaves, and that night I am, for the first time in months, restful. A bit of discomfort from the surgery, and very woozy, but really, nothing at all. I doze contentedly throughout the night as nurses come and check my vital signs every half hour or so, and think about Mr Gonzales and his entourage. What a bunch of geniuses. I don't know what they get paid, but they're worth every penny.


Next morning, and The Great Man arrives in his usual cloud of accolades and clipboards.
"I understand you earned your money with me yesterday, Mr Gonzales," I say by way of greeting.
They all laugh nervously. "It was a very difficult procedure, yes, but ultimately very successful. You should have no after effects. Very good. Very good result."
"Will I be able to eat normally?"
"Of course, of course. Eat and drink normally, yes, yes. You may have trouble processing very fatty food, but perhaps that is no bad thing, yes? HAHAHA!" He slaps his ample belly.
"OK, now we will check your bloods later today to ensure infection is under control, and then, off home with you!"
"So soon?"
"Of course, of course. The worst place to recover is the hospital. You need to get out of bed and exercise. Get all strength back - go home!"
...and he's gone. I could see the intensity had gone out of his eyes a little. I was no longer an interesting case, but not to be an interesting case to Mr Gonzales I concluded, must surely be a good thing.


I find, remarkably, that I am able to get up without any difficulty whatsoever. On Mr Gonzales' advice, I take myself off down the corridor for a bit of gentle exercise. I shuffle past reception and there is the Maestro, inexplicably taking selfies with his entourage amid much jocularity. I wave to him as I totter past. "Taking your advice Mr Gonzales," I say. He looks round at me and smiles broadly. "Ah yes, yes excellent, keep it up!!" and he gives me a hearty slap on the back which sends me skittering across the linoleum.


Later that day, blood results indicate that although the infection is still very much there, they are satisfied that enough indicators are going in the right direction, and I go home, on the arm of my missus., with many antibiotics in tow.


It's now about two weeks later. Have been back for a blood checkup - looking good, although my liver, kidneys, and various other giblets have taken a hell of a battering, and function not brilliant. Will be checked by the GP over the next few weeks to make sure the organs are coming back on line.


Each day I feel a bit better and stronger, but my guts have yet to fully settle down. I am still losing weight - down to 78kilos from about 85kilos, but my appetite is back, and I guess it'll take some time to stabilise. I always wanted to be under 80kilos. Be careful what you wish for...


I have had the occasional stomach cramp, but nothing like before, and no gallbladder pain. I hope, I pray that ship has sailed.



I'll be back...

No you won't you bastard.

Gallbladder VI: The miracle of the NHS - once you're in

My lasting views of the next 36 hours is all essentially different ceilings, and people peering at me

Hmmmm...I don't like the look of that, nurse. Cover it up for me will you?


It's about 4.30am Saturday morning. The A&E appears quietly busy. No fuss, no chaos, and apart from the occasional Y'FOOKIN'BASTAAAD coming out of a distant cubicle all has the whiff of professional calm and efficiency. I am immediately attended by a doctor, and we quickly review the last 24 hours. He has my notes and seems engaged, concerned and well informed. I have blood tests, vitals checked, a discussion with other doctors of my condition and a call to the surgical team is made. They start putting bag after bag of liquid intravenously into me to get my blood pressure up. I am introduced to my nurse Vicky who again is courteous and quietly efficient. She takes my vitals every 20 minutes or so.


"Any improvement?" I say
"Not really" comes the reply. No patronising jollity here I am relieved to see.


After about an hour, someone from surgery comes to see me and he gives his opinion that I have most likely got an insanely infected gallbladder bent on destroying all in its path, I need to be admitted and following a scan, immediate surgery will probably be required.

A SCAN!! Feet first, and you get a scan. YES!!!!!!!


It's now about 6.30am, and it looks like I'm going to be here some time. First an X-ray, then ward admission. I tell the missus to go get some sleep and come back later - nothing is going to happen till I get the bastard scan, later in the day.


