Homeward bound...

 

I have finally got home after being in a hospital bed for two and a half weeks. It took a while from being told I could go home to actually going home due to a wait for the drugs to be brought up to the ward. In fact, they were going to be so late that I went home without them and returned the next morning to collect them. 

Now this has got me thinking. I can understand where some drugs come from. Ancient man found that when he had a headache he could chew on a branch of the willow and it would ease. And there were many others, witch hazel, etc. But some I just don't get. Ancient man would look at a plant with nice berries and think 'They look tasty' and eat a few. The next morning he could have a dose of diaorh  dearo the shits and think ' I wonder if it was those berries, I won't eat them again'  Or he could wake up dead. His friends would gather round, look at him, dead on the floor, and say ' Right, chaps, let's not eat those berries.' 

Sensible. Trial and error, typical early science. You start to wonder where the plans to boil stuff and see if you can remove the poisons and see if you can make it edible came from. Rhubarb, rich in vitamin A, a substance that can kill you if too concentrated? Who eats rhubarb anyway, horrible stuff. 

I have come out of hospital with lots of new drugs. One of which needs to counteract the effects of another drug. I am on large doses of steroids and that can lead to osteoporosis. Therefore I have to take an alendronic acid tablet once a week. It must be taken on an empty stomach, with a full glass of water and I must remain vertical for 30 minutes after taking it. This is down to the fact that if it sticks in my oesophagus it will eat its way through. How many times did they feed it to volunteers before they found a method of taking it that wouldn't ruin the patients' food pipe??

'Oops, let's try it with half a glass of water...'

'Nope, burnt through again. Brig in the next victim sorry, patient'

' Full glass of water seems to work but it still wrecked his oesophagus. I wonder if we should get him to sit up for 10 minutes?'

'So 10 minutes didn't work, nor did 20. Let's try 30 minutes. Next!'

There are probably many other drugs like this, chemotherapy drugs, for example. It is a good thing that these have been discovered but there must have been a lot of trust and mistakes along the road. 

Only a short one today, only because my brain was overthinking stuff.

Regards

Giant68 :-)

 

Still here...

 Two and a half weeks later I am still tied to a hospital bed, although there is light at the end of the tunnel and I may be out of here by the end of this week. 

My breakfast this morning consisted of a bowl of bran flakes, a glass of apple juice, a coffee, 16 pills washed down with another 3 disolved in a cup of water. Seems like this is my life now. If I want to stay alive and functioning i have to take pills. 

But that is not what this is about. This is about this place, the hospital. A place where I have seen the best and the worst of humanity. 

The best? Docrors, nurses, cleaners, the helpers who bring the dinner round. They are the carers and in a perfect world, with an unlimited pot of money, they would all be given what they deserve. And they deserve a lot, in money and respect. 

A collection of consultants worked to keep me alive. Very focused individuals, Very clever people who stood and scratched their heads and hoped what they had done was enough t get me through the night. They admitted that the next morning. They are people who understand how the drugs work and how they interact with other drugs. If they gave me this one it would effect that one so I would have to take this as well which would stop that one working... They worked it out in the end and I am still here. 

The nurses. They are the ones who understand how to get these drugs into me. I watched a consultant fiddle with a drip, upping the amount, while three nurses looked on in horror. Once he'd gone they set it properly. The nurses who had to clean me up after a particulary hazardous use of the commode. It's a humiliating thing, the commode. But they were reassuring while they cleaned me up and made me feel a little less humiliated.  They were chatty first thing in the morning as they come round to do the first obs of the day, blood pressure, oxygen saturation etc. we had a giggle over the fact that I quite like the potassium supplement when everyone else thinks it's disgusting. The nurses who change the beds every morning to ensure our comfort. The nurses who suddenly have to go running as the alarm sounds as someone has a heart attack. The nurses who rarely sit down during their shift. I'm a big fan of nurses, and not just because of the outfit. 

The cleaners who ensure that there is an infection free environment, or as close as you can get to one. Here for 12 hours in a soul destroying, monotonous job.

The people who deliver our breakfast, lunch and dinner after a kitchen has taken some ingredients and turned them into something quite inedible. 

And a special mention for Valentin. An old curmudgeon, perfect word for him. He is a nursing assistant who has been working nights while I have been in E3 ward. He is in his 60's, Jewish and very grumpy. He told me off for something n the first night I was in here. But it turns out that he has a very dry and cutting sense of humour. He makes sure that we are all comfortable, making sure that we are all moving and not laying in the same position all night, pressure sores. I was awake in the early hours the other night and he gave a quick thumbs up to make sure I was OK. And he makes us all hot chocolate before he turns the lights out.  It's very 'Cider House Rules' I can almost hear him saying "Goodnight you Princes of Maine..."  

