It's been an eventful few days. Tuesday started with the pleasant experience of having a microscope pushed through my nostril and into my mouth, to check whether I am ready to have my tracheostomy "capped off", and then removed.
When I say microscope, I don't mean one of those bulky contraptions they have in school science labs for looking at dead woodlice. That would be really painful. This microscope was a specially made piece of medical equipment, designed to penetrate bogies and other nasal obstacles, to give the viewer a clear picture of the patient's nose and throat area.
Anyway, the conclusion was positive: let's get ready to get rid of the trachy - more of which later.
But the excitement didn't end there. I had an appointment to see nice Dr Leung at the Royal London Dental Institute, to have a look at the state of my teeth post-operation and pre-radiotherapy. So Catherine came to the office early, and we took a cab with Helen - one of our favourite nurses - to Whitechapel for the appointment. My first venture beyond the hospital grounds for over five weeks.
The trip there was simple enough, we had a brief wait before Dr Leung looked into the abyss that is my mouth and declared herself reasonably happy with what she saw, although she wants me to attend another time before the radiotherapy starts.
We then sat in the waiting room and waited - which I guess is what waiting rooms are made for. Eventually, our porter appeared, to push me in my wheelchair, with Catherine and Helen dutifully behind, to the Transport waiting room, for our pre-booked taxi. We waited.
At 5pm, the time at which the Transport Section closes, and with no sign of our cab, we were once again collected by a porter and wheeled to - I kid you not - the Departure Lounge.
This area was as chaotic as Gatwick on a Bank Holiday when the ground staff are on strike. There certainly seemed to be more people arriving than departing. Eventually, our cab arrived and took us back on the short trip to Bart's and the safety of the ward. I think that I spent a maximum of 15 minutes with Dr Leung, but the whole trip - to a hospital 4 or 5 miles away - took over 3 hours. Still, why should I complain? I ain't going nowhere.
All the activity and excitement must have tired me out, because I slept soundly on Tuesday night for a full 12 hours. When I awoke on Wednesday morning, I felt fully refreshed and energised: almost euphoric.
All of which changed when I returned from my morning ablutions, to be greeted by a member of the Plastics staff, who told me that they had decided to carry out another operation on my flapping flap. No warning, just straight out of the blue: they had decided to apply some sutures to the thing, although they had considered and rejected the self same operation a week previously.
Stunned, I signed the consent form, and started getting myself mentally prepared for more facial surgery, more pain, more recovery time. Then the frustration and anger kicked in. I took it out on the only person I could: Manny, the MacMillan nurse. I say the only person, because currently being without coherent speech I could hardly complain to anyone verbally. At least I'd got Manny's mobile phone number and could text her, which I did, saying I felt like their laboratory rat.
Full credit to Manny, who arranged for me to meet with Dr Dilkes, the top man in Ear, Nose and Throat, and told me that someone would come over and collect me forthwith.
A porter duly arrived, packed me into a wheelchair, and with Sergei the nurse to accompany me, took me to .... the wrong place. I then sat growing steadily angrier, wrting abusive notes to Sergei, who eventually came to the view that I was probably right, and managed to find the right place.
Finally gaining an audience with Dr Dilkes, I fired off a tirade of frustration - partly through my incomprehensible speaking tube, and partly in illegibly written notes. The main thrust of my argument was that there was no consistency, and two highly respected medical professionals had no coherent treatment plan.
Dr Dilkes' reaction was to overrule the decision of the Plastics Team, and cancel the surgery. He did not consider it necessary at this stage, and as the person with overall responsibility for my case, his will held sway. So one team wanted to operate; the other team didn't. Go figure.
The ever-willing Sergei wheeled me back to the ward, in the company of Catherine, who by this time had arrived to contribute her unique combination of charm and threat to the debate. Sergei proved to be less adept at driving a wheelchair than nursing sick patients, as at one point he hit a kerb and nearly knocked me out of the chair. That would have been the perfect end to a perfect morning.
Things got better from that point onwards. We had an appointment to meet a Dr Sibtain, who's in charge of radiotherapy, and what a lovely man he is! He gently explained the mixture of chemo and radiotherapy I'll be enduring, in a straightforward but sympathetic way, and then left us with his colleague, Shelly, who will coordinate the treatment, to explain in more detail.
Chemo/radio is not going to be a walk in the park. In fact, it's going to entail several weeks of very unpleasant symptoms, but it's a necessary evil if I want to be as sure as I can be that we've defeated the cancer. In any case, I can't start the treatment until the big hole in my chin - which goes all the way into my mouth - has healed. So watch this space.
We then had the customary half-hour wait for a porter before being transported safely back to my bed.
After all that drama, I don't have much to report, other than to gladly let you know that I have now had my tracheostomy tube successfully "capped off", and look forward to removal of the damn thing very soon.
In recognition of the prevarication over the operation-that-never-was, here are 10- songs about indecision, with thanks to Lucy, Emma and Barney for their suggestions:-
1 Baby can I change my mind - Tyrone Davis
2 Making your mind up - Bucks Fizz
3 Mind blowing decisions - Heatwave
4 Year of the decision - The Three Degrees
5 Are you sure - The Staples Singers
6 Baby don't change your mind - Gladys Knight and The Pips
7 Change your mind - The Killers
8 I just don't know what to do with myself - Dusty Springfield
9 Do nothing - The Specials
10 How can I be sure - David Cassidy
Don't touch me!
RP
Thursday 29 July 2010
Monday 26 July 2010
Weighty matters
Monday 26th July
Hey, good news: I'm putting on weight. I had my weekly weigh-in yesterday, and I'm up to a massive 74.90 kg, having been a paltry 74.80kg last week. Those of you who are good at sums will have computed by now that in real money, I'm currently about 11st 11lb; about the same as I used to be 25 years ago. Before all this saga started, I was touching 13st, so in spite of the recent recovery, I've lost well over a stone.
Catherine has also lost nearly a stone, as a result of all the chasing around she's had to do. As many of you have commented favourably on our prose writing styles, we've decided to write a book. It will be called "Lose Weight with the Cancer Programme".
There was a new nurse on the ward yesterday: a late-middle aged lady from the agency. She was very gentle and motherly, and I rather liked her, up until the point when she commented to Catherine, "He must have been very handsome when he was a young man". Cheek!
Actually, yesterday was quite a lively day. As you can imagine, weekends are a time when friends and family come out in numbers to visit their sick loved ones.
Amid the hullabaloo, it became apparent that one of the visitors was loudly voicing to the nurses her discontent about the way her husband was being treated. As is so often the case in these situations, the rest of the room went silent, so the only noise we could hear was from this poor lady. She was subtly ushered away to talk about it, and all seemed to resolved amicably. But it set me to thinking; in a ward of 12-15 people, every visitor is only concerned about the wellbeing of one individual, but the staff have to spread themselves quite thinly among them all. Catherine's approach is one of assertive co-operation. She constantly asks why certain things are being done, and pesters the nurses to attend to my various ailments, in an attempt to put me first amound equals in terms of care. She also bribes them with home-made biscuits, which seems to be an effective tactic.
A quick word about religion. In my very first blog, I laid down two basic rules: keep it clean, and no religion. The reasons I made the stipulation in the first place is because I didn't want the blog to degenerate into a forum for evangelical preaching. I am certainly not dismissive of people's beliefs, and for those of you who have said that you pray for me, well thank you for your thoughts - I'm very grateful. I personally am not a believer, although I know people who follow a range of religions, and I completely respect their views. However, this does NOT signify an invitation to start posting "Jesus Saves" messages.
I suppose you're mildly interested in the current situation with regard to my health. Well, it's a bit of a mixed bag. I am now talking a bit, and some of the noises I make are discernible as words. The tracheostomy should be removed in the next couple of days, and plans are being made to commence the radiotherapy. So, all good.
But, I have a big hole in my neck, which goes all the way through to my mouth, and is taking an age to heal. This largely acts as an outlet for saliva, and so dressings are soaking within minutes of being applied. Because of the delicacy of the surrounding tissue, this hole cannot be sewn up, and could take several weeks to heal. Also, one of the very neat stitches in my chest - left over from where they took the skin to stick inside my mouth - has developed into a small fistula (hole to you and me), with some evidence of an infection. I'm assured it's not too serious,
so the overall picture remains rosy.
I started this blog by observing our recent weight loss, so here are ten songs about weight:-
1 Fat - Violent Femmes
2 Can't fool the fat man - Randy Newman
3 Fat man in the bathtub - Little Feat
4 You're the one for me, Fatty - Morrisey
5 The weight - The Band
6 He ain't heavy, he's my brother - The Hollies
7 Lip up fatty - Bad Manners
8 Mr Big Stuff - Jean Knight
9 Fatty fatty - Clancy Eccles
10 How you've grown - 10,000 Maniacs
Keep on slimming!
RP
Hey, good news: I'm putting on weight. I had my weekly weigh-in yesterday, and I'm up to a massive 74.90 kg, having been a paltry 74.80kg last week. Those of you who are good at sums will have computed by now that in real money, I'm currently about 11st 11lb; about the same as I used to be 25 years ago. Before all this saga started, I was touching 13st, so in spite of the recent recovery, I've lost well over a stone.
Catherine has also lost nearly a stone, as a result of all the chasing around she's had to do. As many of you have commented favourably on our prose writing styles, we've decided to write a book. It will be called "Lose Weight with the Cancer Programme".
There was a new nurse on the ward yesterday: a late-middle aged lady from the agency. She was very gentle and motherly, and I rather liked her, up until the point when she commented to Catherine, "He must have been very handsome when he was a young man". Cheek!
Actually, yesterday was quite a lively day. As you can imagine, weekends are a time when friends and family come out in numbers to visit their sick loved ones.
