AndyBlog

Inspiration, or religion?

Shortly before I write this, my wife will have travelled on one of these. It is a train on the Docklands Light Railway. She is down at the ExCel arena, along with ten thousand others, for one of those motivational-type conferences. You can visit their website at: http://www.inspiredliving.tv/ Tony Robbins seems like one of an endless stream of motivational speakers from the USA, each with their own gimmick and countless people on hand to testify how great he is and how his teaching has changed their lives. Tony Robbins' gimmick is the fire-walk. I don't yet know the details, but I have seen charcoal pits prepared before, where people walk swiftly over in bare feet, based on the clear physical principle that if you move quickly and concentrate hard, no pain will be felt. I've heard that it is an empowering experience, and I would not seek to belittle it one bit. I do sincerely hope that Fiona will enjoy her fiery encounter.

The truth is that I don't know much about this man, or his system. I would merely comment that this seems to be our new kind of acceptable religion. It's limited, involving no long-term commitment, and claims to impact positively on one's life, whilst not taking it over. It's great, it's safe, and it's funded by businesses themselves.

The ExCel Arena, in London's Dockland Area - Holds 10,000 people.

I'm hopeful that Fiona will have a very positive experience there, and one which will benefit her greatly. It just strikes me that here are sufficient religious parallels (see the web site) to ask the question:

"If Fiona wanted her business to fund her attendance at Spring Harvest (a Christian motivational conference), would they be so forthcoming - even if the experience benefitted her greatly?"

Position 2 (no sexual content)

It's well worth clicking on the picture today, in order to see the bigger version. This is a picture illustrating what a bored sheep dog might get up to in his or her spare time. I suppose my situation may be similar, in a way, except I would never seek to do anything quite so energetic, at least not yet. I suppose the other difference is that I am not a dog. [insert tasteless joke here]

So, boredomwise, my position is mostly to blame. By that, I mean my exact position. I am required to lie for 3 hours at a time, with up to half and hour's break in between for eating, going to the toilet, playing Colin MaCrae 2004 Rally etc.

The way I managed to remain at home, was to promise inclination. For this, we used the single bed which was already in our lounge for me to lie on. As the diagram below so wonderfully illustrates, we have raised the bottom of it, with several pieces of kitchen work-top.

This wonderful diagram, roughly hewn by my own fair hands illustrates what we have done perfectly. It's a curious position to lie in, because everything literally runs backwards. I feel the fluids draining out of my leg - and then back into it when I finally climb down from my new perch. That's the worst bit. Getting off guarantees a few minutes of profound discomfort. Thereafter, it's not too bad for a while, but before long I find myself grateful for the relief the position ultimately brings.

Relief is the name of the game. At times, whilst perched up in this way, I actually get periods of relief from the pain - right up until I move my left leg. It is, though, quite magical. If I choose a moment soon after my pills, it can actually feel nice.

I had forgotten how pleasant being pain-free was. It's .............. fantastic. Utterly sublime. Even if only for a few minutes. I find myself desperately trying not to move so as to preserve the illusion that all is well and that I feel fine for as long as possible.

Wow!

All I can say is this: All of you who are not in pain - try to remember how fortunate you are and enjoy your pain-free life. Thanks to Position 2, I can now join your number.

Well, sometimes.

It's hospital...

...but I insisted on coming home.

Their only reason for admitting me was to raise my leg up 24/7 for two weeks. I couldn't go through that.

I just couldn't.

So I have extra dressing pads for my bandage and they are allowing me home, mainly because I insisted.

So, the bed has to be jacked up higher and I have to pretend I am in a high luxury hospital ward, rather than actually at home.

One thing's for sure: the lack of nurses will be very familiar.

Hospital is one of the areas, in my experience, where the general perception and the reality are two completely different things. Even in supposedly realistic dramas, the nurses are mostly pretty easy on the eye, deeply concerned and always in attendance on the ward. The odd bad penny is featured (Penny may not actually be her name.), but then they are made to be too bad.

