I Have an NHS Health Check...

......and find I am an officially inactive, overweight, near-alcoholic with high cholesterol.

See, the Check was offered and I thought I would have one because I never see a doctor, cos I be so "healthy". No-one have taken me blood-pressure for years... so I was interested to get that done... I also thought maybe they'd do some kind of diabetes check, cos they be all up-in-arms about diabetes at the moment.

First I had to fill out forms saying how much exercise I took, hours of housework, walking, gardening, etc... as well as active sports and exercise like cycling, swimming, etc (can't do neither of they, I'm afraid). And I had to do a score test on my alcohol consumption. Well... I do like my weekend bottle of wine... which do last me three days.. and maybe I have another couple of drinks over the week.

Then I be measured, weighed, blood-pressured and had me finger pricked for a cholesterol test .....That was it. The Health Care Assistant then asked me if I had kidney disease or be diabetic. (So I be a bit disappointed that she wasn't going to test that.) And asked if any immediate family had suffered heart disease. Then she gave me my results based on my questionnaire and those things which she have measured.

The good news is that I have beautiful blood pressure.

Otherwise... the BMI index rated me overweight and 2 points below obese. Cholesterol at 6.07 be declared "high". I be labelled "physically inactive"... and, to my horror, presented with a further questionnaire about my alcohol consumption which included questions like "Did I need a drink first thing in the morning?" - "Did I suffer guilt or remorse over my drinking?" - "Had I ever caused injury to others due to my drinking?"... On and on it do go and although I laughed and joked... I went into shock and when I recalled it later... I be furious.
I was issued with a diet sheet for my weight and cholesterol level, only being asked as afterthought if I be vegetarian... so I be given the veggie option in addition.... and be waved good-bye with the promise of another blood test for cholesterol in six months time.

Actually. I am rather angry and disappointed. Sure... some of this is guilt. I would like to be more active and to weigh less... so I shall try. But there is controversy over the use of BMI as a calculating tool for estimating weight problems...(I just did an online test which gave me a top weight of 9st 11lbs and at my most active and slim (work, walking, dance classes and a full on vegan diet) I was probably around that.... But never in a million years since childhood would I manage the bottom weight of 7stone.
And the diet sheet? My "breakfast" should be what I normally eat... plus the addition of a low-fat yogurt. The diet sheet includes plenty of low-fat, no-fat dairy products. Nowadays some pundits are pointing out that low-fat products are routinely stuffed full of sugar and salt to make them taste better.

Time for this Free NHS Health Check to become more up to date and genuinely informative... not just a box-ticking exercise.

The Wind Doth Blow...

And I do sit at me desk thumping away on the laptop... and do get nervous as things do whistle and hum out there. But me and The Old Man remain safe. The power still works. We are not wet. Nor blowed away.
He still has a puffy, chapped  and scabby hand. We still wait for some kind of narrowing down of the cause... or some kind of blood test that the GP can't quite get to happen. Yesterday I answered the phone to a bright young thing who informed me that  she was ringing from the NHS Referral service... that this be just a "courtesy call" to inform The Old Man that his "referral" has been put through... As it took me a while to work out that this was the gist of the call, I sat in stunned silence for a beat too long to ask "What referral?"... and anyway I am not The Old Man so guess she could maybe not be telling me "which referral".
On the subject of medical privacy? Has you UK people had the leaflet about your own NHS GP data being fed centrally unless you object? If you read the leaflet you will find that this is not for medical purposes... i.e... it is not designed to co-ordinate your treatment, etc... except in so far as they say it will help planning. And medical researchers, drug companies, insurance companies may be able to consult parts of it...
Naturally The Old Man already has a view on this and is not convinced that individual identities will be stripped from the data as efficiently as promised.
You can opt out of the scheme. The Old Man was provided with a couple of forms by his GP.  So we have.