X-ray duly performed (man alive it's FREEZING in there)

Now just relax Mr Simsqu while we take the X-ray. Comfy?


...and off I am wheeled to the ward. I have visions of

and



but I have been believing what I hear and see in the media. The ward I am in has about 20 rooms, most of which  appear to be single occupancy, and I get one of those. Bright with a lovely view across London. The room smells good. Crisp, clean linen, everything sparklingly clean, ensuite bathroom. It's not exactly the Ritz but it reeks of efficiency, professionalism, and reassurance.


I am introduced to the nursing team immediately and for the next few hours they continue to pump me full of liquid, keep a check on my vitals, and sure enough, my blood pressure starts to come up. I am visited by one of the doctors on duty (they have their office just next to my room), and she tells me that Mr Gonzales, The Big Cheese SuperSurgeon will be visiting me shortly on his rounds.
Sounds good.


About midday, in He comes, surrounded by a cloud of nurses, doctors, surgeons, surgical assistants with clipboards, anaesthetists. There may have been a couple of Lord High Executioners in the background, I'm not sure

Ahh good morning, I am Mr Gonzales


He is mid-fifties, stocky, jovial, supremely confident, engaged and interested. He speaks rather like Salvador Dali with an outrageous Spanish accent.
"Now Mr Simsqu, we shall await the result of the scan of course," he says, with a little dismissive wave of the hand as if the scan could possibly tell him anything he did not already know, "but I think we shall schedule removal later today, or tomorrow. That is the only sensible course, no?"
There is then a few rapid fire rounds of Q & A with his entourage who have my notes and other blood tests at the ready, and are eager to please him, I get the impression that to be in the wake of Mr Gonzales is a very good place for an up and coming surgeon to be. Suits me.


Then Mr Gonzales is through. "Good, this should take routinely about one hour or so, although this is my first operation! Ha Ha Ha! No no,. It is the second!! HAHAHAHA!! No really, I have performed thousands of them! Thousands!!"
"Thousands!" his accolades chime in and they're gone.



Thousands!!


Mid afternoon into a wheelchair and off for my scan.  I am feeling unwell, in some pain, uncomfortable, a bit frightened and anxious, but my missus has been fantastic and is keeping my spirits up. Also, I have a very reassuring feeling that I am in the right place.


I get wheeled into the corridor by the scan room and parked alongside another wheelchair, whose occupant is a deathly white old geezer, wheezing away in phlegmy semi-silence, with a few desultory tufts of snow white hair clinging to the back of his pallid head.





I'm a martyr to me gallbladder, I am.


I try to ignore him. I do not want to become a professional invalid swapping medical war stories, but too late. He senses fresh blood.


(rattle rattle) "Wha...what are you in for?" (hack hack)
"Gallbladder"
His rheumy eyes dart about. "Oooh yes, same 'ere. Eight...eighteen months I've had it. In and out of hospital. Ooh the pain. Let me tell yer, the pain is terrible."
"yes, I know"
"It's like nothing else, the pain. Eighteen months. They can't work out what to do with me. They say I'm a very unusual case. I come in, they treat me, send me home, I come back..."


I want to kill myself. This is incredibly depressing. I know I should be sympathetic, poor chap,. but he's relishing it, and I want nothing to do with this. Fortunately, I am rescued by the scan technician who summons me in.


"Breathe in...hold it..and relax"
"Breathe in...hold it...hold it...and relax"
This goes on for about 20 minutes, except when he forgets to say relax, and I turn purple, but it's basically a breeze.


"Hmmmm, yes...well..you have a very infected gallbladder
YOU THINK???????
...full of gallstones, lots of bile sludge...completely blocked. Very nasty. I'll get these results direct to the surgical team, and they will schedule the operation for complete removal."


and I'm back to the ward. Doc comes in soon after. "Mr Gonzales has reviewed the scan, and he' schedules the operation for tomorrow."