I bet even that grotesque woman I heard on the news today who had killed so many people in the Leeds area whilst a nurse - I bet even she seemed quite normal on the face of things.

I like this picture of a nurse I found. She makes me feel safe and secure, because, like me, she is very attractive, but unlike me, she has no feet.

So, you see, I am better off than her, because I still have feet.

(Level with me - is it too early to try for humour?)

(...will it always be too early?)

In or Out

I'm in one of those treatment rooms that those who have attended an outpatients department will know well. I've just had a lengthy consultation with Mr. Vetrivel, my new consultant.

He wants me in hospital so that he can 'mechanically elevate my leg'. I, on the other hand desparately want to stay at home and have promised to elevate my bed further in order to make the treatment better.

They are now outside discussing me and I will, no doubt, be interrupted any second when they come to tell me my fate.

I /hate/ this. Wouldn't you?

Home or hospital, I just don't know. I just sit here, earnestly seeping onto a strip of couch roll....wondering. Worrying.

Green Leg

Welcome, gore fans, to my green legged world. In this instance, it is the wrapped leg which I though you'd find the most entertaining.

Please note the wonderful green colour of the leakage from the leg. Just to reassure you, it doesn't start off that colour, it makes its way towards that colour over the 24 hours between bandage changes. For the sake of accuracy, here is the exact order:

1) Colourless fluid initially.
2) Light brown tinge around the edges of the spread area
3) Very light blue
4) Much darker blue
5) Light and fast darkening green
6) Green with black edges.
7) Not been there yet, but I bet it is fully black.

I am off to hospital tomorrow for an emergency appointment at the Chester Wing I went to last week. The continued infection of my left leg is real cause for concern and they need to asses whether or not to bring me back into hospital.

I have decided that I will be a bit more assertive this time and only agree to be admitted if it is to an appropriate ward with nurses trained to deal expertly with my type of dressings - oh yes, and doctors who know something about what I am experiencing. Theoretically, at least.

So, if I am admitted I'll post reports from hospital if I can. If not, there may be a gap for a while. I actually do not expect to be admitted and so will probably be back here to post tomorrow night.

Round and round we go.

On being utterly pissed off.

This poor beast has every right to be utterly pissed off. The pet beautician completely misunderstood the instructions of the cat owner and delivered the nightmare pet-icure of all time. Even so, the hair will grow back, so all's well that ends well and pride will be restored.

I guess we each happen across moments in our lives when things look pretty bleak, for one reason or another. Maybe a relationship goes wrong, or there are financial difficulties or, perhaps, just perhaps, there are health problems.

I think you have all seen where I am going here. Yes, that's right, it's another wallow in "woe is me" land.

Except it isn't.

I have merely been thinking around the topic of: "What if it doesn't get better?"

Healed

PLEASE ONLY CLICK THE TINY PICTURE (RIGHT) IF YOU HAVE NOT RECENTLY EATEN.

Thanks to the ministrations of those excellent people at Sunderland hospital, I am, as you know, now home and fully healed. The pain has now completely gone, and (as the picture shows) my leg is free from redness and any other sign of cellulitis.

I look forward to getting back to my normal routines, including a daily 10 mile run, 2 hours in the gym and my exclusive diet of tofu and spring water.

It's been a difficult few weeks, but I am glad that it is all finally over. It is wonderful...............etc.

===============================================================

Maybe one day.

Feeling Abstract

"Zastra Funto - il piccolo jelle"

I like to gaze at internet galleries, looking for pictures that fit with how I feel, and this one was surprisingly accurate.

The hated purple invading all but the most central core and a mass of complex confusion all around.

Don't get me wrong - I hate the picture.

Sunderland Bound

I'm being intentionally ambiguous, of course. I am referring to being bound in Sunderland, rather than bound for it. Although, only a fool would contend that I would not have to, at least initially, be bound for Sunderland in order to be bound in Sunderland. Nor is it one of those generic bindings which see an entire body cocooned in deft ropes. No, my binding was to be entirely more leg-based. But more of that later, if you can bear it - and, if not, how do you think I manage?