The Old Man's Hand

So some have asked... what have happened with The Old Man's sausage fingers?
They is still swollen, boys and girls. I tell you I be a bit fed up with kitchen rota duties on me Tod - cooking, washing-up, baking the daily bread.... If these posts are a bit thin on the ground it's cos I is up to my elbows in dough and washing-up liquid.
Recap. He has one swollen hand that now has discoloured patches of skin what do itch like mad. The Old Man do have a blood-test that indicates his sodium level is too low... so the doctor do halve one of his drugs (Spironolactone) and ask to see him in a week or so. Meanwhile the doctor is trying to get him a blood-test (what needs no delay between taking the blood and analysing it) at the main hospital. We wait in not so blissful silence for the possibility of that being arranged.
Now, people be saying to him "That's chilblains". And we do think.... indeed he do seem to have chilblains on that hand. But which came first? The swollen hand or the chilblains? Like... be the chilblains opportunistic on the "bad-circulation-cos-I-is-swollen" front? Or.. was it chilblains all along? Surely the GP would recognise that?
Anyway.... . The Old Man be due to have another ordinary blood-test next week to see what effect on his sodium level lowering that drug dose has had ...
But meanwhile the skin on his hand be getting fragile...
As am I.

All Wired Up

.... to my MP3 player. Yes, I know I am supposed to be cool and have an iPod but I am not that cool. I have a bus pass. I have an MP3 player.

OK. OK. It be also a longstanding PC Girl versus ApplePerson. I don't do much in the way of Apple stuff. This is why I am not cool.

Anyhoo... I have this little player what does radio as well. But I do not have music on it. I have books on it. I used to like talking books so now I get them via Audible and attempt to keep up with Mrs D and her crime reading.Tell you what, though. It do not pay to listen in bed. I do fall asleep and have to back-peddle until I find a bit of book I do recognise and start over again.

But it be ideal for stuff like ironing, mending, making, sitting sunbathing.... or like yesterday... when The Old Man (who be an old crock as you may know) has to get his annual check up at the Hospital. And this hospital be in the next county so that's a hundred mile trip to see the doc for ten minutes then a hundred miles back home. I do go to keep him company on the drive... and I sit in the sun listening to "Salvation of a Saint" by Keigo Higashino ( very detailed and precise and slightly off the wall Japanese police procedural. Very Japanese....) .....while he sits indoors in the waiting room for an hour.

The Old Man do stagger out with a clean bill of health on the cancer front and  it is indeed a lovely day. So we do go home via Tavistock for lunch. Not been there before. Nice place. May go there again.... Next Checkup.

....Upstairs and Downstairs and in The Old Man's Chambers

So The Old Man has received a copy of his Heart Doctor's letter to his GP.

Apparently... his "chambers" have shrunk.

But this appears to be a good thing.

The Old Man's Health Report

So I just want to say for those followers that get concerned over The Old Man. His health, I mean. The rest is just The Old Man.

We's been a little stressed recently cos he does feel a bit ropey. After many discussions he decides that it is one of the many drugs he takes that is making matters worse for him, headaches, muscle pains.

So he mentions it to his heart doctor on the rare occasion that he gets a check up with him. The doctor sets in motion changing the beta-blocker.

Finally he has a supply and has started the new drug a few days ago.

Whether out of relief or what, I don't know, but he is sleeping better, looking a bit better, and is generally jollier.

Then he turns to me with a worried look and says:

"It might make me too cheerful."

That's my boy.

The Old Man's Words - Don't Panic

So we sit in the kitchen discussing Anthony Blunt and the spy thing and the art history thing... following on from a BBC Radio 4 "Reunion" programme.

(Eh-Em.. I would like to point out that decades ago I do myself attend an interview for a place studying art history at The Courtauld Institute (where Blunt taught). That would be a thing, if he had been on the interviewing panel. Of course I am not accepted. I do not "have the languages".)

So, like I say, we's be discussing such things as study and research...

"Of Course...." say Old Man: " there has to be sigorous research."

Silence descends on kitchen.

"Sigorous?" say I.

"Sigorous." say bit less confident Old Man.

"What you mean... SIGOROUS!" say panicked me.

Dear Reader, you may now wonder why I have such a dramatic reaction to The Old Man mangling his words these days. Well, he does report to his nurse and GP the incident where he cannot remember a word no matter how hard he try to say it.... (see this July post). And they both say that if such a thing do happen again we must dial 999 for Ambulance for it may be a mini-stroke or TIA thingy. But what they do not know is that The Old Man's speech is frequently sprinkled with malapropisms and spoonerisms. This latest instruction from the medics simply creates an almost permanent state of alarm and alert.

Seriously, one does not sleep so well for fear that he will literally mis-speak; and if he does we both have to jump on chairs and scream....

