Dr, Noooooooooo!!

Yes, I know it's been a while but I've not been a well boy!

Whilst the rest of you were exacting revenge on the turkey population and practising the sincere thank you's to various aunties for the lovely socks, scented drawer-liners etc, I was doing a very good impression of John Hurt just before the Alien burst forth from his body. Suffice to say, I spent a wonderful 36 hours in hospital being occasionally poked, prodded but generally ignored.

Now, this hospital lark is all very well: nice comfy bed, lots of hot drinks, TV, solicitous nurses and, for some reason, what appear to be lots of grey cardboard hats lying around. Nice, that is, unless you're me!

• Bed like a lump of concrete and a sheet which had a mind of its own
• Nil by mouth, just in case they had to operate, resulting in strangely erotic dreams involving tea bags and chimpanzees. I did have a drip for a while but then I had the temerity to move and it came out and was never replaced.
• The TV was cleverly designed to move to every angle apart from a comfortable viewing one and then kept sending messages every 5 minutes saying words along the lines of 'We are sorry to interrupt this total bollocks which passes for Christmas viewing but would like you to give us several more credit cards in order that this audio-visual experience (as well as our astronomical profits) can be enhanced'.
• The nurses seemed to spend most of their time scoffing chocolates whilst occasionally shoving something in my ear. I assume it was a thermometer although it looked suspiciously like an electric toothbrush with a piping nozzle sellotaped to it.

I was reliably informed I had all the symptoms of a classic gall bladder baddie and an ultrasound would soon confirm this. When I eventually had the ultrasound I was told that my gall bladder was a shining example to all gall bladders everywhere. Were there a Gall Bladder of the Year contest, I would be a dead cert for the regional finals, if not the National Championship - typical!
Mind you, the Royal Sussex County Hospital is a large place and by the time I had been wheeled through innumerable corridors, 5 lifts and a short trip over a road (clad only in my rather fetching PJ shorts and tee shirt), hypothermia was my main concern.

Anyway, I was told I could go home and an endoscopy would be arranged in due course.

By sheer coincidence, I has a follow-up appointment today with the same consultant regarding some previous abscess problems on my lower spine (how delicately put). OK, just above my bum.

I got to the hospital to be met with a sign saying "Waiting time for car park is an hour" so craftily went and parked down by the seafront, happy to undertake a brisk stroll in the Winter sun. The same Winter sun that disappeared the moment I parked and was replaced by a small but very wet hurricane.

The appointment was for the PM clinic and timed at 2.10. 'Ah,' thought I, 'let's assume afternoon clinic starts at 2 so I shouldn't have to wait long.' I got to the waiting room and was met by a sea of faces so settled myself down for a long wait. I plugged in my iPod and started watching The Simpsons, safe in the knowledge that I had 22 episodes to keep me going, and then realised that I wouldn't hear my name being called. I reluctanly removed the earpieces and suddenly became aware that about a dozen oldies all around me had been watching entranced at this new-fangled gadget and, by switching it off, I was ruining their quality of waiting life.

Still, my need was greater than theirs and I watched bemused as they all went flying over to the table for the one copy of Peoples Friend circa 1997 left available as entertainment now that I had disappointed them. I say "flying", it was more of an orchestrated ballet of zimmers, trusses and umbrellas. Oh, to be old!

Right, next problem: I wanted a wee. What if I went and they called my name? I sat there for ages, silently berating myself that I hadn't gone when I first thought of it as, now time had passed on, they were even more likely to call it. As my bladder was starting to ache, they called me. At last!

I went into the examination room and Mr H, the consultant, appeared. As I had sat in the waiting area, I conjectured on the possibilities of a posse of students all clustered round gazing at my nether regions when my time came. As it happened, I was wrong: there was just one single, solitary, gorgeous young lady. Aaargh!

Mr H had a good look as I lay on my side facing the wall. I'm sure I heard a phone camera click so, if there is ever the posterial equivalent of FaceBook (ArseBook?) on the internet, she's the one to blame. By the way, mine is the pert one with the small downy patch of hair in the small of the back!

He is apparently worried about fistulas and has arranged an MRI scan to determine what surgery is necessary. I was in and out in about 5 minutes so it's now down to another several month wait for that presumably? Ho hum!

Still, it got me blogging again so it's not all bad :)