Gallbladder V: A&E Take 1, A&E take 2

A & E TAKE 1
So my longsuffering sister takes me and the missus to A&E (we don't have a car) and I (finally) get the blood tests. I've got an infection. Two in fact. Few hours later they give me IV antibiotics. I say I really need a scan, but the doc says he can't authorise that. This is nuts: I've clearly got a gallbladder that's gone loco and infections aplenty.
Anyway, they send me off with oral antibiotics, promising to speed up a scan if they can. It's been over two weeks since the doc put in the request. Doc says I should feel better in 24 - 48 hours

Now Mr Simsqu. Off you go. Should be as right as rain in a day or two, but probably best to lay off too many swingers parties until you feel raring to go again.


I spend all day hoping the antibiotics will start their miracle cure. I try to call the docs on several occasions to see where my scan appointment is. Can't get anyone to call me back. I ring the hospital trying to see where my scan is. Stonewall.
Frustrated, miserable, in pain, and haven't eaten anything other than rich tea biscuits, and porridge made with water (aka gruel) since the nineteenth century.

Picture of me enjoying a most agreeable evening repast


That night I again dose myself up with all manner of potions. I sleep fitfully.


A & E TAKE 2
At 2.30am I am awoken by the worst uncontrollable shaking of all my limbs. Apparently it is called Rigors. But close to Rigor Mortis for my liking, but as I feel like death warmed up, an apt description. I am bathed in sweat. You could probably smelt iron on my forehead. Although I only had another half bowl of bastard gruel for supper, I feel like I have eaten an enormous Christmas lunch, washed down by a roast camel.

Oh go on then, give us that drumstick


I have never felt so wretched in my life. I don't know what to do with myself. My body is trying to make me sweat to reduce my temperature, but I feel icy cold and clutch the duvet round my neck.
Then I pass out.
I come round and I hear the missus on the phone. I have stopped shaking. 30 minutes later the ambulance guys arrive and assess me. Temp 39.8. I'm not looking good. I tell them my history. They ask me, do I want to go to the hospital? How the hell do I know? Aren't they the experts? Anyway, it's 3.30am, and as I am feeling a bit better, I find myself saying, no it's OK, I'll take myself off in the morning. Temp now coming down.
Fine they say, but you need to come into the ambulance for some routine tests before we can leave, so I dress and as I'm having the tests (ECG etc) I start greying out and my blood pressure begins to drop. Suddenly it's down to 80/50 which is REALLY low. That makes the decision for everyone and off we go. They strap me in. After 5 mins I am about to faint so they lay me down and finally, I am rolled into the same A&E 24 hours later, feet first.

Gallbladder IV - The descent into darkness: Pamona

Monday morning I wake up and I'm in trouble, I'm in pain, I feel awful, I have no appetite, can't eat anything, can't get comfy. I take painkillers that help but it's all gone tits up. Trouble is, I STILL don't really know what's wrong with me except it might be vaguely gallbladder related. Thursday night I wake up covered in sweat and shivering. OK that's enough. I take myself off to the doc the next day and relate what's been going on.
She prods me about and takes my temp. "Temperature is normal now. I'll put you down for a scan; that should tell us what's going on. In the meantime, no fatty food, drink plenty of liquids, take painkillers and paracetamol, and if you experience any fever again, come back here at once, or take yourself off to the hospital."
No blood test. In hindsight, why not? but what did I know.
Off I went, and the next day, Saturday, I decend into darkness.
I realise now how my gallbladder had transmogrified from this

Gallbladder here. How may I be of assistance?


To this

You talkin' to me?


To finally this

Gallbladder will exact vengeance my preciousssssss......