"Aargh! Argh! Don't panic...don't panic... "

Anyway this time we decide that this is The Old Man's usual cavalier way with words and settle on the theory that he was trying to say RIGOROUS.

As himself says: "That's next in line in the alphabet isn't it? Rigorous. Sigorous."

Yeah! True. Rigorous, shigorous, schmigorous.

"And then there's VIGOROUS..." say Old Man.

We live to fight another day.

The Old Man's Words - Again

A week ago or so.... The Old Man did another heart-stopping health trick.

In the kitchen, he starts to tell me that there is another bottle of...

"v....blop.... er.... va....kupfick.... er.... in the fridge... another kind of... va... vo....."

I tell him to shut up and sit down. And we both stare at each other for a while, wondering if this is another stroke thingy.

When it is safe to speak he tells me he knows he is frightening me. I think we both be a bit shook up.

Maybe the first time this happened was before I wuz bloggin. It was way back before the heart operation last year. Then... we were sitting opposite each other at the supper table and suddenly The Old Man starts to speak more rubbish than usual.

That time I also tell him to shut up.

This is my knee-jerk reaction. If he doesn't speak at all - it won't be happening. Eventually he'll manage a straight sentence.

On this occasion he is diagnosed as having had a mini- stroke, no lasting damage, one of the problems associated with dodgy heart valves, dodgy heart rhythmns.... The Old Man is put on Warfarin to thin the blood... And for The Old Man it is part of the decision taken to have the heart-valve operation.

So - back to the other day. When we stare at each other and wonder... why he is doing it again?

When we calm down we discuss it. The Old Man says the two incidents are different. Before - he thought he was saying the right word. This time - he knows the word he wants to say but can't find it.

We decide it is a combination of summer heat, baking bread with hot oven, tiredness, and of course.... THE DRUGS.

But it's the kind of thing that shakes up the both of us. Just when you think you might be getting over it all.....

The Old Man gives me a Fright

Remember the fright I got after The Old Man had some dental work done and woke up to find blood all over the pillowcases? (Click here for that post.)

The other morning I breeze into his breakfasty presence to find him sitting there with red stuff dripping down his chin and jumper.

"Aaagh!" scream I.
"What?" ask he.

My panicky finger points to his red-dribbled physog.

"What you done now?" squeak me.
"I'se eatin a blood orange." says he - proffering the half-eaten fruit for me to inspect.

Health Check

So all you poor souls that like to get an update on our decrepitude please do read on...
Everybody else, carry on with life.

The Old Man has a face as smooth as a plum, now that the Ointment has done its work and the Incredibly Ugly Scab has departed. Job done - we hope.

On the down side... Dental work and Warfarin don't make good bed fellows. Both of us shriek in alarm at blood soaked pillow cases from The Old Man's bout with the dentist earlier last week. A call to a Sunday locum was calming. Boils down to... "Looks worse than it is."

Fortunately I see my homeopath for a treatment follow-up this morning. I am so far in to this regime that just clutching the remedy bottle in the homeopath's presence fills me with inner peace. Hooray for Placebos and Woowoo medicine.

That Scientific Thing

You see... there are some things that I don't understand.

Europe is banning some herbal medicines because they may be unsafe.... Or put it this way; manufacturers, etc will have to register their products and provide proof of safe manufacturing, consistency and so on. Because we all know that alternative medicine is Quackerland and Loopy, to say the least.

This leads to all kinds of furioso arguing about the merits of the treatments themselves, which somewhat cloud the issue.

(Ha! And Big Pharmaceuticals has such a perfect record here. HRT, Statins, now Thyroxine... have all been promoted by Medical Land, and the Government itself... for our Greater Health and Longevity; and all of these therapies now raise questions as to side effects with their long term use.)

Anyhoo! My point of puzzlement is.... that this Scientific Approach has been put in place just about the same day that the Pope is beatifying the Previous Pope... on the word of a French Nun who says that her prayers to him cured her of Parkinson's.

Isn't this great? Big Pharma can now produce a new State Recognised Scientific Cure for Parkinson's.

Pope in a Bottle.

Ooops! Sorry. The Vatican has that already.

The Old Man and his Mush 4: The Dreaded Ointment

All right, already. I do know that part of my faithful audience is particularly faithful to News of The Old Man. So this is I... updating that faithful part.