Amid the hullabaloo, it became apparent that one of the visitors was loudly voicing to the nurses her discontent about the way her husband was being treated. As is so often the case in these situations, the rest of the room went silent, so the only noise we could hear was from this poor lady. She was subtly ushered away to talk about it, and all seemed to resolved amicably. But it set me to thinking; in a ward of 12-15 people, every visitor is only concerned about the wellbeing of one individual, but the staff have to spread themselves quite thinly among them all. Catherine's approach is one of assertive co-operation. She constantly asks why certain things are being done, and pesters the nurses to attend to my various ailments, in an attempt to put me first amound equals in terms of care. She also bribes them with home-made biscuits, which seems to be an effective tactic.
A quick word about religion. In my very first blog, I laid down two basic rules: keep it clean, and no religion. The reasons I made the stipulation in the first place is because I didn't want the blog to degenerate into a forum for evangelical preaching. I am certainly not dismissive of people's beliefs, and for those of you who have said that you pray for me, well thank you for your thoughts - I'm very grateful. I personally am not a believer, although I know people who follow a range of religions, and I completely respect their views. However, this does NOT signify an invitation to start posting "Jesus Saves" messages.
I suppose you're mildly interested in the current situation with regard to my health. Well, it's a bit of a mixed bag. I am now talking a bit, and some of the noises I make are discernible as words. The tracheostomy should be removed in the next couple of days, and plans are being made to commence the radiotherapy. So, all good.
But, I have a big hole in my neck, which goes all the way through to my mouth, and is taking an age to heal. This largely acts as an outlet for saliva, and so dressings are soaking within minutes of being applied. Because of the delicacy of the surrounding tissue, this hole cannot be sewn up, and could take several weeks to heal. Also, one of the very neat stitches in my chest - left over from where they took the skin to stick inside my mouth - has developed into a small fistula (hole to you and me), with some evidence of an infection. I'm assured it's not too serious,
so the overall picture remains rosy.
I started this blog by observing our recent weight loss, so here are ten songs about weight:-
1 Fat - Violent Femmes
2 Can't fool the fat man - Randy Newman
3 Fat man in the bathtub - Little Feat
4 You're the one for me, Fatty - Morrisey
5 The weight - The Band
6 He ain't heavy, he's my brother - The Hollies
7 Lip up fatty - Bad Manners
8 Mr Big Stuff - Jean Knight
9 Fatty fatty - Clancy Eccles
10 How you've grown - 10,000 Maniacs
Keep on slimming!
RP
Sunday 25 July 2010
For crying out loud
Friday 23rd July am
It's funny. I hadn't cried for days, maybe as long as a week. Then this morning I was idling the time away, and looked through the little photograph album that Catherine and the girls gave me before I came into hospital - just a bunch of pics of loved ones in various happy poses - when I felt myself welling up, with tears streaming liberally down my face.
Maybe a good cry is therapeutic, but I just felt like a ridiculous softy, weeping for no reason in front of all the staff and patients on the ward. Particularly as all the signs are so resoundingly positive. Maybe I'm just getting soft in my old age.
A hospital ward is like a miniature community, with a bunch of disparate folk brought together with the one common denominator of illness. Of course, the community is constantly shifting, as people leave (sometimes, believe it or not, in less than a month), and new arrivals follow in their wake.
When, like me, you're literally speechless, it can be difficult to develop any real rapport with your fellow patients, but it is heartening to sometimes find people who are going through similar or worse experiences, and to strike up a certain camaraderie. I've developed friendships with a couple of people since I've been here, and I'll always value their moral support, even though I may never see them again.
Conversely, those of us who are too poor or too mean to go private are stuck on a public ward, and cannot choose the people we are interned with. As I've never been particularly known for my patience or tolerance of anyone who doesn't fit my narrow definition of a "good bloke", it will come as no surprise that some of the inmates irritate me immensly.
The latest such individual is an ageing cockney, possessed of a booming voice, and an inability to stop talking for even the shortest period.
Last night, as some of us tried to sleep he held a mainly one-way conversation with the man in the bed opposite to his, which covered a range of subjects - but the main topic was himself. Today has seen a succession of outgoing calls on his mobile phone to his undoubtedly concerned friends and family. I feel so much better informed now that he has given me - and everybody else in the ward - the graphic detail of the blood in his urine. I must remember to add this to my list of party conversation topics. In the meantime, is it uncharitable of me to wish they'd give him a tracheostomy, just to shut him up?
As I started this post by confessing to a lachrymose moment, I'll finish it with ten songs about crying:-
1 Don't cry no tears - Neil Young
2 Letter full of tears - Gladys Knight and The Pips
3 The tracks of my tears - Smokey Robinson and The Miracles
4 Hold me while I cry - Irma Thomas
5 Here come those tears again - Jackson Browne
6 The sound of crying - Prefab Sprout
7 Cry to me - Candi Staton
8 Town cryer - Elvis Costello and the Attractions
9 Tears - Teenage Fanclub
10 Fool to cry - The Rolling Stones
Peace, love and understanding!
RP
It's funny. I hadn't cried for days, maybe as long as a week. Then this morning I was idling the time away, and looked through the little photograph album that Catherine and the girls gave me before I came into hospital - just a bunch of pics of loved ones in various happy poses - when I felt myself welling up, with tears streaming liberally down my face.
Maybe a good cry is therapeutic, but I just felt like a ridiculous softy, weeping for no reason in front of all the staff and patients on the ward. Particularly as all the signs are so resoundingly positive. Maybe I'm just getting soft in my old age.
A hospital ward is like a miniature community, with a bunch of disparate folk brought together with the one common denominator of illness. Of course, the community is constantly shifting, as people leave (sometimes, believe it or not, in less than a month), and new arrivals follow in their wake.
When, like me, you're literally speechless, it can be difficult to develop any real rapport with your fellow patients, but it is heartening to sometimes find people who are going through similar or worse experiences, and to strike up a certain camaraderie. I've developed friendships with a couple of people since I've been here, and I'll always value their moral support, even though I may never see them again.
Conversely, those of us who are too poor or too mean to go private are stuck on a public ward, and cannot choose the people we are interned with. As I've never been particularly known for my patience or tolerance of anyone who doesn't fit my narrow definition of a "good bloke", it will come as no surprise that some of the inmates irritate me immensly.
The latest such individual is an ageing cockney, possessed of a booming voice, and an inability to stop talking for even the shortest period.
Last night, as some of us tried to sleep he held a mainly one-way conversation with the man in the bed opposite to his, which covered a range of subjects - but the main topic was himself. Today has seen a succession of outgoing calls on his mobile phone to his undoubtedly concerned friends and family. I feel so much better informed now that he has given me - and everybody else in the ward - the graphic detail of the blood in his urine. I must remember to add this to my list of party conversation topics. In the meantime, is it uncharitable of me to wish they'd give him a tracheostomy, just to shut him up?
As I started this post by confessing to a lachrymose moment, I'll finish it with ten songs about crying:-
1 Don't cry no tears - Neil Young
2 Letter full of tears - Gladys Knight and The Pips
3 The tracks of my tears - Smokey Robinson and The Miracles
4 Hold me while I cry - Irma Thomas
5 Here come those tears again - Jackson Browne
6 The sound of crying - Prefab Sprout
7 Cry to me - Candi Staton
8 Town cryer - Elvis Costello and the Attractions
9 Tears - Teenage Fanclub
10 Fool to cry - The Rolling Stones
Peace, love and understanding!
RP
Thursday 22 July 2010
A beginner's guide to hospital life
As a long-serving inmate, I feel supremely qualified to offer this definitive guide to life in a modern English hospital. Keep it to hand, as - should you ever have the misfortune to endure a prolonged stay at a NHS institution - the advice contained within could make the difference between bloody purgatory and mere misery.
1 Doctors don't wear white coats. In fact, most of them don't wear anything that most of us would deem suitable as workday attire. If you see someone who looks like he's in his gardening clothes, he's likely to be an eminent surgeon.
2 Hospital life is build around routine. As you can imagine, it's an intensely boring existence, with the "high points" rarely rising above the mundane. Visiting time is obviously the best bit, but otherwise it's a matter of looking forward to the thrice-daily medication rounds. Should the drug-fairy be late, there is the prospect of mutiny in the ward, as outraged withrawal-suffering patients show their discontent. I personally experienced this affront recently, when the night-time trolley - normally dispensing its wonders by 9.00pm, did not arrive until almost 10.30pm. By this time, I had composed a letter of complaint to my MP.
3 As a patient, you are at the mercy of the medical profession, and particularly the nurses. If you want them to be nice to you, I strongly recommend that you are pre-emptively nice to them. Catherine has employed the blatant ploy of regularly bringing in home-made cookies for the staff, which may not necessarily have ensured preferential treatment, but I certainly have no complaints. Conversely, I don't recommend the tactic employed by the man in the bed next to mine, whose method of asking for a bed pan is to shout at the top of his voice, "Nurse! Want s**t!"
4 Although the patient is provided with a device for calling for assistance, this is unlikely to be met with an immediate response. Similarly, trying to catch the nurse's eye is something of a battle of wills, as they are past masters of avoiding eye contact. As I'm lumbered with a tracheostomy - and therefore unable to speak, I can't say whether just shouting "Nurse!" (see 3 above) is any more effective, but I suspect not. I think there is a very good reason for all this, and it's not down to any lethargy of the part of the nurses. For the most part, I think it's because they are acutely aware of the needs and priorities of patients at any given time, and if they are ignoring my requests to cut my toe-nails, it's probably because the man in bed 5 suffering from an angina attack is perceived to be of greater importance.
5 A source of some sadness - for me, at least - is that there is nothing remotely "sexy" about nurses' uniforms. Some of you will recall that in my youth I enjoyed some romantic liaisons with representatives of this noble profession, and my rose-tinted recollections are of starched, curve-emphasising dresses and dark stockings. Today, it's mostly trousers and tunics of indeterminate shape; functional, I'm sure, but not in the least bit flattering. Not that I'm interested in this sort of thing, of course.