Before I stray too far along the path of redundant flippancy, let's get to the facts.

I was an outpatient yesterday - a status which brings me a profound sense of pleasure. Non-patient would be far better, but outpatient is a great second best. Having been conveyed there by the excellent Jason, we then waited for a good two hours to be seen. As it turned out, my 2.40pm appointment was the last of the day at around 5pm. The intervening time was spent in lively and humorous conversation with Jason, to the bemusement of the other people in the excitingly named "Waiting Area 3".

The doctor who saw me was predictably unhelpful and evasive, and keen for me not to be part of his problem. Sadly, I was wise to his attempts to side-step my treatment and I cornered him into.............well...making another appointment in a fortnight. I suppose, from his standpoint, it might not be him who sees me then, so it was a problem solved. If only there were cellulitis specialists...or a clearly defined department which takes care of cellulitis patients. I really do wish I had a different sort of illness, and one for which there was a designated treatment path.

As it is, everyone says something different, tries to pass me on elsewhere or simply tells me nothing can be done. I will admit to being exhausted by this constant battle to get good treatment and advice.

So yesterday, after telling me my condition was too acute for him to treat, I was re-bound by the expert binding nurses of the Vascular department. They did a good job too. I now have some very good bandages on which provide good support. The left leg still seeps much lymphatic fluid, so will still need regular changes. The right bandage can stay on for a few days, which is nice.

I am grateful for the new bandaging system, because it offers significantly increased support, which gives me a feeling of security. A few days down the line, it may help me to be more mobile and get out to clients and other such exciting things.

I feel I have turned a corner. The cellulitis is definitely getting better, albeit slowly. Now, I must just be careful not to make things worse. The biggest battle is in my own mind.

If I can win that one, I'll be fine.

Carry On Seeping..

Hospital food at Sunderland may be pretty OK, but nothing compares to the delights of a proper home cooked dinner. Such a delight was prepared by the North's very own Liz Marshall (who has a brand new BLOG for us all to read and learn from).

Pork, apple sauce, stuffing, roast potatoes, carrots, cauliflower and brollocci. So very nice. All the veg steamed nicely so that retain both texture and flavour. I fear few hospitals could even dream of coming close. This was a real treat.

So, what has happened since I got home?

I guess you're all wondering why there have been no postings since my arrival home yesterday. After near continuous posting from hospital, the relief of home bestowed an opportunity to sleep - and it is this activity which has dominated my time.

Long, untroubled sleeps, punctuated by pleasant food and good conversation. It feels amazing. The comfort and pleasure of being at home is almost sufficient to balance out the pain and misery of still having a badly infected and seeping leg.

It looks to me as though the IV antibiotics were stopped a couple of days early, as the cellulitis has begun to return already. It's red above the knee again and seeping fluid like mad.

I shall speak to my doctor tomorrow and see what she has to say. I have an appointment at the Chester Wing of Sunderland Hospital on Tuesday. Getting there could be fun as there is no way I can drive. Maybe I should ask for an ambulance? I would be pretty amazed if that worked without 6 months notice in triplicate and twenty phone calls.

Anyway, I am due to see "a cardio-vascular chap" - in the words of my doctor. I'm not sure what one of those is, or what he will do, say or test, but I guess that's all part of the fun. I am always much keener on things that I fully understand. Submitting myself completely to the unknown is pretty scary. I would be amazed if I was alone in this. Needless to say, I'll write about what happened, when I know myself.

So there it is, and here I am. I feel about like I did the day before I went into hospital. Almost nothing has changed and I am still experiencing serious difficulty. I feel frustrated and...........well, frustrated.

Enough of this illness already! I need to be back to work and doing the stuff I love to do. Believe me, lying around on a bed is not nearly so enjoyable as you think it is. Not for me.

When I was on the ward, one of the Staff Nurses said to me: "Do you think you will ever work again?"

Naturally, I killed her.