You may remember that, to add to his ordeals, The Old Man had developed a naughty cancery spot on his physog. (Don't worry... these things are widely spread down here in Sunny Cornwall.) And so The Old Man has had to slap ointment on the thing just about every night for the last six weeks.

(You can remind yourself of the details by checking out the relevant Post here.)

Last Friday came the last ointment slap.
And not a moment too soon, say he.
He does not want no more of this. And wanders around bemoaning that they shoodda just cut it out, and let that be an end to it.

Truth to tell, instead of the small pink area that originally graced his mush, The Old Man now sports a zonking great face scab that looks more angry than The Old Man hisself.

I do feel a bit sorry for him. He says he feels like a freak.
A few days on from the last ointment slap, it must be said that the scabbed area is looking a bit calmer.

And now we wait to see if the skin doctors will bother to recall him. (You cannot tell anymore.)

But I tell you... as far as I understand the history of this ointment... it was originally developed for a far more intimate place of application. Knowing what I do now about its effects - I have to say - should I be that unfortunate (or interesting) as to develop that original complaint...
I would tell the prescribing doctor: "No way, Jose!"

The Tooth of the Matter

Last week my tooth started to play up like it does every now and then. I goes to the dentist. After some x-raying and humming and aah-ing. I'm told it's likely a root under the crown what was fitted a couple of years ago. I'm smilingly given some possible plans of action that sound drastic, and range in price from one to three new house windows, I reckon. And new windows is what we need sometime soon, I thinks.

It takes a while for the shock to set in.

Meanwhile, after discussion with The Old Man, I decides to find a homeopath and see what might be done.

I duly see the homeopath this week, and have a lovely two hours talking all about myself. She warns me that teeth are teeth and may just have to come out... and that's all there is to it. But seeing as I am also talking about migraines, she thinks that she can try tackling them. She's sending the remedy to me in the post. Then I get in touch for a follow-up in a few weeks time.

I feel really sorted all that day. Next morning I wakes with a headache. Seems I only have to talk about headaches and their possible triggers - to start one. Never mind - I'm sure it's just so's I can paint a more accurate picture. And this one only lasts 24 hours instead of the usual three days.

Let me set the record straight. I have no problem with the "placebo effect". What I say is, if a sugar pill and a sympathetic ear sets me to rights. Roll on placebos. Particularly in opposition to a dental bill of literally thousands.

Anyways, this morning my two tiny tablets arrive in the post. One for tonight and one for tomorrow morning. Whoo-woo. It's Jekyll & Hyde time.

The Old Man and his Mush: 3 - The Miracle Ointment

Some of you have noted that The Old Man is having a bit of a medical contretemps with his face now...

Yes. I know that's why you all follow this Blog really.... for news of the sayings and doings of The Old Man!

So, OK. To be clear. He has a pre-cancerous patch of skin on his cheek. Oh don't worry, it'll come to us all: global warming, old age, sun damage. And in his case - too many illnesses and their rather savage treatments flowing under the bridge. His body is becoming a travelogue; a map of skirmishes with disease; a landscape of scars and victory flags.

He had a similar patch of skin on his cheek a while ago, and they cut it out. But he's noticed some's come back, and it itches in the sun. "This time," say the Doctors, "It's something different." And rather than cut it out as before, they've prescribed this Imiquod cream - which he has to use on his Mush each night, five days a week, for six weeks.

Monday night he starts the Battle of the Patch by breaking open the Miracle Cream and dabbing it on. He's not looking forward to this - but so far his mush is all in one piece.

The Old Man's Mush : Part 2

I know I complain a bit about hospitals and such-like. But I want to be loyal and true to 'em, really.

We go off yesterday... the 50 mile round trip to the Main Hospital for The Old Man's skin thing... We get Big Sis to come and pick us up and take us there. The Old Man clocks in and Big Sis and me go off to spend (or waste, according how you look at it) some time wandering around - before we go back and see if the Bandaged One is ready for collection.

So an hour or more later, walking back to the Skin Department... we find The Old Man walking towards us.

"Good timing." say I.

Big Sis says... "He hasn't got a dressing on his mush."

And indeed he hasn't. Because they haven't cut anything out. Because the biopsy said "It's not that sort of thing." Instead he's got a prescription for some 'orrible cream which he has to smear on that bit of phizog... for six weeks.