6 The hospital is possibly the most ethnically diverse working place I've observed, from those performing the most menial tasks, to the most respected specialists. I know that the NHS has always depended heavily upon the immigrant community, but I've been surprised by the variety of nationalities represented: a veritable United Nations. I'm not just saying this to appear politically correct, but I do wonder how the UK's public services would function with the sort of immigration restrictions that some people promote.
7 I don't know why it should be the case, but I can't get over a feeling of amusement at the ready availability of all sorts of drugs, which would be severely frowned upon "on the outside". You have pain? We can offer relief. Can't sleep? Here's a seditive. Feeling anxious? Here's something to ease the worry. Depressed? Have a happy pill. Clearly, medication is a vital part of the overall treatment, but it has come as a bit of surprise that the doctors are prepared to prescibe with such apparent alacrity. In normal life, alcohol is my drug of choice, and I'm reluctant to seek chemical relief for most ailments - with the obvious exception of paracetamol for the occasional hangover. I'm assured that I'm not going to develop any long-term dependency, so I suppose the best thing is just to accept the meds with gratitude, and try not to think how much more unbearable this whole thing would have been without them.
8 Just like any other workplace, the staff have their miscellaneous gripes about everything that's wrong, including petty rules, faulty equipment, and particularly the faceless bureaucrats who put unnecessary obstacles in their way to prevent them doing their jobs effectively. I gather that Procurement are the chief culprits, by failing to get the right goods to the right place at the right time. No comment.
Moving on, it occurs to me that I haven't given you an update on my own progess of late, so I'm pleased to report that everything's going pretty well. Following the aborted operation on Monday, I've been feeling physically well, and continue to get stronger. The flap seems to be flourishing, and although I've still got this blasted tracheostomy, I've graduated (again) to the speaking tube, which allows me to shout incoherent, monosylabbic nonsense. Anyone who's seen me on a heavy Saturday night will know what it's like.
With any luck. I'll be able to discard the tracheostomy entirely over the next few days, and the target is to return home some time next week, prior to commencing radiotherapy.
Anyway, as I am now, in theory at least, able to speak, today's songs are about talking:-
1 Talk to me - Southside Johnny and The Asbury Jukes
2 Everybodys' talkin' - Nilsson (purists may point out that the original was by Fred Neill)
3 Silent all these years - Tori Amos
4 You took the words right out of my mouth - Meatloaf
5 Say something - James
6 Tell it like it is - Aaron Neville
7 When we sing together - Victorial Williams and Mark Olsen
8 Yakety yak - The Coasters
9 Only tongue can tell - The Trashcan Sinatras
10 I had a talk with my man - Mitty Collier
Stay patient, patients!
RP
1 Doctors don't wear white coats. In fact, most of them don't wear anything that most of us would deem suitable as workday attire. If you see someone who looks like he's in his gardening clothes, he's likely to be an eminent surgeon.
2 Hospital life is build around routine. As you can imagine, it's an intensely boring existence, with the "high points" rarely rising above the mundane. Visiting time is obviously the best bit, but otherwise it's a matter of looking forward to the thrice-daily medication rounds. Should the drug-fairy be late, there is the prospect of mutiny in the ward, as outraged withrawal-suffering patients show their discontent. I personally experienced this affront recently, when the night-time trolley - normally dispensing its wonders by 9.00pm, did not arrive until almost 10.30pm. By this time, I had composed a letter of complaint to my MP.
3 As a patient, you are at the mercy of the medical profession, and particularly the nurses. If you want them to be nice to you, I strongly recommend that you are pre-emptively nice to them. Catherine has employed the blatant ploy of regularly bringing in home-made cookies for the staff, which may not necessarily have ensured preferential treatment, but I certainly have no complaints. Conversely, I don't recommend the tactic employed by the man in the bed next to mine, whose method of asking for a bed pan is to shout at the top of his voice, "Nurse! Want s**t!"
4 Although the patient is provided with a device for calling for assistance, this is unlikely to be met with an immediate response. Similarly, trying to catch the nurse's eye is something of a battle of wills, as they are past masters of avoiding eye contact. As I'm lumbered with a tracheostomy - and therefore unable to speak, I can't say whether just shouting "Nurse!" (see 3 above) is any more effective, but I suspect not. I think there is a very good reason for all this, and it's not down to any lethargy of the part of the nurses. For the most part, I think it's because they are acutely aware of the needs and priorities of patients at any given time, and if they are ignoring my requests to cut my toe-nails, it's probably because the man in bed 5 suffering from an angina attack is perceived to be of greater importance.
5 A source of some sadness - for me, at least - is that there is nothing remotely "sexy" about nurses' uniforms. Some of you will recall that in my youth I enjoyed some romantic liaisons with representatives of this noble profession, and my rose-tinted recollections are of starched, curve-emphasising dresses and dark stockings. Today, it's mostly trousers and tunics of indeterminate shape; functional, I'm sure, but not in the least bit flattering. Not that I'm interested in this sort of thing, of course.
6 The hospital is possibly the most ethnically diverse working place I've observed, from those performing the most menial tasks, to the most respected specialists. I know that the NHS has always depended heavily upon the immigrant community, but I've been surprised by the variety of nationalities represented: a veritable United Nations. I'm not just saying this to appear politically correct, but I do wonder how the UK's public services would function with the sort of immigration restrictions that some people promote.
7 I don't know why it should be the case, but I can't get over a feeling of amusement at the ready availability of all sorts of drugs, which would be severely frowned upon "on the outside". You have pain? We can offer relief. Can't sleep? Here's a seditive. Feeling anxious? Here's something to ease the worry. Depressed? Have a happy pill. Clearly, medication is a vital part of the overall treatment, but it has come as a bit of surprise that the doctors are prepared to prescibe with such apparent alacrity. In normal life, alcohol is my drug of choice, and I'm reluctant to seek chemical relief for most ailments - with the obvious exception of paracetamol for the occasional hangover. I'm assured that I'm not going to develop any long-term dependency, so I suppose the best thing is just to accept the meds with gratitude, and try not to think how much more unbearable this whole thing would have been without them.
8 Just like any other workplace, the staff have their miscellaneous gripes about everything that's wrong, including petty rules, faulty equipment, and particularly the faceless bureaucrats who put unnecessary obstacles in their way to prevent them doing their jobs effectively. I gather that Procurement are the chief culprits, by failing to get the right goods to the right place at the right time. No comment.
Moving on, it occurs to me that I haven't given you an update on my own progess of late, so I'm pleased to report that everything's going pretty well. Following the aborted operation on Monday, I've been feeling physically well, and continue to get stronger. The flap seems to be flourishing, and although I've still got this blasted tracheostomy, I've graduated (again) to the speaking tube, which allows me to shout incoherent, monosylabbic nonsense. Anyone who's seen me on a heavy Saturday night will know what it's like.
With any luck. I'll be able to discard the tracheostomy entirely over the next few days, and the target is to return home some time next week, prior to commencing radiotherapy.
Anyway, as I am now, in theory at least, able to speak, today's songs are about talking:-
1 Talk to me - Southside Johnny and The Asbury Jukes
2 Everybodys' talkin' - Nilsson (purists may point out that the original was by Fred Neill)
3 Silent all these years - Tori Amos
4 You took the words right out of my mouth - Meatloaf
5 Say something - James
6 Tell it like it is - Aaron Neville
7 When we sing together - Victorial Williams and Mark Olsen
8 Yakety yak - The Coasters
9 Only tongue can tell - The Trashcan Sinatras
10 I had a talk with my man - Mitty Collier
Stay patient, patients!
RP
Tuesday 20 July 2010
An open and shut case
Tuesday 20th July am
It may be a cliche, but nursing staff are genuinely obsessed about the state of their patients' bowels.
Every morning on waking, and every evening before retiring, I am asked the inevitable question "Did you move your bowels last night/today?". If I answer in the affirmative, I am interrogated about form and colour; they even have a sheet depicting different constitutions of poo, from which you can select the one most closely resembling your own movement.
An answer in the negative inevitably provokes a disapproving look, and a reminder that failure to perform during the coming 12 hours will necessitate the administration of laxatives along with the next allocation of medicines.
Those of you who know me well will testify that I am not normally one to shirk away from a bit of coarse, toilet talk, but I must confess that I find the repeated discussions about my defecations to be deeply embarrassing although admittedly there are worse things.
Before I entered hospital I decided that, for the well-being of both parties, I would restrict nurses' exposure to my private parts to the very minimum. Fortunately, as I have largely been mobile throught my extended stay, I have been able to wash and wipe myself unaided. There are, however, some poor souls who are much more infirm, and entirely dependent upon the nurses for all matters of personal hygiene. I shudder to think what goes on behind those modesty curtains, but surely wiping the bottom of a suffering patient goes well beyond the call of duty.
And before any of my more laddish acquaintances launch into a "phwoar - if I could get a nurse to wash my willy I'd show her a thing or two" monologue, may I remind you that this is a hospital, populated by seriously ill patients. Libido appears to be at an all-time low; presumably naturally, and not as a result of anything they put in the medication. In real life, it is not a re-run of "Carry on Matron": I think the nurses can all feel reasonably safe from Sid James-style attempts at groping.
Anyway, here are ten songs about bowel movements, with thanks for contributions by my good friend Barney and little brother Dave:-
1 Constipation blues - Screamin' Jay Hawkins
2 Here I go again - Archie Bell and The Drells
3 I second that (e)motion - Smokey Robinson and The Miracles
4 We can work it out - The Beatles
5 Howlin' wind - Graham Parker and The Rumour
6 Dirty laundry - Curtis Mayfield
7 Movin' - Brass Construction
8 Float on - The Floaters
9 Empty ring - Paul Weller
10 Colours - Louden Wainwright III *
*Colours is a song about different hues of dog excrement, starting with the line "The s**t on the streets of this town comes in diffent shades of brown".
