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.
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