As for the worst... I have spent some time waiting in A&E for a bed to made available for me. In there are the drunks and the yobs. The people who are just wasting the time of the medical staff. Shouting and being aggressive to people who are trying to treat their wounds. Wounds recieved because they got drunk and decided that a fight would be a great way to end Friday night at the pub. Although there was one that made me laugh and that was an old lady, grubby dress and greasy, grey hair who stormed through A&E with her zimmer frame yelling " get out of the way you f#cking f#uckers!" 

Next time I will probably be back to the grumpy, stupid stuff, but this one felt right.

Regards

Giant68 (-:

Sex and drugs and rock and rock and roll, blood and soup and wee!

 Strange title for a blog, I know, but I have had a bit of a strange time just recently. This is not a blog that will dwell on a dark time, although it could and I think that I would be justified. I don't want sympathy, although a week ago i would have liked someone just to grab me in a big hug and say "Everything will be alright" even though it patently wasn't. I was in hospital and expected to die. A team of doctors were very worried and I heard conversations about me that should not have been heard. 

However, it appears, obviously, that neither God nor the Devil wanted me that night and the Grim Reaper left my hospital room without any company.

I have, currently been in hospital for a week and a half and while I have been in here I have had time to contemplate, make some life-changing decisions, and observe. 

The observation is generally about things that have happened to me. But first I must say that my stay in a Cardiac High Dependency ward has shown me that a: Doctors are the most focused people I have ever met. A whole team was working on me, trying to figure out what the feck to do to save my life. And b: Nurses are the most amazing people on the planet. A doctor will say "Right, what we need to do is get these drugs into this patient" They have no idea how that will happen when every space is already taken up with cannulas. The nurse will look at the patient and say " OK, I think there is room for just one more cannula on the end of his penis, stick it there, next to the catheter pipe..." This is not so far from the truth, to be honest. And the answer to "How much rubber pipe can we get up this old man?" is quite a lot. How many of you now have a strange look on your face and watering eyes? How do you think I felt with all that garden hose up my bits???

Anyway, back to observations. There is a tendency to not finish anything. In the middle of the night busy nurses would come in to do the hourly obs, turn the lights up to a point of burning out my retinas and then not turning them back down again when they were done. I would then be forced to press the buzzer and call them back to turn them off. Wasting more of their time than if they had just turned them back down in the first place.  But that wasn't the worst. I had a catheter up the todger. Not the most comfortable thing. You'd think it would be good. wouldn't you? No desire to go for a pee, just let it keep flowing... 

Very true. However, nurses would come in and move the bag so that they could empty it. Invariably they would hang it quite high for ease of draining it. Then they would leave it there. Higher than my kidneys... Can you imagine the discomfort of the back pressure? I bet you can't.  Again, one of those things that waste even more time than just putting it back in the first place. 

Drugs. Jeez! I can't believe the amount of drugs  that have been pumped into me. Dopamine, noradrenaline, Furosemide, Potassium, magnesium, oramorph (nectar of the Gods!). The tablets every morning and evening. I even had some being pumped straight into my heart.

Rock and roll. Not really. There was no rock and roll here, sorry. 

Blood. Lots of blood. I had two cannulas pop out of me and spray blood everywhere. I had an arterial line in that decided to leak all over the floor. 

Soup. That was the staple food while I have been in here. Pea & ham, chicken, veg, it was all very nice and not too heavy. Too much food and I would be forced to use the commode. I had to a couple of times and it is humiliating. The nurses have to clean you up and they never do it quite right. Not their fault. The second time, I filled it. Literally. That was the biggest walnut whip i have ever seen! I felt sorry for the nurse that had to take that away and beat it with a stick to get rid of it. I also thought that I had got away without making a mess with the soup. Unfortunately I had spilt quite a bit down my gown.

Wee... While I was unfortunate to have the catheter in there were a couple of times where it just let go. With the back pressure it would force its way around the pipe and I would be soaked in urine. At least it was my own I suppose...

Once I'm out of hospital I shall insert some pictures but for the moment you will just have to use your imagination.

Regards

Giant68 (-:

Canadian Pacific, carry me 3000 miles... We know a song about that...

 It had been a long time coming but we finally made it to Canada for our 30th wedding anniversary celebration, now our 33rd.

You will remember that a few years ago I was taken ill? Well, this caused us to miss out on the big holiday. Then COVID happened and it seemed that we would never get there. But we did. A couple of weeks ago we flew out from Heathrow and after a long flight, we landed at Vancouver International airport. I must say that airports in other countries are much more attractive than ours. Heathrow is a functional building, all concrete and melamine, whereas Vancouver was carpeted and there were native artworks and projected images all over the place. 