May I take this opportunity to apologise to my more sensitive readers, who may find today's subject matter an unfortunate departure from recent posts.
Stay regular!
RP
It may be a cliche, but nursing staff are genuinely obsessed about the state of their patients' bowels.
Every morning on waking, and every evening before retiring, I am asked the inevitable question "Did you move your bowels last night/today?". If I answer in the affirmative, I am interrogated about form and colour; they even have a sheet depicting different constitutions of poo, from which you can select the one most closely resembling your own movement.
An answer in the negative inevitably provokes a disapproving look, and a reminder that failure to perform during the coming 12 hours will necessitate the administration of laxatives along with the next allocation of medicines.
Those of you who know me well will testify that I am not normally one to shirk away from a bit of coarse, toilet talk, but I must confess that I find the repeated discussions about my defecations to be deeply embarrassing although admittedly there are worse things.
Before I entered hospital I decided that, for the well-being of both parties, I would restrict nurses' exposure to my private parts to the very minimum. Fortunately, as I have largely been mobile throught my extended stay, I have been able to wash and wipe myself unaided. There are, however, some poor souls who are much more infirm, and entirely dependent upon the nurses for all matters of personal hygiene. I shudder to think what goes on behind those modesty curtains, but surely wiping the bottom of a suffering patient goes well beyond the call of duty.
And before any of my more laddish acquaintances launch into a "phwoar - if I could get a nurse to wash my willy I'd show her a thing or two" monologue, may I remind you that this is a hospital, populated by seriously ill patients. Libido appears to be at an all-time low; presumably naturally, and not as a result of anything they put in the medication. In real life, it is not a re-run of "Carry on Matron": I think the nurses can all feel reasonably safe from Sid James-style attempts at groping.
Anyway, here are ten songs about bowel movements, with thanks for contributions by my good friend Barney and little brother Dave:-
1 Constipation blues - Screamin' Jay Hawkins
2 Here I go again - Archie Bell and The Drells
3 I second that (e)motion - Smokey Robinson and The Miracles
4 We can work it out - The Beatles
5 Howlin' wind - Graham Parker and The Rumour
6 Dirty laundry - Curtis Mayfield
7 Movin' - Brass Construction
8 Float on - The Floaters
9 Empty ring - Paul Weller
10 Colours - Louden Wainwright III *
*Colours is a song about different hues of dog excrement, starting with the line "The s**t on the streets of this town comes in diffent shades of brown".
May I take this opportunity to apologise to my more sensitive readers, who may find today's subject matter an unfortunate departure from recent posts.
Stay regular!
RP
Monday 19 July 2010
Confounding expectations
Monday 19th July am
It doesn't take much to confuse me, so I admit it: I'm confused.
I woke up this morning fully expecting yet another operation on the disobedient flap, and the ward staff were duly preparing me, by providing the fetching theatre attire, sticking needles into me, and generally making life uncomfortable.
Then about midday, I received a visit from plastic surgeon par excellence, to tell me to stand down; there will be no surgery today. WTF?
I'm assured that this is not because I'm a hopeless case and beyond saving, but that they have decided instead to accelerate commencement of radiotherapy, which will reduce the size of the rippling flap, and enable a much simpler procedure in due course, to facilitate a permanent fixture of flap to surrounding palate tissue. Apparently this will be much less risky to long-term recovery, and allows us to crack on with the much-needed radiotherapy that much sooner. So why can't I help thinking that they're making this up as they go along?
The venerable Miss Patel responded to my numerous written questions with reassuring and convincing answers, and I'm left feeling - what? - relieved, concerned, hopeful, confused.
My main immediate worry was that the bulk of the flap has been causing me to have retching fits - I had another one yesterday evening - and very unpleasant they are too. On probing Miss Patel about this, she kind of acknowledged that I'm going to have to learn to live with it, she also prescribed more drugs to hold the sickness at bay.
So now it would seem that my main priority while I'm in hospital is to wean myself off the tracheostomy; then we should be good(?) to go. So at least it gives me a goal.
Here are ten songs about confusion:-
1 Ball of confusion - The Temptations
2 I can't tell the bottom from the top - The Hollies
3 Mr Ambivalent - Loudon Wainwright III
4 I can't explain - The Who
5 Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - Ella Fitzgerald
6 Puzzlin' evidence - Talking Heads
7 God only knows - The Beach Boys
8 It's a big old goofy world - John Prine
9 Dazed and confused - Led Zeppelin
10 Mysterioso - Thelonius Monk
Onwards and upwards!
RP
It doesn't take much to confuse me, so I admit it: I'm confused.
I woke up this morning fully expecting yet another operation on the disobedient flap, and the ward staff were duly preparing me, by providing the fetching theatre attire, sticking needles into me, and generally making life uncomfortable.
Then about midday, I received a visit from plastic surgeon par excellence, to tell me to stand down; there will be no surgery today. WTF?
I'm assured that this is not because I'm a hopeless case and beyond saving, but that they have decided instead to accelerate commencement of radiotherapy, which will reduce the size of the rippling flap, and enable a much simpler procedure in due course, to facilitate a permanent fixture of flap to surrounding palate tissue. Apparently this will be much less risky to long-term recovery, and allows us to crack on with the much-needed radiotherapy that much sooner. So why can't I help thinking that they're making this up as they go along?
The venerable Miss Patel responded to my numerous written questions with reassuring and convincing answers, and I'm left feeling - what? - relieved, concerned, hopeful, confused.
My main immediate worry was that the bulk of the flap has been causing me to have retching fits - I had another one yesterday evening - and very unpleasant they are too. On probing Miss Patel about this, she kind of acknowledged that I'm going to have to learn to live with it, she also prescribed more drugs to hold the sickness at bay.
So now it would seem that my main priority while I'm in hospital is to wean myself off the tracheostomy; then we should be good(?) to go. So at least it gives me a goal.
Here are ten songs about confusion:-
1 Ball of confusion - The Temptations
2 I can't tell the bottom from the top - The Hollies
3 Mr Ambivalent - Loudon Wainwright III
4 I can't explain - The Who
5 Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - Ella Fitzgerald
6 Puzzlin' evidence - Talking Heads
7 God only knows - The Beach Boys
8 It's a big old goofy world - John Prine
9 Dazed and confused - Led Zeppelin
10 Mysterioso - Thelonius Monk
Onwards and upwards!
RP
Sunday 18 July 2010
Doom and gloom
Sunday 12th July am
I woke up this morning feeling sad and lethargic. No particular reason why, other than I've been here for four weeks and I hate it. And it's Sunday morning, and I should be out enjoying the sunshine walking the dog. Or preparing Sunday lunch with a glass of something to pass the time. Little mundane things that make life so sweet.
Maybe it's all this one-step-forward-one-step-back stuff, that stops me from seeing a way out of here. We're always one to two weeks away from being discharged, yet it seems to be getting no closer.
These thoughts have got to stop. We're not at home to Mr. Negativity, and strength and determination are the qualities which will result in a quick release.
But it did get me to thinking. What if after all these hospital treatments, and the six weeks of radiotherapy, and the however-long of recovery when I learn to eat, drink and speak again, what if in a couple of years time the doctors say the cancer's returned, and I need to go through the whole thing again. I honestly don't know what my answer would be.
Alright - that's enough of the depressing stuff. Let me tell you what I've got in store the next few days. Well, my dad and brothers are up in London, so they'll come and see me today, along with Catherine and Lucy. Emma can't be there 'cause she's at a pop concert in Spain, but I'll be thinking of her.
Tomorrow is the next - and, I hope, last - in the series of operations to rectify the disobedient pectoral flap. On top of this, I'm getting used to the "talking valve" of my tracheostomy. With all this excitement, what have I got to complain about?
So anyway, sorry to be so downbeat today, I'll be better soon.
Ten songs about being moody:-
1 Sad mood - Sam Cooke
2 Troubles, heartaches and sadness - Ann Peebles
3 Poor, poor pitiful me - Linda Robnstadt
4 My uptight life - Teenage Fanclub
5 Why does my heart feel so bad - Moby
6 Sad and lonesome - Eddie Hinton
7 In the mood - Glen Miller and his orchestra
8 I'm down in the dumps - Bessie Smith
9 Blue and sentimental - Ike Quebec
10 Hot and anxious - Don Redman
Coming up from the depths
RP
I woke up this morning feeling sad and lethargic. No particular reason why, other than I've been here for four weeks and I hate it. And it's Sunday morning, and I should be out enjoying the sunshine walking the dog. Or preparing Sunday lunch with a glass of something to pass the time. Little mundane things that make life so sweet.
Maybe it's all this one-step-forward-one-step-back stuff, that stops me from seeing a way out of here. We're always one to two weeks away from being discharged, yet it seems to be getting no closer.
These thoughts have got to stop. We're not at home to Mr. Negativity, and strength and determination are the qualities which will result in a quick release.
But it did get me to thinking. What if after all these hospital treatments, and the six weeks of radiotherapy, and the however-long of recovery when I learn to eat, drink and speak again, what if in a couple of years time the doctors say the cancer's returned, and I need to go through the whole thing again. I honestly don't know what my answer would be.
Alright - that's enough of the depressing stuff. Let me tell you what I've got in store the next few days. Well, my dad and brothers are up in London, so they'll come and see me today, along with Catherine and Lucy. Emma can't be there 'cause she's at a pop concert in Spain, but I'll be thinking of her.
Tomorrow is the next - and, I hope, last - in the series of operations to rectify the disobedient pectoral flap. On top of this, I'm getting used to the "talking valve" of my tracheostomy. With all this excitement, what have I got to complain about?
So anyway, sorry to be so downbeat today, I'll be better soon.