So if we had known... then Big Sis needn't have done an even longer round trip for her, because The Old Man could have driven himself.

It does wear you down a bit. There's always some kind of mix-up.

The Old Man and his Mush

Just to interrupt my own tirade.
We are off again to Hospital for The Old Man
to get his face sorted out.

The Skin Lot there eventually remembered him and his itchy spot (see this Post). (Hrrmph!) And yes, it is a bit dodgy - so off he goes to get it cut out.
It's not really dreadful they say.
And he has had it removed before.
But the rascal came back didn't it.

So I'm waiting for Big Sis who has kindly offered to drive us there and back this afternoon.

The Old Man and the Surgeon

Hello. Just to say to "Old Man Watchers" everywhere, that we did visit the The Old Man's Heart Surgeon yesterday - two hours drive away....

The Old Man actually succeeded in seeing The Man Himself. And the Surgeon is pleased with his progress. And says not to worry about this Heart Failure business. There is every reason to think that his heart can still improve it's condition somewhat - with the drug regime and so on. He is happy with the level of drugs that The Old Man is on at present. Do you feel this? Do you feel that? Don't worry... and

- in the manner of the medical god that he is .....

"Go live your life and enjoy it."

I hear this news and still shake my head in a degree of confusion over who to believe over Old Man's prognosis. (Remember I was a bit gloomy after his last session with the Heart Nurse? Click here for reminder.) But what matters to people in these situations is the context of their discussions. If you live with compromised health, the psychological and emotional aspects can't be forgotten.

And The Old Man is much jollier after his chat with The Surgeon.

Ssh! Nursey is Incognito

I think I'm putting in my last appearance in this attire.

Why? Ask you.

Because I'm frightened of the litigation.

Maybe you missed the news story? Earlier this month the Red Cross forced a panto production in Glasgow to change their nurse's costume which was.... somewhat like mine. Apparently putting a red cross on a nurse's costume when it is not being worn by a Red Cross Nurse... is violating the Geneva Convention.

I thought the Geneva Convention was about how you treated prisoners of war - and torture - and extraordinary rendition and stuff. But apparently its principles extend to pantomime costume also. You can click here and read the article if you don't believe me.

Whatever. I don't want to be arrested and flown to Guantanamo because of my significant attire.

"Ho-hum." You say "Why you wearing it anyway? The Old Man's not sick is he?"

No he ain't really. He's just been to see his Heart Nurse (hope she's wearing the right uniform or there'll be trouble) and she says he needs to take some more water pills for a few days cos she thinks there's some fluid in his lungs... And she airily says that's how it will be from now on.... and gradually it sinks in that there is no return to pre-op status for The Old Man. This is his condition now. Officially a "heart failure" patient. Where did all the ..."Let's see how he is six months after the op" talk go?

Now Heart Nurse says she hadn't been told about his original stay in the Heart Op hospital? Can't believe that. Certainly the locum Heart Nurse who made the first visit knew. I get so sick of the lack of communication.

Meanwhile The Old Man is wondering if he is ever going to get the results of the biopsy on his mush cos the cut has healed and it's starting to itch again. He looks up the hospital department in the book.... and there ain't no phone number.... Quelle surprise.

But don't think, for one moment, that I support this government's NHS plans. Cos I don't.

Anyway. On the more amusing medical side ....

We's both a bit addicted to "House" - the American TV series with a misanthropic wunderkind doctor, played with great conviction by Hugh Laurie. We have to watch it on DVD since Sky bought it for broadcast over here. And nothing with Rupert Murdoch's signature on it is allowed into The Old Man's house.

For those who don't know the gist - each episode contains a patient with a puzzling and increasingly deteriorating medical condition... the team swaps investigations, procedures, drugs, arguments and side-swipes until, in a moment of off-duty chat, realisation of the underlying medical problem comes to Dr. Gregory House. (When he has finished toying with the lives of his work colleagues and sole friend, that is.)

Since The Old Man has been watching this latest DVD series, he runs a check list:

"Had that."

"Yes."

"Oh. Yep that's me."

Last night The Old Man scores "lymphoma", "warfarin", and "mitral heart valve failure". It's like winning a triple word score in Scrabble... or getting the final number in "Bingo" .... or... No I can't... that would be too..... "House!"

