grimaces gripes and plaudits

Home for nine days now and still enjoying the tender loving care. I’m spending more time on the internet too doing this, and that.More grim pics follow – not for the squeamish I’m afraid.

Things are progressing and the leg feels stronger, with more weight bearing potential. I’m getting a little faster on the crutches.

I had all the staples out a couple of nights ago but the upper edge of what is clearly a massive incision was looking a bit yellowish yesterday. Causing enough concern for tudor to call the nurse again.

Anyway, we had a visit form an ‘Assistant Practitioner’ I’d guess a half-way house post between Doctor and Nurse. Very pleasant she was too.

She prescribed a course of anti-biotics as a precaution and said she’d send some more dressings. They arrived last night delivered by a young man in an AIG shirt. I had to pay for the tablets – which I’d expected but was staggered to find I needed to fork out seven pounds plus for half a dozen dressings. These are made of transparent film – up market cling film if you like.

Despite the chances of awful side-effects I began the ‘flouoxicillin’ last night and so far so good.

We spent the evening watching about three episodes of ‘24’ and are still engrossed. These were sandwiched by Sugar’s ‘Apprentice’ and the antics there sometimes beggar belief. ‘24’ is far more credible than the behaviour of some of our ‘brightest business brains’

Anyway I slept for about five or six hours. Toods has bought me a wedge shaped pillow (£15 from LIDL) so I can elevate both legs. The swelling in the left foot has come down a lot but the toes are still mighty bruised. I’m continuing to deliver huge amounts of urine overnight – though I admit to a can of John Smith’s last evening to sweeten the weekly dose of Alan Sugar. We lobbed a couple of bottleful’s into the compost bin but no more – we don’t want to cause a stink for neighbours when the weather warms up a bit.

Getting out of bed brings pain – yes ‘pain’ in the left ankle as a rushing sensation sees gravity forcing whatever fluid is inside the leg to gather around the joint. I’m not too bothered by this as it quickly wears off. I realise it’s still early days.

I made my way upstairs this morning for my first shower. ‘Aaaaaahh’ very nice too. Washed and shampooed my meagre greying locks and administered to my own needs with the sponge. I sat astride a ‘bath-board’ a device which adjusts to the size of ones bath. Enabling legs to be swung over and feet firmly planted in the tub as tudor got to work with the shower head.

Later the proceedings descended into farce.

Dried off and talcumed – yes I get I’m going to miss this – I crutched my way into the master bedroom where there is a full size mirror – I surveyed the size of the wound – blimey! It’s huge.

(shot thru’ the mirror – though the right one might look like this soon enough)

Having peeled off the dressing in the shower and got the long line of blood and scab looking half decent I laid on the bed for my better half to dress it anew with the expensive see through plasters. What a fiasco.

These ‘plasters’ are about seven inches square. The first two became all gummed up together as there were several different backing strips to peel away. No instructions at all. Then I had a go. I made a complete balls of it too. Three down four to go. I was semi-apoplectic.

We were searching for a non-adhesive strip you see, in the middle of thing to go over the healing incision, thereby avoiding disturbance when it came time for a change. We couldn’t find one.

We managed at the fourth attempt to cover two thirds of the slit. The thing was full of wrinkles though and small air bubbles. What a bloody mess! Still , at least it was stuck on. Trying to cover up the last couple of inches brought more red-faced despair, name calling and bad language as we managed to screw up another two of the damn things between us. All stuck together in a twisted mess on the bed – money evaporating at a quid apiece !

The last one had to count and quite how we got it stuck down is still a mystery. It won’t win any prizes for presentation though and felt like a flat sheet of coarse fly-paper had been flung at my leg sticky side down.

So there we were. At loggerheads over our joint inability to master the seemingly simple art of wound dressing, but worse the prospects of shelling out dosh for more of the things.

I rang the Chemist to complain. I got short shrift in truth. Apparently a box of ten of these sticky, transparent sheets costs fifty pounds!! At least for that much you’d think a simple line of instruction might come with them. I had words with another ‘Practitioner’ and he’s organising some similar things free of charge…he too was surprised we’d had to pay for dressings.

Tudor is on her way to pick them up. He did say they were ‘difficult’ to apply and we actually shared a laugh at our ham-fisted attempts. We had a  concilliatory brew together and contemplated our general uselessness in matters medical.

The better news is the wound seems to be healing well. You’re now better acquainted with various bits of body than is healthy for either of us but I plough on in the name medical science.I have experienced nothing yet to regret this operation, or to not recommend it to others.

Tonight is probably my last night in the bed downstairs…I shall miss waking up next to this fellow.
He holds our modest c.d. collection together….his bum is more photogenic than mine.

I call him Derek