Ten songs about being moody:-
1 Sad mood - Sam Cooke
2 Troubles, heartaches and sadness - Ann Peebles
3 Poor, poor pitiful me - Linda Robnstadt
4 My uptight life - Teenage Fanclub
5 Why does my heart feel so bad - Moby
6 Sad and lonesome - Eddie Hinton
7 In the mood - Glen Miller and his orchestra
8 I'm down in the dumps - Bessie Smith
9 Blue and sentimental - Ike Quebec
10 Hot and anxious - Don Redman
Coming up from the depths
RP
Saturday 17 July 2010
The significant other
Friday 16th July 11am
I've got the best wife in the world. Sorry to disappoint you if you thought that your little lady was the one, but this is my blog, and I decide. No extra time, no penalty shoot-out: my wife's the best.
The whole cancer trip is a shared family ordeal, and basically you adopt your respective roles. I play the part of the sufferer, the not-so-stoical patient, living in a state of numb fear while having various unthinkable things done to me by the medical profession. A basically passive role, in which I have little say in what happens and how things progress.
Catherine's role is that of loving carer, keeping spirits high, mopping my fevered brow, smiling and reassuring, keeping me upbeat, so that even in my darkest moments I know that everything's going to be alright. A few people have commented on how lucky I am to have her, believe me, I already know.
Actually, Catherine and I have a great relationship anyway. We didn't need this little spot of adversity to remind us how much we love each other. But now it's come along, she's been magnificent.
I told my Dad yesterday that I thought this whole affair had brought Catherine and myself closer together, but I'm not sure if that's true. We were already remarkably close, and what I really meant was just what a complete joy she's been to me throughout this hell. I knew she would be, and she keeps me going when I feel like giving up. When my Mum died a couple of years ago, we talked about our feelings, and I said the normal stuff about how important it is to keep telling your loved ones how much they mean to you, and to not fall out over relatively trivial matters. And yet, I think that people who love each other continue to engage in meaningless warfare about the most absurd, unimportant things.
So what is this all leading up to? Possibly a statement of the bleeding obvious: a plea to all the people I know and love to make sure that you never let the ones you love doubt it for a minute. Life's too short.
As for progress (?) on the medical front, there's goodish and baddish news. The good news - established through a quick stab with a needle - is that the flap remains alive and well. The bad news is that the stitches are coming apart again. This may not be too serious, although could result in a further delay in my release, or may mean - yikes! - yet more surgery.
As today's theme is all about lurve, I thought it would be cool to do 10 songs about love, but specifically not of the "Three times a wonderful lady in red tonight" variety, which would inevitably result in a return of my puking fits:-
1 Couldn't love you more - John Martyn
2 Your love gets sweeter every day - Finlay Quaye
3 Do I love you (indeed I do) - Frank Wilson
4 Always - Leonard Cohen
5 Pledging my love - Marvin Gaye and Diana Ross
6 Perfect world - Kate Campbell
7 If - The Divine Comedy
8 Into my arms - Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds
9 You send me - Sam Cooke
10 Can I sleep in your arms tonight - Carl Bozulich
RP
PS Latest update on flap front - Rick will need a further operation, probably on Monday. The latest cunning plan to fix the hole in the flap is to re-open his jaw (apparently the bone won't have healed fully yet so it will be a simple matter of taking out a couple of screws and levering the bone apart!), filling in the hole with muscle from the back of the flap (which as it has come from Rick's chest will have an abundant supply of muscle), stitching that in place and Bob's your uncle. After about 10 days the muscle will resemble the rest of the lining in his mouth so no-one will know the difference - that is assuming the muscle will stay in place for 10 days...
Here's hoping
Catherine
PPS I did like typing todays blog!
I've got the best wife in the world. Sorry to disappoint you if you thought that your little lady was the one, but this is my blog, and I decide. No extra time, no penalty shoot-out: my wife's the best.
The whole cancer trip is a shared family ordeal, and basically you adopt your respective roles. I play the part of the sufferer, the not-so-stoical patient, living in a state of numb fear while having various unthinkable things done to me by the medical profession. A basically passive role, in which I have little say in what happens and how things progress.
Catherine's role is that of loving carer, keeping spirits high, mopping my fevered brow, smiling and reassuring, keeping me upbeat, so that even in my darkest moments I know that everything's going to be alright. A few people have commented on how lucky I am to have her, believe me, I already know.
Actually, Catherine and I have a great relationship anyway. We didn't need this little spot of adversity to remind us how much we love each other. But now it's come along, she's been magnificent.
I told my Dad yesterday that I thought this whole affair had brought Catherine and myself closer together, but I'm not sure if that's true. We were already remarkably close, and what I really meant was just what a complete joy she's been to me throughout this hell. I knew she would be, and she keeps me going when I feel like giving up. When my Mum died a couple of years ago, we talked about our feelings, and I said the normal stuff about how important it is to keep telling your loved ones how much they mean to you, and to not fall out over relatively trivial matters. And yet, I think that people who love each other continue to engage in meaningless warfare about the most absurd, unimportant things.
So what is this all leading up to? Possibly a statement of the bleeding obvious: a plea to all the people I know and love to make sure that you never let the ones you love doubt it for a minute. Life's too short.
As for progress (?) on the medical front, there's goodish and baddish news. The good news - established through a quick stab with a needle - is that the flap remains alive and well. The bad news is that the stitches are coming apart again. This may not be too serious, although could result in a further delay in my release, or may mean - yikes! - yet more surgery.
As today's theme is all about lurve, I thought it would be cool to do 10 songs about love, but specifically not of the "Three times a wonderful lady in red tonight" variety, which would inevitably result in a return of my puking fits:-
1 Couldn't love you more - John Martyn
2 Your love gets sweeter every day - Finlay Quaye
3 Do I love you (indeed I do) - Frank Wilson
4 Always - Leonard Cohen
5 Pledging my love - Marvin Gaye and Diana Ross
6 Perfect world - Kate Campbell
7 If - The Divine Comedy
8 Into my arms - Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds
9 You send me - Sam Cooke
10 Can I sleep in your arms tonight - Carl Bozulich
RP
PS Latest update on flap front - Rick will need a further operation, probably on Monday. The latest cunning plan to fix the hole in the flap is to re-open his jaw (apparently the bone won't have healed fully yet so it will be a simple matter of taking out a couple of screws and levering the bone apart!), filling in the hole with muscle from the back of the flap (which as it has come from Rick's chest will have an abundant supply of muscle), stitching that in place and Bob's your uncle. After about 10 days the muscle will resemble the rest of the lining in his mouth so no-one will know the difference - that is assuming the muscle will stay in place for 10 days...
Here's hoping
Catherine
PPS I did like typing todays blog!
Thursday 15 July 2010
Another day in paradise
Wednesday 14th July 4.30pm
Before I came into hospital, I didn't update the blog everyday, but I've just been instructed by She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed that I have to give my expectant public an update, mainly so she can read the newspaper rather than indulge in the one-way conversations which visiting time inevitably entails.
So what to tell? Well, as far as I'm concerned, things are definitely on the mend. Look ma - no tubes! Also, most of the stitches and staples have gone, and I'm feeling pretty chipper. I've embarked on the essential physiotherapy which will restore my physique to its former glory. Ralph/Rafa/Linda the flap seems to be behaving himself/herself, so everything is cool just now.
By the way, I had no idea you blogettes were such a mercenary bunch. The majority of you seem to be refusing to participate in the "name-the-flap" competition until you know the prize. Well, I haven't decided yet: suffice to say, it will not be wealth beyond compare. Maybe the tooth they knocked out in my last operation? In any case, I'll announce the winner in due course.
Catherine and I received a nice visit earlier, from a chap called Ben, who went through a similar ordeal to me a couple of years ago, and has come out of it smiling and even "enriched" by the experience. Ben is evidence that in spite of the sheer bloody misery of the treatment, it can be all right in the end. Unfortunately, he's better looking after his operation than I was before mine, so I fear that comparisons on our respective appearances may be misleading.
Nevertheless, it was really good of him to drop in, and to talk to someone who really knows what I've been going through, and what's still to come. Apparently, radiotherapy is going to be horrible, but at least forewarned is forearmed.
My main concern just now after such an extended stay is that I may become institutionalised, so here are ten songs on that subject:-
1 St James' Infirmary - Jack Teagarden
2 Fulsom prison blues - Johny Cash
3 If these old walls could speak - Nanci Griffith
4 I don't want to go home - Southside Johny and the Ashbury Jukes
5 My old school - Steely Dan
6 These four walls - Shawn Colvin
7 The walls of red wing - Bob Dylan
8 Christmas in prison - John Prine
9 I shall be released - Bob Dylan
10 Relaxin' at the Touro - Muggsy Spanier (suggested by my dad)
I'm not staying
RP
Before I came into hospital, I didn't update the blog everyday, but I've just been instructed by She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed that I have to give my expectant public an update, mainly so she can read the newspaper rather than indulge in the one-way conversations which visiting time inevitably entails.
So what to tell? Well, as far as I'm concerned, things are definitely on the mend. Look ma - no tubes! Also, most of the stitches and staples have gone, and I'm feeling pretty chipper. I've embarked on the essential physiotherapy which will restore my physique to its former glory. Ralph/Rafa/Linda the flap seems to be behaving himself/herself, so everything is cool just now.
By the way, I had no idea you blogettes were such a mercenary bunch. The majority of you seem to be refusing to participate in the "name-the-flap" competition until you know the prize. Well, I haven't decided yet: suffice to say, it will not be wealth beyond compare. Maybe the tooth they knocked out in my last operation? In any case, I'll announce the winner in due course.
Catherine and I received a nice visit earlier, from a chap called Ben, who went through a similar ordeal to me a couple of years ago, and has come out of it smiling and even "enriched" by the experience. Ben is evidence that in spite of the sheer bloody misery of the treatment, it can be all right in the end. Unfortunately, he's better looking after his operation than I was before mine, so I fear that comparisons on our respective appearances may be misleading.
Nevertheless, it was really good of him to drop in, and to talk to someone who really knows what I've been going through, and what's still to come. Apparently, radiotherapy is going to be horrible, but at least forewarned is forearmed.