Saturday the pain starts moderate and gets slowly, inexorably, worse as the day progresses. All round my right side, under my shoulder blade, in my stomach. Cold, grey unremitting awfulness. I take codeine, ibuprofren, paracetamol. Nothing seems to work for too long. The missus is out and we are supposed to be going to the National Theatre in the afternoon to see a play called Pamona. I can't remember booking it. I can't remember what it is about.
I take myself off and meet the missus in the foyer. I am grey with pain and misery. Decide on balance that we might as well give it a go as we are here. After all, it might be something jolly and it'll cheer me up, so in we go.
Gentle reader, if I had just won the lottery, the Nobel Peace prize, and an Oscar, been voted the world's sexiest man and had groupies aplenty liing up to take me to dinner, I would still have come oput of the play wanting to slit my throat.
Never had I experienced such a depressing play. It was set in Manchester, in a dystopian post-industrial bleak future and was about a secret bunker hidden in some Mancunian wasteland where legions of young girls were kept chained up, made pregnant over and over again, their progeny sold off for profit, and when they could no longer produce, their organs were harvested.
I was now sick in mind and body. Staggered home, took extra doses of painkillers, sat on the sofa with lots of hot water bottles.
Sunday a bit better.
Monday I take myself off to the docs again. I try to see if the scan can be fast-tracked. Probably 2-3 weeks. He sends me off with more industrial strength painkillers, watch symptons etc etc.
By Thursday, I have hardly eaten anything, have hardly been free from pain, but no fever. Thursday evening I go to my sister's for supper. I manage a few mouthfuls, but then get the shakes. By the shakes I mean massive, uncontrollable shaking of hands, arms, legs, feet. I feel incredibly cold. My head is shaking so much I can hardly speak. They take my temperature - it's through the roof. Call the doc. I describe symptoms. "Go to the A&E NOW"

Gallbladder III - Memory of a goldfish

So I'm on holiday, the doc gives me strong painkillers, tells me to lay off fatty foods, lay off spicy foods, take it easy, and if I develop a temperature, come back or go to A&E - not good to have an infected gallbladder.


I live on sachets of instant porridge for a few days and gradually feel better. Friday night, there are six of us in residence, and I manage to make fresh crab linguine. I'm definitely better and the rest of the holiday passes off without major digestive incident.


Sat Sept 12 and we're back from hols. I feel normal. I go back on the 5-2 diet and for a couple of weeks all seems right with the world. I forget the agonising pain and general misery I suffered on hols. I'm in a good mood. I'm still avoiding bread, so still avoiding butter. I still haven't put this together in my mind. I am an idiot.


So it's Friday Sept 25th. Weekend coming up and I feel great. For supper I make tacos: blisteringly hot chilli with mince, kidney beans, chilli oil, lots of guacamole, sour cream, grated cheese etc etc. Lovely
Saturday, four of us go for a 10 mile walk and feel so smug that we take ourselves off for a few ridiculously strong cocktails, followed by a curry. This is no ordinary curry house. It is a curry house run by a madman. Conversation goes like this:
Me: Yes can I have a lamb madras...
Madman: Oooh no you don't want that. Let me make you something special
Me: but I like lamb madras
Madman: trust me, this will be fantastic
Me OK, and can we have a sag bhagi
Madman: Oooh no you don't want that. I've got something really special I know you'll absolutely love. You like things spicy?
Me: I do (what did the doc say? Was it lay off spicy foods?)
Madman: fantastic, Leave it to me

Are you ready to order now?
And so it went with everyone round the table. Result: Well, it was delicious but my curry was ridiculously hot and very rich, and if it hadn't been for the quart of bourbon sloshing round my system from the cocktails, I probably would not have touched it. We also had one of his so-called specialities, the tarka dall, which was absolutely delicious: unctuous and rich. At the end of the meal, there was a bit of the dall left in the serving dish and it had gone absolutely solid. Like a block of butter. I realised with a slight queasy feeling that the reason it was so delicious was probably because it must have been at least 50% ghee/butter/palm oil/axle grease/ Christ knows what.