Anyway, to cut a long story even longer, we were picked up in a large SUV and taken to our hotel. 23rd floor, corner suite, open the curtains and there was a view out over downtown Vancouver that took our breath away.

Now to people like us who have only ever been to London this was a sight that was special. It ranked alongside our first view of the banks of the Nile when we went to Egypt. 

I'm not going to go on about what we saw or did, you'd get bored. I could show you the hundreds of photos we took, bored...🥱

This time I am going to wax lyrical about food, beer, and the ever-polite Canadians.

Food. North Americans seem to be able to put together a burger that is almost perfect. When I present a burger at a BBQ the minute that you bite into it all the filling tries to escape out of the back. Canadians put together a burger that stays inside the bun, almost as if it wants to be eaten. It is full of fresh ingredients, I even liked the pickles! 

I have found my spiritual home. The first menu I looked at almost made me cry with joy! Brussel Sprouts! As a starter, crispy and spicy and lovely in their cloak of green joy. 

Then there is breakfast. It seems that Canadians aren't big on brekkie. They seem to prefer brunch. However, there is Canadian bacon. Maple cured bacon. Crispy and tasty...

Now to beer. In England we have mass-produced beers. Lager, cold and fizzy. Ale, warm and insipid, sometimes harsh and bitter. Occasionally we get some good ones, I'm rather partial to Blandford Fly but, on the whole, they are pretty average. Even the microbreweries seem to make rather bland stuff. cloudy and dull. Feel free to prove me wrong.

But Canada seems to be able to brew beers that are fit for the Gods themselves. Sweet or sharp, cloudy or clear, fizzy or not. 

It just seems to me that British brewers are missing a trick. Maybe they are trying to be too clever or just aiming to keep the tradition of warm, bitter brews. The rest of the world has great beer, we have warm, insipid, brown liquid fit for the older gent with a beard and a cardigan. 

Canadians themselves are amazingly polite. Those in hospitality especially so. It may be an act as they want a tip at the end of your meal, but if it is, it is a well-practiced one. The act never seems to drop. They will seat you, automatically placing drinking water on the table, take your order and be polite and friendly all the way. Imagine that happening here. Everywhere we ate we would go back to in a heartbeat. From the Steamworks in Vancouver to the Umbrella bar at the top of Whistler Mountain. 

In the meantime, I need to get my act together and lose the weight I have put on with all this beer and burger.

Next time, spectacular places, bears, eagles, seals, and upgrades.

Have a great day!

Regards

Giant68 :-)

 I feel that I have been disowned by Half Portion, or Mini Giant68.  He reckons that I have turned to the dark side. 

What have I done to earn this? I am now the proud owner of a caravan.

For years I have been in agreement with Jeremy Clarkson, not something that many people will admit to, it seems. But caravans have been the bane of any driver's life on the road since the wheel was invented and the caveman decided to use it, or them, to hitch a box to the back of a dinosaur and go on holiday. But I have now joined that group.

Some years ago, we started out with a tent. We would load the contents of our house into the car, unload it in a field then, a couple of days later, load it all up and take it back home. I got tired of that. All that sleeping on an inflatable mattress on the floor was getting more and more difficult. So we moved up to a trailer tent, or folding camper if t=you want to be technically correct. It had sofas, proper beds, sort of, and a kitchen. That was great. It was like moving from a flat to a mansion. I could sit on the sofa, in the morning, with a coffee and my book while waiting for Mrs Giant68 to wake up. 

But we still had to get out in the night and go for a walk in the cold if we wanted to use the loo. 

Sometimes you don't want to have to wake up too much at 2am. 

So we decided that we needed a caravan...with a toilet. We went and bought one. So now I drive around  the countryside at the weekend dragging a tin box behind the car. It hasn't just got a toilet. It has a bathroom. With a shower. We have hot water, heating, beds, a cooker with an oven. And it is great. Waking up in the countryside, great views, birds singing, the smell of frying bacon. what more could a man want? Beer. Actually, a man would also want beer. Or copious quantities of alcohol, be it whiskey, brandy, rum or just plain and simple wine. 

I won't have a TV. There comes a line that, when crossed, you may as well stay at home. And the TV is on the other side of that line as far as I can see. 

We went to a site in Canterbury a while back and there was a camper van that had a bigger TV than I have at home in my living room. While they were all sat around inside watching Eastenders, or whatever, there was a marvelous sunset going on outside. The stars were starting to come out, as were the night creatures. 

One thing I have found; since I started towing this box around, is that it is not the caravans that are the problem. It is, generally, ordinary drivers. People who have no idea how to enter a motorway from the sliproad, forcing other drivers to either slow down or dodge them as they force their way on. I was under the impression that the sliproad onto a motorway is a lane where drivers should accelerate to match the speed of those already on the motorway. Several times lately, I have been forced to slow down to ridiculously slow speeds because some dickhead is joining the lane at 30mph. I have a caravan on the back, I can't always move over to lane 2 to make room, I know why truck driving friends get so stressed out. I can almost imagine what it is like to have 44t under my right foot. It is bad enough with 3.5t. 