My main concern just now after such an extended stay is that I may become institutionalised, so here are ten songs on that subject:-
1 St James' Infirmary - Jack Teagarden
2 Fulsom prison blues - Johny Cash
3 If these old walls could speak - Nanci Griffith
4 I don't want to go home - Southside Johny and the Ashbury Jukes
5 My old school - Steely Dan
6 These four walls - Shawn Colvin
7 The walls of red wing - Bob Dylan
8 Christmas in prison - John Prine
9 I shall be released - Bob Dylan
10 Relaxin' at the Touro - Muggsy Spanier (suggested by my dad)
I'm not staying
RP
Wednesday 14 July 2010
Sisters (and brothers) of mercy
Tuesday 13th July 3pm
Something I've noticed during my prolonged stay in the sanatorium. All nurses talk to themselves. It can be a bit disconcerting if, when the sister is tending to a particularly delicate dressing, she pauses, frowns, and says something like "how did that happen?"
Since I've been here, I've had a few "Oh my God"s or just "Oh"s, and some mindless chitter-chatter, as if they're just composing their shopping lists. The worrying part is when the one-way conversation takes on a self-instruction direction, as if nursey is constructing an airfix kit, rather than doing something potentionally life-saving (or threatening) with the prone patient's body.
A few of them like a good tune, too - sometimes a current smash from the hit parade, but I swear that it wasn't just the drugs that made me hear one of them giving a rendition of Middle of the Road's 1970's hit "Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep" a few days ago. The most distressing warbling is when someone occasionally chooses a gospel tune of the "Going up to meet my Lord" variety.
Anyway, I'm still here, aren't I? So why should I complain.
And actually, I have very few causes for complaint about the care I've received from the nurses. As in any profession, I've come across good, bad and indifferent, with the good far outnumbering the latter two. For the most part, the nurses who have worked with me have been resolutely cheerful, sympathetic and incredibly competent.
I'm not going to name names, but a stay in hospital for a wuss like me can be a daunting experience, and my fear, pain and panic have been alleviated especially by two or three wonderfully sympathetic people.
Being where I am, I can't research the sort of wages these people are on, but I suspect it's considerably less than I, or most of the people who read this blog, earn. And yet they routinely do all sorts of nasty, messy tasks which I would not contemplate for any amount of money. They keep you clean and safe and to the best of their abilities keep you smiling.
So here are ten songs in praise of nurses:-
1 Sister of mercy - Leonard Coen
2 Take off your uniform - |Joh Hiatt
3 Help me make it through the night - Kris Kristofferson
4 Angel - Aretha Franklin
5 Cup of kindness - EmmyLou Harris
6 Oh, Sister - Bob Dylan
7 There, there, my dear - Dexy's Midnight Runners
8 Angel of the morning - Bettye Swann
9 Someone saved my life tonight - Elton John
10 Night nurse - Gregory Isaacs (yes, I know it's a repeat)
In good hands
RP
Something I've noticed during my prolonged stay in the sanatorium. All nurses talk to themselves. It can be a bit disconcerting if, when the sister is tending to a particularly delicate dressing, she pauses, frowns, and says something like "how did that happen?"
Since I've been here, I've had a few "Oh my God"s or just "Oh"s, and some mindless chitter-chatter, as if they're just composing their shopping lists. The worrying part is when the one-way conversation takes on a self-instruction direction, as if nursey is constructing an airfix kit, rather than doing something potentionally life-saving (or threatening) with the prone patient's body.
A few of them like a good tune, too - sometimes a current smash from the hit parade, but I swear that it wasn't just the drugs that made me hear one of them giving a rendition of Middle of the Road's 1970's hit "Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep" a few days ago. The most distressing warbling is when someone occasionally chooses a gospel tune of the "Going up to meet my Lord" variety.
Anyway, I'm still here, aren't I? So why should I complain.
And actually, I have very few causes for complaint about the care I've received from the nurses. As in any profession, I've come across good, bad and indifferent, with the good far outnumbering the latter two. For the most part, the nurses who have worked with me have been resolutely cheerful, sympathetic and incredibly competent.
I'm not going to name names, but a stay in hospital for a wuss like me can be a daunting experience, and my fear, pain and panic have been alleviated especially by two or three wonderfully sympathetic people.
Being where I am, I can't research the sort of wages these people are on, but I suspect it's considerably less than I, or most of the people who read this blog, earn. And yet they routinely do all sorts of nasty, messy tasks which I would not contemplate for any amount of money. They keep you clean and safe and to the best of their abilities keep you smiling.
So here are ten songs in praise of nurses:-
1 Sister of mercy - Leonard Coen
2 Take off your uniform - |Joh Hiatt
3 Help me make it through the night - Kris Kristofferson
4 Angel - Aretha Franklin
5 Cup of kindness - EmmyLou Harris
6 Oh, Sister - Bob Dylan
7 There, there, my dear - Dexy's Midnight Runners
8 Angel of the morning - Bettye Swann
9 Someone saved my life tonight - Elton John
10 Night nurse - Gregory Isaacs (yes, I know it's a repeat)
In good hands
RP
Tuesday 13 July 2010
Time passes slowly
Monday 12 July, 11am
Never again will I moan about having to go to work on a Monday morning. As I enter week 4 of my scheduled 2-week break, there's still no imminent prospect of departure.
On the positive side, the flap in my mouth is healthy; I am now free of drains and drips; and the doctors say I'm making "steady progress".
On the other hand, the flap resolutely refuses to affix itself securely to my palate, which can only be cured with time; at least another week in hospital apparently. Also, I keep getting unexpected retching fits, such as last night, when I spent the evening honking and crying, my dear wife holding my hand and offering encouragement, when I should have been watching the World Cup Final.
This place is such a bubble that all I've been able to confirm is that Spain won the World Cup; but not the score, or whether Everton's Johny Heitinga put in a distinguished performance.
Here are some things to look forward to over the next few days:
- I'm going to have my tracheostomy removed. That is to say, providing I can breathe when they close the damn thing off, it'll be removed. This is something I'm anticipating with a great deal of pleasure and fear. Pleasure, because I'll finally be able to start eating, drinking and speaking again; fear, because all previous attempts to do so have resulted in failure due to my inability to breathe. The estimable Dr Dilkes says "we never have any problems" but Phil the Nurse tells me it could take 3-4 days to wean me off the tracheostomy.
- I'm going to undergo - again - the "swallow test", which involves me drinking a cup of blue dye, in front of a group of observers, looking for leaks in my neck
- Games of musical beds. A number of patients were moved from the ward yesterday, due - according to staff - to financial cutbacks. This morning, half the ward has been converted to a building site, as a bunch of workmen are putting in new windows. It seems they'll move to my end of the ward tomorrow, so at least I should get a change of scenery.
Before I go, I have another piece of homework for you dedicated blog followers. As it now seems that flap no.2 is here to stay (fingers crossed), I think we should give it a name. This, remember, is a piece of my puny chest which has been relocated to the back of my mouth where it feels rather more substantial. The best suggestion will get a prize yet to be decided.
Today's ten songs are about time passing slowly:-
1 Wastin' time - Ron Sexsmith
2 Waiting at the station - Neville Brothers (suggestd by Phil the Nurse)
3 Waitin' in vain - Bob Marley and The Wailers
4 We have all the time in the world - Louis Armstrong
5 Longest time - Bill Joel
6 Desperadoes waiting for a train - Guy Clark
7 The rest of my life - Dan Penn
8 All day and all of the night - The Kinks
9 Waitin' for my man - Velvet Underground
10 100 days, 100 nights - Ruth Jones and the Dap Kings
Hangin' Around
RP
Never again will I moan about having to go to work on a Monday morning. As I enter week 4 of my scheduled 2-week break, there's still no imminent prospect of departure.
On the positive side, the flap in my mouth is healthy; I am now free of drains and drips; and the doctors say I'm making "steady progress".
On the other hand, the flap resolutely refuses to affix itself securely to my palate, which can only be cured with time; at least another week in hospital apparently. Also, I keep getting unexpected retching fits, such as last night, when I spent the evening honking and crying, my dear wife holding my hand and offering encouragement, when I should have been watching the World Cup Final.
This place is such a bubble that all I've been able to confirm is that Spain won the World Cup; but not the score, or whether Everton's Johny Heitinga put in a distinguished performance.
Here are some things to look forward to over the next few days:
- I'm going to have my tracheostomy removed. That is to say, providing I can breathe when they close the damn thing off, it'll be removed. This is something I'm anticipating with a great deal of pleasure and fear. Pleasure, because I'll finally be able to start eating, drinking and speaking again; fear, because all previous attempts to do so have resulted in failure due to my inability to breathe. The estimable Dr Dilkes says "we never have any problems" but Phil the Nurse tells me it could take 3-4 days to wean me off the tracheostomy.
- I'm going to undergo - again - the "swallow test", which involves me drinking a cup of blue dye, in front of a group of observers, looking for leaks in my neck
- Games of musical beds. A number of patients were moved from the ward yesterday, due - according to staff - to financial cutbacks. This morning, half the ward has been converted to a building site, as a bunch of workmen are putting in new windows. It seems they'll move to my end of the ward tomorrow, so at least I should get a change of scenery.
Before I go, I have another piece of homework for you dedicated blog followers. As it now seems that flap no.2 is here to stay (fingers crossed), I think we should give it a name. This, remember, is a piece of my puny chest which has been relocated to the back of my mouth where it feels rather more substantial. The best suggestion will get a prize yet to be decided.