Sunday: day of rest. No ill effects so far, and for some reason woke up really hungry. Made myself a breakfast treat of scrambled eggs with plenty of butter on buttered toast with tomatoes.
Lunch: The missus has gone out. I have a look in the fridge. Hmmm, a few chicken livers. I give them a sniff. Probably on the edge. Should I throw them out? Seems a bit of a waste. I am sure I can make a passable dish with them, So I fry up streaky bacon, garlic, onions, chicken livers, plenty of mustard, balsamic vinegar. Not bad.
Supper. I am making Spinakopita, a greek dish of filo pastry layers filled with spinach, grated cheese, feta cheese, ricotta cheese, fresh mint and dill. I put a pastry sheet in a baking dish and pour on melted butter. Another layer more butter. Another layer more butter. Five times, In goes the spinach, Another 5 layers of filo and butter. Very tasty. Is that a slight twinge I can feel? Perhaps a spot of indigestion. Must have been the muesli I had for breakfast


WHAT WAS I THINKING???

Gallbladder II - The Gathering Storm (copyrite W Churchill)

So over the last 12 months or so I have been doing the 5-2 diet which for those who have been living at the bottom of a dark pit, is where you eat normally for 5 days a week and have a very restricted, fasting diet on the other two. The idea is that you not only tend to lose weight, but it's also good for your health re blood sugar, cholesterol and all that other malarkey.
I kind of got into the routine of it: not easy but doable for me and I did indeed start to lose some weight - all good stuff.
Then about 8 months ago I started noticing that after a fast day, when I started eating normally, I was getting slightly uncomfortable digestive pains in my side. Didn't know what they were did I, not being the incredibly dull and irritating gallbladder expert that I now am. As I usually had a nice baguette for lunch on my non-fast days, I thought, maybe I was becoming gluten intolerant, rather than just my usual intolerant

Picture of me in one of my more tolerant moods


So what did I do? I gave up all bread and hey presto - felt fine for several months, Of course, I realise now with blinding clarity that what was making me feel fine was not the lack of gluten, but the lack of BUTTER. I love butter, and never stinted myself, and any piece of bread in any form had to be covered in it's own weight in butter before I would contemplate ingestion.



Here's me preparing the butter for a baguette. Hmmm I may need another pack
I mean, my gallbladder must have thought I'd cut my throat, so infrequently was it being used. Still had it's pesky gallstone problem of course, but who cares? it's just sitting back and watching the digestive show from the sidelines.


Then, on Aug 28th came THE HOLIDAY
Gentle reader, if there is ever a wakeup call for the digestive system, it is THE HOLIDAY
So. Up to the holiday, I was eating no bread and (without really realising it) no butter, very little carbohydrate (to maintain low GI and hence blood sugar) very little fat, not much cheese, hardly any meat, quite a bit of fish, including lots of raw salmon (I love sashimi) lots of steamed vegetables, fair amount of fruit. In essence, a pretty damn healthy, low fat, low sugar diet without really realising it


Here's what I had on the first three days of the holiday in Lymington (see Crabs posts)


DAY 1: spaghetti bolognaise, lots of cheese
DAY 2: lunch consisiting of fresh bread AND BUTTER from the market, seafood, cold meats, chutneys, pickles, pork pie was in there somewhere I think, cheese etc. Supper: out for an indian: lamb madras, lots of bhagis, pilau rice etc all swimming in fat
DAY 3: Roasted an enormous 12lb whole shoulder of pork I got in the market and had that for supper with masses of roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, roast carrots and parsnips, leeks in white sauce, gravy made with all the pork fat and juices, all the trimmings, little sausages wrapped in bacon, followed by a nice selection of full fat cheeses (and a bit of fruit)
DAY 4: I made Cassoulet with huge chunks of the left over roast pork (with not much fat trimmed off), toulouse sausages, confit duck (duck cooked in goose fat) lots of beans, all cooked in a rich sauce made with the leftover gravy enriched with red wine.
It was stonkingly delicious
DAY 5: had muesli and prunes for breakfast, and felt a little bit iffy in the morning. God help me, I blamed the prunes.
Lunch: a huge pork sandwich (still had masses left over), which I had made with lovely fresh white bread slathered with butter, mayonnaise, chutney, pickled onions, and of course some lettuce to watch my diet.


