Monday, 3 September 2018

Starting at midnight today September 3rd. (like the Schofield advert) - What a Great Day!



This is yet another boring (but do read on - little lonely reader) post about a person's health. It is written, as ever, with great sarcasm and cynicism - but do revel in the fact that intertwined is truth - and thank whoever that you ain't in the same situation...

... Couldn't quite see the end of the Jack Reacher (think that's the bloke's name) film with Tom Cruise. I'd seen it before anyway but I had to turn-in, I was so very tired and somewhat dreading the prospect that I'd have one of those dreadful nights when knackered as one was, the pain would get so bad that even with that level of exhaustion one would be awoken repeatedly.

Joy of joys - I wasn't disappointed!

First awakening - couldn't believe that it was only one a.m. - that was so unjust - I'd taken the effing pill that she who must be obeyed nags me all the time to take (and I often do not - believing that if one's body is a temple, if temporarily sub-standard temple, one should not in any way lessen the pure potency of such a temple by invading it with dubious potions). So I poisoned myself for absolutely zero, zilch, nothing - got an hour's sleep and now sitting bolt upright, limbs stiff and aching and still mild pain in the left arm and shoulder. In the recent past I might have got up and written that bloody blog thing to take my mind off the pain. No I refused. I forced my self to lie back down again. - Tried lying on the left sick shoulder - near impossible as some Latin-named muscle or muscles were holding the shoulder blade forward so that as I lie (or is it lay), the whole body excluding one tiny part - the left shoulder - was flat (with the left shoulder perched up in the air like a camp man's gesture and with the words "oooooh" emitting). I hate this bastard ailment (and I do apologise to my little lonely reader for any offence caused by my increasingly bad language).

I'll skip the detail of the next 3 a.m. awakening and cat conversations and get straight to the 5 a.m. awakening that put me downstairs and onto the bloody blog here and now (typing away at 6.23 a.m.).

Oh again, joy of joys, heaven of heavens, bliss of bliss - a new and happy experience - how about this then? I reckon I'm 'on the way out' ... Who is so deteriorated that they are awoken with two separate simultaneous cramps diagonally opposite each other so that one has to eject oneself from the bed by trampolining repeatedly until airborne enough that one finally lands on a left leg only whilst screaming (well I won't say what I screamed) whilst nursing, massaging the left arm with the right arm and the right leg with the left foot?

If I was my wife I'd move out.

If the next post is "All Alone" she has.

This is my dreaded BIG day - the day I have a horse-sized syringe shooting a
L O N G needle into my shoulder joint - a steroid injection. Mr. Google says it only hurts a lot for the first twenty four hours and then (if your are lucky) it starts to help the general pain and may last up to three or four months of relief from whatever is this thing I have got.

I say whatever - because believe it or not I still DO NOT KNOW what I have - no diagnosis - not even had GP feedback on my MRI scan. Why? because CARE UK (I don't care - ha ha - about naming names here - CARE UK what an interesting company name) say that they have emailed across my MRI scan and warned me (very professionally - ha ha) that often doctors' surgeries deny getting it as they are too idle to check their inboxes (nice to know how collaboratively they work together) but the GP states that the scan has not been sent so I am betwixt and between and the victim of one or other liar and I doubt it is my GP.

The CARE UK man did phone me and say that "the bursa was inflamed" - the bursa is a sac in joints that as it were allows lubrication for the joints to move. Bursitis, I deduce is what I may have - but who knows?

I am so tired and cheesed-off that I don't much care if the horse syringe and needle kill me - it can't (can it?) get any worse? 10 a.m. in Louth, Lincolnshire is the big moment when Tim becomes a vegetable. - Any vegetarians out there? - Eat me.

1 comment:

  1. Sob, sob, sob, sob. What can anyone say....... Have you tried whisky? R

    ReplyDelete