Today's ten songs are about time passing slowly:-
1 Wastin' time - Ron Sexsmith
2 Waiting at the station - Neville Brothers (suggestd by Phil the Nurse)
3 Waitin' in vain - Bob Marley and The Wailers
4 We have all the time in the world - Louis Armstrong
5 Longest time - Bill Joel
6 Desperadoes waiting for a train - Guy Clark
7 The rest of my life - Dan Penn
8 All day and all of the night - The Kinks
9 Waitin' for my man - Velvet Underground
10 100 days, 100 nights - Ruth Jones and the Dap Kings
Hangin' Around
RP
Monday 12 July 2010
Home thoughts from a hospital
So here's the latest, straight from the horse's mouth, faithfully transcribed by the horse's wife.
As I said in yesterday's blog, the new flap in my mouth is healthy. That's the new flap, taken from my chest, and neatly displacing my right nipple, as opposed to the old - now sadly deceased - flap, which as you recall was taken from my left inner-arm. This has left a very impressive, but totally pointless piece of scar tissue on the arm, plus a very neat patch on the thigh, which was used to patch up the arm. This is getting to be a bit like a rendition of 'Dem Bones', isn't it?
The lingering problem is that the operation to re-attach a loose piece of flap was not totally successful, and so it remains there, wiggling, while the medical profession scratch their heads.
Yesterday (Saturday) I was told that the likelihood would be a further operation, but this morning (Sunday) one of the doctors has cast doubt on that, suggesting a period of healing may be more appropriate: "could be a week, could be a month". Apparently el supremo, Dr Dilkes, will decide tomorrow (Monday).
The frustrating thing, 3 weeks into a 2-week stay, is that I'm starting to feel better. The pain in my jaw has moved from indescribable to merely unbearable; I'm hop-skipping-and jumping (sort of) around the ward, and have even managed some nighttime sleep. The fact that I'm scribbling stuff for the blog is probably the best indicator that I'm coming around from the sense of isolation.
So this week's key target is to lose the tracheostomy, regain the power of speech, and drink that glass of water I've been promising myself. Did you know, it's 3 weeks since I spoke, ate or drank. Intravenously digested energy drinks are fine as far as they go, but can't compare with the irresistable aromas emanating from the hospital scoff trolley. It's also 3 weeks since I brushed my teeth, so the breath must smell great. This morning, I've been given permission to resume brushing those teeth which remain, but front teeth only.
Throughout all this, I've completely missed Wimbledon, and most of the World Cup, although I did look on in horror at England's thrashing by Germany. I also hope to see the final tonight. (He didn't - CP)
I think I did the '10 songs about home' in a previous blog, so here are ten about loneliness:-
1 I've been lonely for so long - Frederick Knight
2 I'm all alone in the wilderness - The Pogues
3 The night's too long - Lucinda Williams
4 Without you - O V Wright
5 Hey there, lonely girl - Eddie Hollman
6 I'm so lonesome I could cry - Hank Williams
7 I'd rather be lonely - Louden Wainwright III
9 Lonesome town - Rick Nelson
10 If you think you're lonely now - Bobby Womack
Flapping my broken wing/ winging my broken flap.
RP
As I said in yesterday's blog, the new flap in my mouth is healthy. That's the new flap, taken from my chest, and neatly displacing my right nipple, as opposed to the old - now sadly deceased - flap, which as you recall was taken from my left inner-arm. This has left a very impressive, but totally pointless piece of scar tissue on the arm, plus a very neat patch on the thigh, which was used to patch up the arm. This is getting to be a bit like a rendition of 'Dem Bones', isn't it?
The lingering problem is that the operation to re-attach a loose piece of flap was not totally successful, and so it remains there, wiggling, while the medical profession scratch their heads.
Yesterday (Saturday) I was told that the likelihood would be a further operation, but this morning (Sunday) one of the doctors has cast doubt on that, suggesting a period of healing may be more appropriate: "could be a week, could be a month". Apparently el supremo, Dr Dilkes, will decide tomorrow (Monday).
The frustrating thing, 3 weeks into a 2-week stay, is that I'm starting to feel better. The pain in my jaw has moved from indescribable to merely unbearable; I'm hop-skipping-and jumping (sort of) around the ward, and have even managed some nighttime sleep. The fact that I'm scribbling stuff for the blog is probably the best indicator that I'm coming around from the sense of isolation.
So this week's key target is to lose the tracheostomy, regain the power of speech, and drink that glass of water I've been promising myself. Did you know, it's 3 weeks since I spoke, ate or drank. Intravenously digested energy drinks are fine as far as they go, but can't compare with the irresistable aromas emanating from the hospital scoff trolley. It's also 3 weeks since I brushed my teeth, so the breath must smell great. This morning, I've been given permission to resume brushing those teeth which remain, but front teeth only.
Throughout all this, I've completely missed Wimbledon, and most of the World Cup, although I did look on in horror at England's thrashing by Germany. I also hope to see the final tonight. (He didn't - CP)
I think I did the '10 songs about home' in a previous blog, so here are ten about loneliness:-
1 I've been lonely for so long - Frederick Knight
2 I'm all alone in the wilderness - The Pogues
3 The night's too long - Lucinda Williams
4 Without you - O V Wright
5 Hey there, lonely girl - Eddie Hollman
6 I'm so lonesome I could cry - Hank Williams
7 I'd rather be lonely - Louden Wainwright III
9 Lonesome town - Rick Nelson
10 If you think you're lonely now - Bobby Womack
Flapping my broken wing/ winging my broken flap.
RP
Sunday 11 July 2010
From the horses mouth
(Written yesterday)
Good afternoon, friends. This is the real-life RP speaking, from the Bedford-Fenwick ward of St Bartholomew's Hospital. I'm currently on day 19 of what was supposed to be a 14-day stay, and I've just been given the news that I need yet another operation, albeit not major surgery.
I'm sure you've all been following Catherine's regular and admirable updates, but just to summarise:-
- initial madibulectomy and free-flap reconstruction on 21 June seemed to go well, until;
- we discovered on about 30 June that the flap had died, so I went in for a second op, taking skin from my chest to serve as the flap at the back of my throat;
- a few days later, the plastic surgeons noticed that a couple of stitches had worked loose, so it was back to theatre to fix them;
- it now seems that further stitching is required, so I'll be returning for more surgery next week.
So this represents another setback, and another delay, and whilst it's a disappointment it's not a disaster. I'm longing to be away from this confounded place, and have an extreme craving for - believe it or not- a cold glass of water (nil by mouth for the last 3 weeks!). But these wishes will be fulfilled soon. Chin up, cheer up!
Here are ten songs about life's propensity for going wrong.
1 Why do I keep f***ing up - Neil Young and Crazy Horse
2 Looks like I'm up s**t creek again - Tom Waits
3 Life gets tee-jiss - Tex Williams
4 I can't stand up for falling down - Sam and Dave
5 It's the end of the world as we know it - REM
6 Many rivers to cross - Jimmy Cliff
7 The sound of crying - Prefab Sprout
8 I'll never get out of this world alive - Hank Williams
9 Heaven knows I'm miserable now - The Smiths
10 Easy's gettin' harder every day - Iris De Ment
C'est la vie
RP
Good afternoon, friends. This is the real-life RP speaking, from the Bedford-Fenwick ward of St Bartholomew's Hospital. I'm currently on day 19 of what was supposed to be a 14-day stay, and I've just been given the news that I need yet another operation, albeit not major surgery.
I'm sure you've all been following Catherine's regular and admirable updates, but just to summarise:-
- initial madibulectomy and free-flap reconstruction on 21 June seemed to go well, until;
- we discovered on about 30 June that the flap had died, so I went in for a second op, taking skin from my chest to serve as the flap at the back of my throat;
- a few days later, the plastic surgeons noticed that a couple of stitches had worked loose, so it was back to theatre to fix them;
- it now seems that further stitching is required, so I'll be returning for more surgery next week.
So this represents another setback, and another delay, and whilst it's a disappointment it's not a disaster. I'm longing to be away from this confounded place, and have an extreme craving for - believe it or not- a cold glass of water (nil by mouth for the last 3 weeks!). But these wishes will be fulfilled soon. Chin up, cheer up!
Here are ten songs about life's propensity for going wrong.
1 Why do I keep f***ing up - Neil Young and Crazy Horse
2 Looks like I'm up s**t creek again - Tom Waits
3 Life gets tee-jiss - Tex Williams
4 I can't stand up for falling down - Sam and Dave
5 It's the end of the world as we know it - REM
6 Many rivers to cross - Jimmy Cliff
7 The sound of crying - Prefab Sprout
8 I'll never get out of this world alive - Hank Williams
9 Heaven knows I'm miserable now - The Smiths
10 Easy's gettin' harder every day - Iris De Ment
C'est la vie
RP
Saturday 10 July 2010
Cuff down!
Dear All
More good news - Rick spent the afternoon (and probably the night) breathing with the trachy cuff down - which is progress. To explain - the trachy tube is held in place by an inflatable ring or cuff, I imagine it to be like a childs rubber ring, when this cuff is fully inflated it prevents any saliva going down the throat and therefore stops the cough reflex. The first step to having the tube removed is for Rick to be able to tolerate having this cuff deflated - I suppose a sort of half-way house in trachy world - and yesterday he managed it without any problem. Previously he has struggled, probably not helped by the chest infection he had to contend with at the time, but this time it was ok.
So, what with the new blood and the prayers from next door Rick should be home in no time! Of course, there is the small matter of his neck healing as well, the drains being removed and the staples out but apart from that we are home and dry!
Catherine
If anyone wants to email Rick rather than blog his email is Parsonsrichard1@sky.com
More good news - Rick spent the afternoon (and probably the night) breathing with the trachy cuff down - which is progress. To explain - the trachy tube is held in place by an inflatable ring or cuff, I imagine it to be like a childs rubber ring, when this cuff is fully inflated it prevents any saliva going down the throat and therefore stops the cough reflex. The first step to having the tube removed is for Rick to be able to tolerate having this cuff deflated - I suppose a sort of half-way house in trachy world - and yesterday he managed it without any problem. Previously he has struggled, probably not helped by the chest infection he had to contend with at the time, but this time it was ok.