That afternoon, I suddenly screeched to a halt. If you had put an ear to my digestive system at that point, the conversation would have been along the following lines:
Stomach: CHRIST!! Here it comes again. What did he buy, a whole effing pig? Yo Brain - call the gallbladder AGAIN
Brain: OK, but he's not gonna like it. I mean, he's been working back to back twelve hour shifts, and he keeps grouching about the gallstones blocking his path
Stomach: MAKE THE GODDAM CALL!
Brain: Alright already. Jeez what a crouch. Yo Gallbladder
Gallbladder (exhausted) Don't you dare...I've been firefighting for four days straight and I ain't gonna stand for it no more.
Brain: Sorry matey, but it's more pork...
Gallbladder: WHAT...THE...FUCK... I tell you she's gonna blow...OK, OK, what the hell, I'll give it one more shot. Well here goes nothing. Stand back everyone. One...Two...Three...SQUEEEEEEZE
(there is the sound of a klaxon) NOW HERE THIS...NOW HERE THIS...GALLBLADDER BLOCKED I REPEAT...GALLBLADDER BLOCKED...GALLSTONES EVERYWHERE...IT'S LIKE A GODDAM ROCKSLIDE...


...and I'm deteriorating fast. I have an uncomfortable pain spreading around my middle which gradually gets worse as the afternoon and evening progresses, and I spend one of the most painful and horrible nights of my life with this unremitting pain in my stomach, under my rib cage, up my back. Nothing I can do, no position I adopt makes the slightest difference.


Exhausted, I take myself off to a doctor at 8.00am who hears my story and says instantly, "classic gallbladder. Have you changed your eating habits recently, or eaten anything fatty?"


And for the first time, the word gallbladder enters my consciousness.

Gallbladder I

Apologies to my dear reader (I think I have one) for my absence, but I have been on a rather long and nasty medical journey over the last few weeks, really starting with a vengeance on Sept 1st, but with hindsight, going back for a good few months before.


I am going to lay it out over the next few posts, so anyone suffering from nervous hysteria, or who has an aversion to unpleasant medical stories, or just can't stand the thought of the equivalent of being stuck in a lift with a wheelchair bound crabby old baldheaded liverspotted geezer banging on and on about his medical war stories, look away now.
I am hoping that it will be of general interest, but also specific interest to anyone who may be, or may suspect they are suffering with their gallbladder, or may wonder what the hell's going on, and recognise the symptoms as I describe what happened to me


OK, first a lesson about gallbladders. I thought a gallbladder was some organ we all had vaguely in the vicinity of the digestive system, which produced some digestive substance. Not a bit of it. If you think about it, the clue is in the name. Bladder. Does your bladder produce anything? No. It stores urine. The gallbladder is just a storage facility for bile, and you need bile to digest fat. Now bile itself is produced by the liver via the bile duct, so you don't actually need the gallbladder to function; it's just a useful extra tool.


This is what happens


Scene: The stomach. You have just consumed a Burger King triple bacon cheeseburger with fries and a pint of warm lard


Stomach: Holy shit: YO BRAIN!!
Brain:      Wassup?
Stomach: There's a shitstorm of fat coming my way
Brain:      So?
Stomach   SO? Waddya mean so? So I'm gonna need bile, baby.
Brain        Roger that. I'll tell the liver
Stomach   The liver can't cope with this one on it's own. Send in the big guns - NOW!!
Brain        Jeez, er...OK... hold on...I've got his number somewhere. Let me see...Cranium...Duodenum...Ears..Feet..here we are Gallbladder. YO GALLBLADDER!!
Gallbladder:  Gallbladder here, how may I be of assistance?
Brain:       RELEASE THE HOUNDS!!!



























