30th January 2006
Hi all,
Feel lucky that this week's thought hasn't come live from Wishaw General. Having spent what felt like most of December in there (but was actually just five days visiting Lorraine and Chloe) I was back for some unexpected visits and an even more unexpected overnight visit.
I think the origins of the injury I sustained began about two weeks ago. In the supermarket packing bags I dropped a can on my left thumb. It must have sounded sore because the cashier actually asked me if I was alright. In my mind it was sore for a second, and then it started to get better. No biggie, or so I thought.
Five days later it began to feel a bit sore and slightly swollen. Strange. "What do you think it is?" I asked Lorraine. "It's nothing," said Lorraine. Given that she's the one in the house in the medical profession I trusted her judgment.
By the time Friday came around I was beginning to doubt the diagnosis. By now my thumb was really sore, even more swollen and losing flexibility. After battling painful distraction for the day at work I was sure I was going to go up to Wishaw General's Accident and Emergency department on Saturday morning (there was no point going on Friday night when you expect it to be busy - plus Palace were on Sky that evening, having their midfield overran by Reading's in a 1-1 draw). It was pain like I had never experienced before, I thought that something must be broken.
Going on a Saturday morning was a masterstroke. Less than an hour's wait, although the diagnosis wasn't what I expected. Just an infection, take some antibiotics and painkillers. I felt like a real timewaster.
Small problem. The antibiotics weren't doing anything and the painkillers weren't very effective. To top everything else a mixup on the phone meant that some of Lorraine's friends thought that another area of my body was infected. An area which might affect the way I would be sitting. Given that a lot of these friends are also in the medical profession I was a bit surprised that they didn't want to see it, although on reflection it shouldn't have surprised me.
Feeling no better on Sunday evening I faced a return visit to A & E. Furthermore I'd have the embarrassment of taking a day off work with a sore thumb. How weak did that sound?
After taking Chloe to the doctor's (with a rash, nothing to worry about as it turned out) I headed back to Wishaw General. The waiting room was far more populated than it was on Saturday. I figured I'd be waiting a while. With that in mind I was quite surprised when they called me quite quickly.
I was greeted by the same doctor than I had seen on Saturday. Expecting to be sent for a x-ray it turned out I was going to get something far worse - they were going to open up the wound. Here was where the nightmare really began.
Step 1 - "The Block". At least I think that's what they called it. What I really remember is being told it would hurt. Two injections into my left thumb. The first was so sore that I thought "That needle must be coming out the other side." For the second one I tried to brace myself with nice thoughts, "David Hopkin, looking to curl one. David Hopkin, looking to... CURL ONE!" (And yes, I did feel guilty for thinking Palace-related nice thoughts. Unfortunately lines like "You may now kiss your bride," and "You have a baby girl," are a bit generic.)
Step 2 - Open and squeeze. Open the wound, squeeze the infection out. Fortunately I couldn't feel much of this. When I lifted my head though I could see a lot of blood. Not pleasant.
Step 3 - Call the Missus. At this point I think it was about 6.30pm. I felt slightly feverish. I hadn't had anything to eat since I had a Double Decker about six hours earlier. More importantly my wife didn't know they wanted to keep me in and put me on a drip, and from brief glances at my mobile I knew she'd been trying to contact me. However as I'd already been told off for trying to use my mobile I'd have to use the hospital payphone.
I staggered out of the room, walked through the people waiting in A & E and got to a phone, feeling very self-conscious because of all the people looking at me (I dread to think what I looked like). I was on the phone just long enough to ask Lorraine to get a bag packed for me before I had to put the receiver down, I just didn't think my legs would keep me up for much longer. Somehow they did. A short while later they helped me walk over to get a long overdue x-ray (which was negative, I was told later in the week).
Step 4 - All hooked up. Onto the drip, which I was supposedly going to be on for 48 hours. Incidentally I was still in a side room, unshaven and fully clothed, lying on a bed which felt quite narrow and trying to grip onto some kind of loose padding which was collecting blood from my thumb. It's just how you always want your wife to see you, as if she isn't worried enough about you already. It was great to see her though, as she lifted my spirits and helped the time pass away.
Lorraine left at about 9pm. I then fell asleep for a fair amount of time, waking only to unhook my drip bags from the stand so I could walk to a toilet (self-service!). The process of moving me to a ward began for me at about 11.30pm. Five hours in one room since the squeezing had stopped. No TV. No radio. No computer. Nothing to read and nothing to write on. No way to amuse myself, nothing to do at all. Looking back I'm not sure how I didn't go mad.
I was finally sent up to ward 17, arriving there at midnight. I was given a jug of cold water, which tasted like the best water I've ever tasted in my life. At this point I was running a temperature as well. More pills, a drink and finally, sleep.
Waking up the next morning provided more surprises. The guy to the right of me had previously had his left leg amputated below the knee. The guy opposite him had both legs amputated below the knees. The guy opposite me had a left foot the size and shape of a football (or "Ready to go," as my mother-in-law diagnosed it as later in the week). What kind of ward was this? Why wasn't my drip being reattached? Was my thumb going to be lopped off?
Needless to say this made me slightly edgy. It didn't help when I saw about five doctors walk towards me later on that morning. Their diagnosis? "That looks a lot better. You can go home today." Now call me sceptical, but it didn't look much better to me. However given where I was and where I could be I wasn't going to argue. I was going home while I had all ten digits on my hands.
All for one thumb. Not an experience I'd wish on anyone, or want to repeat myself.
Have a good week!
Tony
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