So, what with the new blood and the prayers from next door Rick should be home in no time! Of course, there is the small matter of his neck healing as well, the drains being removed and the staples out but apart from that we are home and dry!
Catherine
If anyone wants to email Rick rather than blog his email is Parsonsrichard1@sky.com
Friday 9 July 2010
More blood, please
Rick looked pretty ok yesterday, better than he has been for a while. He is now able to "self-suction" his mouth so that now he is not sitting dribbling in his chair - not a pretty sight. He also had a unit of blood to augment his own, this should aid the healing process - can't make it much slower anyway. Talking of healing, Rick now has a new neighbour who seems to have had a pretty similar operation. I had barely arrived yesterday when the first of a series of what seemed to be bible reading classes had started around this chaps bed - perhaps the religious goodwill will extend to Rick's bed and he will get out of there that much quicker, it will be an incentive anyway!
I don't want to say too much in case I jinx Rick's recovery, but things might just be turning around.
Fingers crossed
Catherine
I don't want to say too much in case I jinx Rick's recovery, but things might just be turning around.
Fingers crossed
Catherine
Thursday 8 July 2010
So far, so good
Well, the operation seemed to go ok yesterday - he didn't need to visit ITU this time! He was off to theatre at 2pm and returned to the ward at 5pm, conscious and wrapped in what looked like at plastic bag (it was actually a recovery blanket type thing). Anyway, his flap was stitched; a new drain put in his neck - a stitch had come loose in in neck as well, so that is tidied up; his scar on his neck has been extended slightly; and a tooth has fallen out! Not sure if the tooth fairy visits in hospital...?
He was back up and sitting in his chair when I left, fingers crossed it will be third time lucky.
One more thing, I now have access to Rick's email account - he has no secrets safe from me now! - so I will check to see if he has any personal emails and print them off to take in. He's asked me to ask his blogging public not to stop responding to 'Somechickensomeneck' either. That is all messages passed on for today, more tomorrow.
Catherine
He was back up and sitting in his chair when I left, fingers crossed it will be third time lucky.
One more thing, I now have access to Rick's email account - he has no secrets safe from me now! - so I will check to see if he has any personal emails and print them off to take in. He's asked me to ask his blogging public not to stop responding to 'Somechickensomeneck' either. That is all messages passed on for today, more tomorrow.
Catherine
Wednesday 7 July 2010
A stitch in time
Rick has had yet another setback yesterday, hopefully not too major. Apparently, there was a stitch loose at the back of his flap which Miss Patel wasn't too worried about. Then Rick had a coughing fit at about 5.30pm yesterday, was sick, and couldn't get his breath etc which has loosened the back of the flap a little more. She did come to see him (mid surgery) at about 10pm last night and said although the flap was fine ie she wouldn't need to re-do it, she would like to take him down to theatre this afternoon to have a look at it and put in a couple more really strong stitches at the back - he has got a forceful cough. So thats where we are at the moment.
Before all this Rick asked me to put a note on the blog to say thanks to everyone who has sent personal emails, letters etc. He says he will get back to you, but he's sure you will understand the reason for the delay. So thank you everyone.
If I say third time lucky, will I be tempting fate?
Catherine
Before all this Rick asked me to put a note on the blog to say thanks to everyone who has sent personal emails, letters etc. He says he will get back to you, but he's sure you will understand the reason for the delay. So thank you everyone.
If I say third time lucky, will I be tempting fate?
Catherine
Tuesday 6 July 2010
Bruised and battered
Rick is improving slowly and steadily. Flap observations are now down to 4 hourly; he has one drain removed from his chest (one is still in which makes walking around difficult); catheter is out; his arm is healing nicely. His chest is feeling very tight and sore where they took the latest graft from - to be expected of course.
He did do 2 laps around the ward yesterday with the physiotherapist - he carried his drain bottle, she was carrying the oxygen cylinder - but apart from that his walking was fine.
The ward was quite short staffed yesterday, the nurse who seemed to be dealing with Rick is a lazy b*****d and wanted to re-catheterize him as he hadn't passed enough urine. Probably due to the fact he wasn't given the opportunity to try, and his fluid intake was not excessive. By the time I left, Rick had passed urine, the nurse had gone off duty, and the night staff seemed competent - she was giving him double the food - again I don't think he had had enough yesterday. There may be a letter of complaint coming on - probably when Rick has left the ward, I will take names today...
Apart from that, all is ok.
Catherine
He did do 2 laps around the ward yesterday with the physiotherapist - he carried his drain bottle, she was carrying the oxygen cylinder - but apart from that his walking was fine.
The ward was quite short staffed yesterday, the nurse who seemed to be dealing with Rick is a lazy b*****d and wanted to re-catheterize him as he hadn't passed enough urine. Probably due to the fact he wasn't given the opportunity to try, and his fluid intake was not excessive. By the time I left, Rick had passed urine, the nurse had gone off duty, and the night staff seemed competent - she was giving him double the food - again I don't think he had had enough yesterday. There may be a letter of complaint coming on - probably when Rick has left the ward, I will take names today...
Apart from that, all is ok.
Catherine
Sunday 4 July 2010
Here we go round again
Saw Rick yesterday when he was back on the ward after an overnight stay in ITU, he is looking remarkably good, much better than the last time he came back from ITU. He has now got 2 drains from his chest, 2 canula's in his arm (just to be on the safe side), a drain from his neck, inflatable leg protectors (to aid circulation), oxygen and a catheter - but he was still smiling! Oh, he does have a matching scar on the left side of his neck, a new dressing on his chest but the bandage is off his arm and it is looking good. All these drains etc are temporary and will be removed in the next day or so. The doctors are really pleased with their work, Ricks flap will now be checked every 2 hours - day and night- they really don't want to do it all again for a 3rd time.
We are going to see him shortly and hope to find him up and sitting in his chair.
Post more later
Catherine
We are going to see him shortly and hope to find him up and sitting in his chair.
Post more later
Catherine
Friday 2 July 2010
Back in ITU again
Just had a call from Miss Patel herself - she is very pleased with the way the operation went, very healthy tissue, very good blood supply etc. She did say the original flap still did have a very small blood supply but she has taken it all out and replaced with the new chest skin - and no Ann, it isn't too hairy but could still cause a tickle at the back of his throat, perhaps Immac?
He is back in ITU and should be back on the ward tomorrow. I am getting a sense of deja vu...
That really is all for tonight,
Catherine
He is back in ITU and should be back on the ward tomorrow. I am getting a sense of deja vu...
That really is all for tonight,
Catherine
I'll never be Daniel Craig's stunt double
Miss Patel, true to her word, has come up with a plan to save the day. After studying the angiogram of Rick's neck it was apparent that the blood supply to the flap had been compromised - not entirely sure with what - samples will be sent to histology - and it was that which caused the failure, not the actual plumbing in. As Rick doesn't seem to have any usable arteries in his neck it would be a waste of time trying to patch up his failed flap with tissue from his arm as the results would not necessarily be any more successful, and so Miss Patel has decided to use some skin from his chest which does have its own very good blood supply, and stick that in his throat. The skin is slightly more bulky, but on the positive side, radiotherapy will cause some tissue to shrink, so at the end of the day he will have a perfectly fitting throat lining! Mr Dilkes is on standby so if she needs him, he will be there. This procedure should all be over even as I type this, Miss Patel was keen to get him down to theatre as soon as possible so that phase 2 of the treatment (ie chemo and radiotherapy)won't be delayed. He went down to theatre at around 4pm - this operation should take 2-3 hours, possibly a stay in ICU and then back to his ward. I will phone shortly to get news.
One last thing which made me smile but probably shouldn't - Rick had a problem with his overnight feed, somehow it came loose from his stomach tube and started disgorging the highly nutritious contents into his bed instead of his stomach. I won't ever grumble about toast crumbs in the bed!
Thank you for all your comments. I have been printing them off and taking them in to show Rick.
Thats all to report for now - more tomorrow.
Catherine
One last thing which made me smile but probably shouldn't - Rick had a problem with his overnight feed, somehow it came loose from his stomach tube and started disgorging the highly nutritious contents into his bed instead of his stomach. I won't ever grumble about toast crumbs in the bed!
Thank you for all your comments. I have been printing them off and taking them in to show Rick.
Thats all to report for now - more tomorrow.
Catherine
Flap don't fail me now
Latest update from St Bart's...Doctors have finally acknowledged that Rick's flap might not be performing to the best of its ability. Miss "my flaps never fail" Patel came round with her team yesterday to have a good look in his mouth and came to the conclusion that it is a partial flap failure ie the graft at the very back of his throat seems to be ok but the skin on the roof of his mouth doesn't appear to have much bloodflow. She stressed it was very, very unusual to have a failure after 10 days - if it was going to fail it would normally be within the first 3 days - not much consolation but at least something will be done. Rick is going to have a scan on his neck this morning to ascertain why the flap has failed - they will check the blood supply etc and then, after consulting with Dr Dilkes, Miss Patel will form 'a plan' which will include another operation. It shouldn't be quite the marathon the first one was but we shall see. Watch this space...
Catherine
Catherine
Thursday 1 July 2010
Soldiering on
Rick had a pretty rough day yesterday, followed by a rough night last night. Doctors assure us that everything is absolutely fine, flap is ok; neck is ok; antibiotics are working etc but still it is very unpleasant not being able to talk or clear airways easily.
Anyway, if anyone wants to post a comment or write to him I'm sure it will help with the recovery to know people are thinking of him (which I know you are). If you haven't got our address it is:-
116 Hampton Road
Chingford
London E4 8NR
Hopefully I will post better news later
Catherine
Anyway, if anyone wants to post a comment or write to him I'm sure it will help with the recovery to know people are thinking of him (which I know you are). If you haven't got our address it is:-
116 Hampton Road
Chingford
London E4 8NR
Hopefully I will post better news later
Catherine
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