So the gallbladder then dumps it's reservoir of extra bile into the intestine, the extra fat gets digested, and we all go home happy.


Trouble is, the gallbladder has an annoying habit in a large section of the population, of producing little mineral lumps called gallstones. Most of us live with these all through our lives without any ill effects, but sometimes they can get stuck in the ducts leading from the gallbladder, and if they do, then when the gallbladder is called upon to release the hounds, then it can cause a blockage, and the gallbladder tries to squeeze them out, which causes a hideous, classic pain on the right side of the body just below the ribcage, and also sometimes up the back behind the right shoulder blade, maybe in the stomach, and basically, you feel awful and want to rip your innards out.


That Big Mac was a mistake


So anyway. There's the background. Next post coming shortly

Don't you love Waitrose

Went to Waitrose this morning and needed just two thing: Prune juice and toilet paper.

The cashier said, "now that's the definition of optimism."

Smart girl

The most patient people in the world

Lovely sunny autumnal morning so off to Wood Green with the missus to do a bit of shopping.


Here is the missus trying out her state of the art contactless debit card on the card reader.

We go to Lidl. I am yet to be convinced. It always appears to be full of lower orders shuffling about in nighties, dragging around their hideous screaming earring babies, munching on Marlboro flavoured crisps, but that's probably just my ridiculous snobbish prejudices.

Anyway, we then go to a series of small corner-type shops to pick up bits and pieces and I am struck by a new universal law of cornershop shopkeepers which is you must be mumbling into a mobile phone tucked under your chin when ringing up purchases. Not only that, the person on the other end must have the patience of a shedload of saints, or possibly be comatose, as the conversation seems to last indefinitely, and is interrupted every 20-30 seconds by the annoying customers

Hold on Mr President..."That'll be £3.47 mate"

St Mary at Hill

Having nothing better to do, went with a couple of friends to this lovely church in the city for a lunch time concert.

Here is the interior

Look no pews!

It's great: just a beautiful big open space. This time of year there is always a celebration of fish


Here is a picture of fish, in case you don't know what they look like

So it was with great excitement that I entered the church, hoping for something like this on display

Hi there! Welcome to the St Mary at Hill Harvest of the Sea display. This is Blodwyn and I am Candice


Unfortunately the actual fish display is next week and will be more like this apparently

What did you expect? A couple of mermaids??


Still the concert was GREAT. A choir of eight accompanied by a thundering great organ.

Handbag

There are some expressions that fill me with terror, or make me incensed, or both. Amongst these are:

'Come round for supper - bring a game!'

"Have you heard the good news?"

'Look, I only had lamb tikka and rice, and a diet Coke. Here's a fiver -
sorry - got to catch the last tube.'

'He won't bite - he's only playing!'

'Now you'll want the extended warranty with those Post-it notes sir.'

But the one that is currently top of my fear-factor scale is
as follows:

Me 'where are the sweeteners?'

Missus 'They're in my handbag'

Me (nervously) 'can you get them for me?'

Missus 'They are right there: Look in my handbag'

Gentle reader, are there more bloodcurdling words than 'Look in my handbag'?

I don't want to go in there. It's big and smelly and dark and unfathomable.. There are things in there I should not need to know about. There are things in there no man should be subjected to. So you have a tentative root around. Things jangle. Some are squidgy. Some are sharp. Some leave smeary makeup type deposits on your hands. And many tissues, which don't get me wrong, I do sometimes find useful. She always carries enough tissues with her to soak up Lake Baikal.

Are you sure they're in here?

And ten minutes later, when you finally get to the bottom of the bag and start collecting bits under your fingernails, she says, 'Don't bother: I've got them here: could you just pass me that old tissue please?' (Shudder)


Picture of my missus' handbag and one of the unusual objects I found in it once.