With the caravan on the back, I am restricted to 60mph. Any faster and it becomes unstable. I am not permitted in lane 3. And there are other rules and problems. 

But in the end, I have a caravan. No.1 son thinks I have sold out. But I get reasonably cheap holidays. 

And, more importantly, I have a bathroom in that metal box.

Regards

Giant68 :-)

   

Big Chief Eagle Crest

 It's been a long time since I have written a blog, life seemed to get very busy, even with all the restrictions of the pandemic. But here I am giving it a go again.

Some time ago I wrote a blog about the stories that my grandmother used to tell when I was a young boy. They were all remembered, not written down, so once she passed away I thought that they were lost forever. Not so. You have already read about Bobtail Bunny and now you can read about Chief Eagle Crest. Bear in mind that these stories came from a different time, the world has changed and Indian means something different. Today we would refer to native Americans. But it was of its time. 

I feel that there should be more of it, that there is an ending missing from this but I'm not sure what it is. These stories were told to me over 50 years ago when all things were different.

Here it is:

Chief Eagle Crest

Dick found this box beside his bed

One morning when he woke.

“For the big Indian Chief,” it said.

It really was a joke.

He cut the string and peeped inside

And gave a whoop of joy!

An Indian outfit, fine, he cried

“I am a lucky boy!”

In half a minute I’ll be dressed

And then I’ll be Chief Eagle Crest!

Chief Eagle Crest has spied a Joe,

“Your doom has come!” he cried.

And fixed an arrow to his bow

Straight to the mark it flew.

The wounded paleface has to yield

It’s just a scarecrow in a field.

Then mounting on his trusty horse

The great chief rode astride

Until he reached a watercourse

A river deep and wide.

“I’m coming now to rescue you!” 

Called out the Indian brave.

“I’m paddling in my small canoe

Your life I mean to save!”

The maiden was indeed distressed

She’d fallen from the bank.

But just in time Chief Eagle Crest

Arrived before she sank.

He hoisted her in his canoe

She looked a dreadful sight.

And paddling swiftly to the shore

He took her to dry land once more

For she was dripping wet right through,

Her cheeks were pale with fright.

He set her on his trusty steed

And swiftly rode away.

“A squaw” he said “is what I need

So maiden you shall stay”

“And in the wigwam you will dwell

And hear the tales I have to tell”

He helped the maiden to alight 

Within a pretty glade.

A box of chocolates they shared

They are delicious each declared… 

Maybe one of you, out there will know how this ended. But, like Bobtail Bunny, it remains a Googlewhack.

Regards

Giant68 :-)

Seagulls to Newton

 

Random blogpost today. Possibly a bit surreal as well, sorry.

Yesterday I was walking around the school, you know I work in a school, right?, and I heard the sound of two arguing seagulls. This was quite quickly followed by the sound of something hitting the ground. It was an apple. It appears that these two gulls were arguing over the fact that one of the birds was holding an apple. WTF!!

I wonder what possessed a seagull to pick up an apple? ‘Ooh! Look! An apple! I feel a bit peckish and I fancy some fruit, I’ll grab it in my beak and take it up to the top of that lamppost and eat it…’ You will notice here that I am not really concerned with the fact that this falling apple, caused by Isaac Newton inventing gravity in 1687, could fall on a child’s head and kill them. I find it more intriguing that a bird, not known for eating whole fruit, has flown off with a rather large apple in its mouth.

Were they arguing over the logistics of the apple transport and ingestion when it was dropped? ‘Look, George, you can’t possibly eat that thing, it’s far too big. What do you intend to do with it when you get it home, peel it and slice it? ‘

‘Ung uun ung un… Sorry, couldn’t talk with that bloody thing in my mouth. I thought it might make a nice change from all the usual shit that we eat. We could get some flour and sugar and make an apple crumble. If you could lay some eggs we could make custard.’

‘You are a feckin seagull! What, on Earth, did you think we were going to make it in? We haven’t even got a kitchen!’

‘I didn’t think that far ahead. And now, because of that bloke Newton inventing calculus, I’ve lost the apple. And that big ugly bloke has picked it up.’

'I think you will find that the principles you wanted to refer to was gravity, not calculus. We need to be aware of why we don’t plummet to the ground rather than how we can figure out our change in delta v.’

‘Sorry. I’ll stick to nicking chips in future.’

I’ve got to admit to being very surprised at the size of the apple. I wonder how that would’ve looked on the RIDDOR report form? I blame Newton.

 

Regards

Giant68  😊