If you read PC 366 ‘Medical Decluttering’ (December 2023) you will remember that, following enough time to describe a number of health issues with Celina’s private doctor, Simon Glew at The Hove Practice, I embarked on a few procedures to declutter and get a medical MOT for the year ahead. It started with the removal of a malignant melanoma before Christmas and then removal of big haemorrhoids in January. (See PC 373 Anally Focused February 2024)
In the UK there is an annual vehicle check by the Ministry of Transport (MOT) on its roadworthiness after the first three years. It looks at things like tyre tread, brake pads, steering etc and costs about £40. It seems appropriate to call this postcard a Medical MOT, as I have sold my six-year-old Audi Q3 to replenish the coffers. The car was due its MOT, insurance and Road Tax and was broadly costing me £3,000 per year – for 1350 miles!
I had a lipoma. “Lipomas are tumours which develop as well-circumscribed, encapsulated masses that have a doughy feel and are freely mobile beneath the skin. ….. Their slow, usually painless growth can lead to a large size. (Mine had grown over 7 years!) ….. Previous studies have defined a giant lipoma of the upper extremity as larger than 5cms; these are extremely rare and must be removed.” … say MDs Brian Allen, Christine Rader and Alan Babigian in a paper in the magazine Pulsus Plastic Surgery.
Most lipoma is unsightly although benign but mine was about 10cms long so I was referred to a consultant in the Montefiore Hospital here in Hove. I am no stranger to this private hospital as I had had a L4/L5 microdiscectomy on my back here in July 2017, (see PC 99 Montefiore June 2017) after my failure to get the NHS to do anything more than prescribe Gabapentin, a horrific painkiller!
Just to confirm my lump was a lipoma, Joideep Phadnis, the Orthopaedic Consultant who specialises in Shoulder and Elbow Surgery, whom I saw before Christmas, said I should have a MRI to ‘confirm the lesion is benign before removal’. Meanwhile, given his busy timetable, I was provisionally booked in for surgery on 21st February 2024 – nine days ago.
My MRI Scan. Not sure what the pike-looking shape is?
Gradually the day dawns and, following the appropriate pre-admission checks, I am into the hospital at 1230 for afternoon surgery. Sitting in my room, dressed for the occasion complete with DVT socks and backless gown, I begin to wonder whether ‘afternoon’ would become early evening! Fortunately I have brought my Kindle, so immerse myself in Chris Hammer’s latest Australian novel. Strangely, Ivan, the Homicide Detective Sergeant investigating a murder, is remembering his mentor – Morris Montifiore!
Eventually I am summoned, walked along the deserted hospital corridor and arrive at the theatre. Normal sort of chat …… ‘just feel a small prick and breathe the oxygen in ….. and out ……’ and then I am back in my room!
After the shift change at 2000, I get given some painkillers and told not to get the wound wet for a fortnight ….. and I can go. Celina arrives at the main entrance which is now closed but she spies the cleaners going in round the back and makes her way up to my room. There’s something weird about empty hospital corridors at night; I sense we are not alone!
Back home at 2130
The following morning I look at the Limbo, a ‘waterproof protection for casts and dressings’, that I was given to enable me to have a shower.
I stick my arm in but the Limbo’s too short, the elasticated ring below my wound. I cut off the bottom end so my hand can come out, but my wound is too high for the ring to get around it. Useless!! Nice idea but in this instance useless!
When I was involved in sales and giving presentations to prospective clients, one well-proven method of getting rid of nervous negative thoughts was to snap a rubber band against one’s wrist. It hurt; the ‘negative thought’ was no longer the focus! Walk to the bathroom in the night and bang your foot, the natural reaction is to bend down to rub it. As you bend, if you bang your head, your head hurts – toe? Nah! So it is with another operation within a month of the first, any residual pain from the first disappears. Which is a delight! But actually there is very little pain after the second so I haven’t taken any painkillers.
Our NHS struggles. It does brilliantly with emergencies but waiting lists for elective appointments and operations grow longer and longer. We are starting to hear of isolated trials in ways to improve the way the NHS serves the nation. Too many individuals who dial 999 are generally picked up by an ambulance and taken to a hugely overstretched A&E department. There was news the other evening of a trial in Kent where representatives from over six NHS specialities, A&E, Social Services, GP, Critical Specialist Nurses etc all sat in a Call Centre, discussed the 999 call details and offered alternatives to putting the individual in an ambulance. Thinking outside the box, at last!
I had my second cataract removed yesterday at the Optegra Eye Hospital in Brighton. Now I have 20/20 vision in both eyes and popped into Tesco’s to buy some reading glasses; in a few weeks I might select a ‘designer’ pair.
Healing nicely
MOT complete; all I have to do now is encourage my intestines, ravaged by two lots of heavy anaesthetics within a month, to return to some form of equilibrium. Maybe I should eat a raw leek as it’s St David’s Day?
Richard 1st March 2024 – St David’s Day
Hove
PS Two medical stories appeared in the news a few weeks ago. In the first, a biochemist who worked for the NHS won a discrimination claim after she was listed on a London hospital spread sheet under the name ‘Paininarse’. Funny to read but insensitive and traumatic if it described you.
postcards 