Date Tongs

As part of my healthy living regime, I eat muesli for breakfast a few times a week. I am not a natural muesli eater. This is more my style



Your usual muesli milord?
Bollocks to that Carson. I'll have double beans and black pudding, fried slice and a pickled egg


However, I am told by my doctors that the occasional bowl of muesli is good for my moral wellbeing. No added salt. No added sugar. So be it.


Having sampled the various alternatives on sale, and found many taste like this





I have finally settled on



which is OK once in a while EXCEPT it's got filthy little squares of disgustingly mushy, mushed up bits of dates mixed in.



Hello. I am a huge block of date paste. I can often be found in muesli, although I have no place in the human food chain. I am only there to keep the customers on their toes as they spend half an hour each morning picking through the muesli detritus to ferret out every last ghastly bit of me.


So every morning I can be found with my head in a bowl of muesli carefully sifting it through my fingers trying to  indentify all the lumps of date mush.


Until a few days ago, when my missus presented me with a pair of Date Tongs

Date Tongs


I can now be found of a morning daintily picking through my muesli and removing the offending articles. To date, I have collected quite a bit

...and that's just a month's worth...

I don't know what the hell's going on

Sorry team: I don't know what the hell's going on. I can't make my piccies appear here. The only thing I've done is install Windows10 and it's all gone tits up.


I am awaiting a callback from the IT department (aka my brother-in-law) but as the IT department is currently on holiday (inconsiderate oik), I'll have to wait till he comes back. In the meantime, if anyone knows what's happened and why all of a sudden my googlepics won't show up here, do leave a comment or email me, if that's still working.


Arse.


I shall however let you know about my date tongs shortly, pics or no pics



                       I say, do you hev Googlepics?
                       No, I was born like this

Crabs II: The Legend of Snooks Lane

So anyway, as I was saying, I got a conspiratorial whisper as to where I could buy the Crabs at the source.

Follow the road to Snooks Lane and carry on monsieur. Why I am telling you I do not know, as it cannot possibly profit me...

So feeling like Indiana Jones, off we went  late one afternoon, me, the missus and the mother in law. Over the bridge, past the railway terminal, searching for Snooks Lane and the fabled Crab Factory.

Snooks Lane you say? I beg you Sahib, turn back while you still can...

The pavement petered out, the lane got narrower, and the hill steeper. Me and the missus were OK, but my mother in law is not used to the wildness and lawlessness of the countryside. She left Cardiff when she was a teenager, and has lived in Central London ever since, where cars know their place, there are plenty of pedestrian crossings, traffic lights, and wide, even pavements. Having to hold on to my tottering 86 year old mother-in-law as she staggered up a bending lane with no pavement, ditches both sides, and maniacs coming round blind corners at unhealthy speeds reminded me once again, why I hate the countryside.

It was only the thought of finding Crab Eldorado, egged on the thought of getting one over on the Crab Ladies on the Quay that kept us going. Or rather kept me going. The other members of my party were rapidly losing interest.


After about ten days of hard trekking (OK, ten minutes) we came across

and then



Finally, finally, by the dying light of a late summer's evening, almost when all hope was lost and the M-I-L was down to the last of her Mint Imperials, did we eventually arrive at the fabled Lost City of S & J Seafoods of Snooks Lane



Yes. It's not exactly Shangri-La is it?

We lurched gratefully into the yard and threw ourselves on the mercy of the bunch of crabby old women in the back of the shop, as they were picking through a veritable mountain of crab parts


I engaged one of them in conversation whilst buying a hen crab (more dark meat).

"I heard from a reliable source that you supply the crab stall on Lymingtom Quay?"

"No, we don't. They have their own fisherman. We just supply local bars and restaurants. That'll be £6.50."

That cost me another bag of Mint Imperials.