Something has happened to my pc screen. Everything looks different, not wrong but different. This is very, very annoying because I can’t pinpoint what it is. Everthing looks slightly larger, slightly nearer and slightly more blurry. I do wonder if there is something wrong with my eyes. But I suspect that I may have inadvertently twiddled with the laptop settings as I have been dragging it about the house. After all, if it were my eyes everything would look like that, and I have peered about the place like Eagle Eye action man and all looks much like before. At least the pc controls can be twiddled back. If it is my eyes, I am fucked. They forgot to put the zoom lens in when they made my particular model.
Today has been like the curate’s egg, good in parts.
I had to go to the hospital this morning. I had a scan booked so they could assess what is left of the mangled remains of my inner lady workings. I was not looking forward to it.
On the plus side they did not want me to drink eighteen gallons of liquid and then sit nervously on a plastic bucket chair for three hours weeing out of my eyebrows while they deal with the backlog of people. I’ve always felt this was a particularly vicious form of torture that is not to be endured.
On the minus side this meant an internal scan, which isn’t what I generally look forward to with glee on a Monday morning.
On the plus side my mum and dad came over, my mum to take care of Oscar so he didn’t wreck the hospital waiting room and jump up and down on my bladder. On the minus side this meant my dad had to drive me to the hospital. He is very sweet, but does not really like chatting or thinking about mangled inner lady parts. This is on the whole a good thing, but does make a trip to the hospital for said procedure quite quiet.
Then there is the fact that I was a bloody idiot. There are three hospitals in Leicester, The Glenfield General, The General and the Royal Infirmary. I have only ever visited the Royal. When my letter came through I just assumed that my scan would be at the Royal. We turned up at the Royal, parked at the Royal and made our way to the information desk to find out where the ultrasound department was. It turns out that the ultrasound department we wanted was at the General. Not so good.
My dad was unimpressed. The receptionist was unimpressed. I was mortified. I only had fifteen minutes until my appointment. The receptionist got over her snootiness and turned into quite a helpful lady, helpful in the same way as those programmed to care for the mentally deficient. She helped me ring the right department at the General. They said that they couldn’t fit me in at any other time. I pretended to be even more mentally deficient than I really am, which is quite hard because I’m already quite near the top of the chart.
In the end they rescheduled my appointment to take place in the hospital I was actually in. They sent me upstairs and the woman very patiently took all my details. I said; ‘Ridiculous really, because the General is only round the corner from my house.’ At this point my dad pointed out that this was the Glenfield General, not The General. The General is in a totally different part of the city. So, I still would have turned up at the wrong hospital even if I hadn’t gone to the Royal.
Sometimes they let me out by myself, but not often.
It is worrying that I can successfully navigate my way across London for two days, but that once I get to my home city I go completely to pieces.
Anyway. They took me in for the scan and then things took a turn for the better when the lovely, lovely lady said: ‘Oh! We won’t need to do an internal scan because you’re skinny enough for us to see what we need to see normally.’ Hoorah! I could have kissed her. This is one of the benefits of having a wobbling fat pelmet rather than a solid, worked upon mass of fat. It simply drapes itself round either side of my hips when I lie down. Yay me.
I have now decided that all further photographs of me must be taken in the dark with me lying down and then I will always look slim, beautiful and full of vitality.
So, she scanned me.
There is nothing wrong. All is tickety boo and wonderful and shiny and clean, apart from the scar tissue and the knots and the missing bit of tube. Luckily we knew all about those bits already, so as long as you navigate round them all is well. This is good. It ticks more things off the list. I must now go back and discuss this and the whole falling over/ falling asleep thing with the doctor. Lucky me.
Despite the detour we were in and out of the hospital in under half an hour. I have never in all my long and chequered history of hospital going, been seen to with such ruthless efficiency. I have since hatched a cunning plan. My theory is that as long as you play by the rules and turn up in the right place at the right time with the right things you will be sitting around until doomsday waiting to be seen and weeping into your urine sample. If you turn up with the wrong bits of paper in the wrong hospital and act like a mental they will see you right away and you will be done and dusted and home for the lunchtime showing of Neighbours. This is what I will do from now on. I knew there had to be a system somewhere.
When we got back Oscar and Mum were tidying up the toys. The lounge looked like a bomb had hit it, there were small plastic objects everywhere and lumps of biscuit crumb. They had been having a wonderful time. It will take me a week to clear up, specially if I keep having to have a tiny nap, but at least he didn’t do that to an NHS waiting room. It is clear that they are applying my logic to the tidying, the more messy you make it, the cleaner it will become later. I am not so sure it works this way.
I can’t believe you actually have that many hospitals to get confused about! They keep closing and merging ours so there are less and less. If you go to the wrong place you will just find a housing estate now.
Glad your ladybits are Ok at least and perhaps if you do the same act at the doctors they will find out what is really wrong quickly to get rid of you.
That went well then! Still the early result must be a relief.
On the one hand I am relieved that your lady-parts are all in good order. On the other hand, that would have been something concrete. All of this “who knows what’s wrong?” business is most troubling. I hope they get it sorted soon. NHS bastards.
Ali
It is a bit irritating but at least stuff is happening I suppose. Back to the doctors this Thursday. What joy.
Alienne
I know. There are about three private hospitals as well. Not as bad as Oxford wher I used to live. Everything was either a hospital or a university.
Sharon
Yes. Good result.