Shouting and Waving

The latest trick that The Old Man is playing on me - is one of growing deaf. This is a periodic habit. His perfect Virgoan earholes and their twisting byways are wonderfully tuned for his woofers, tweeters, and hi-fi-ness but the day to day maunderings of the Greydoll gradually lose their power to penetrate His Majesty's hearing.

It is true that The Old Man has always been a martyr to wax. And one nurse says "Yes, time to do something about that." But the latest says that all is OK in there.

I panic. I see myself doomed to a life of poking him in the back to make him turn around and look at me when I'm speaking. And none of this is helped by his infuriating propensity for ..... talking. I mean, I enter the room to tell him something and he is already speaking - with his eyes still glued to the telly or his newspaper. Leaving me gasping and flapping like a stranded fish.

Please, please, don't do this to me. Don't leave me with a deaf chatterbox. Please find and extricate some bungage from those earholes. Please let him hear me once more. Blood pressure, warfarin, heart dodginess, general occasional frailty. OK. OK. I've accepted that. Nursey stands to attention. But please don't bless me with deafness on The Old Man's part.

I see it now. Greydoll quietly expiring in the corner of the room underneath a fallen wardrobe or something. The Old Man, still delivering a lecture on the failings of the current government whilst absorbed by the television screen. Completely oblivious to the Greydoll's fate.

Despite all her shouting and waving.

The State of The Old Man

OK. I give up. Some of you probably want to know about The Old Man's health progress. The truth is - that I am not sure really.

Everyone we meet, who knows him, says how well he is looking - that it is unbelievable that he could have been so ill this summer. He is doing more and more. Some cooking now. Sunday, he took pity on an Old Grey Doll and did the washin' up.

But he has his flakier days.

Last week he trots along to the Heart Nurse, for the second of his regular four-weekly visits.... And she tells him that his heart is worse on the function front than it was on his last visit. And he comes home and mentions this to me. And I feel like clocking her one.

Medical people don't appear to have any idea what it means for someone who is battling away on the health front - when they airily make a bald statement which they believe to be factually correct, but can be somewhat brutal. I mean, good for them. I admire their medical skills and knowledge. But they know how to take the precious wind out of a previously billowing sail.

Chugging along, we thought we were. Chugging along.

The Old Man is philosophical. And brings to bear upon the problem his years of experience of being poked about and scanned for this and that. In particular, he says, the scan that she's basing her pronouncement upon could be different each time you take it... and the technician who did it recently was different from the one who did the scan in August. And it can be their difference of interpretation alone that could emphasise that difference.

See how subtle we get when we are trying to "be reasonable" about stuff?

But I'm still growling and snarling. I could swing for the Nurse and I could swing for The Old Man's Cardiologist.

Because what the whole medical world agrees upon.... or at least that portion of it which has examined him.... is that he needs to have another drug reinstated as soon as possible. This is the drug that his Cardiologist said needed to be reinstated back in August when he saw The Old Man. But the Cardiologist refused to prescribe it. (see the Old Man's Prescription Post). He says the prescribing is for the Heart Nurse to do.

The Heart Nurse does indeed want The Old Man to be taking this drug. But it's not actually in her power to generate the prescription. The prescription, she says, must come from the GP.

Now the GP wants him to be on this drug also (as does the Surgeon) but..... he thinks he will just write to the Cardiologist to make sure.... As will the Heart Nurse.

How long will this circular "pass the prescription parcel" be going on for?

And it's not as if this is a new drug for The Old Man. He was on it before the operation. They all think he should be on it now. So what's the problem?

In truth, people, this and the distraction of Mrs Doonuthin distracted state and her technical preoccupations..... is why I haven't been posting quite so often this last week. I am feeling a bit anxious I expect. A little crestfallen. A little like a Grey Doll living with an Old Man.

Certainly, when The Heart Nurse's view is recounted to me by The Old Man, I feel a little low.
Then in recounting to The Old Man why I feel a little low..... I shout myself into a headache.

The optician has suggested that I get my blood pressure checked. Because of the pretty little lights that I see running along across my vision every now and then.

"Though it's probably a headacheless migraine." she says.

Oh, forget it. Getting my blood pressure checked - would just raise my blood pressure.