Legless and bloodied

Had my six monthly check up today, (a friend got me into this habit and I thank her for that) the nurse Elaine is a lovely lady who can bang a two foot needle in your arm without you noticing a thing. Which is just as well because I had two jabs for flu and Pneumonia. Needles don’t bother me at all which came in handy when some years ago I had my gall bladder removed and spent nearly two weeks in hospital.

The stones in my bladder had migrated along a tube that connected it to my pancreas. This tube had become blocked and as a result I suffered a bleeding great bout of pancreatitis, not to be recommended. The main symptoms of this delightful little disease are excruciating pain, nausea, hallucinations (yes it got that bad) Jaundice, your pee turns a blood colour and the other stuff looks like clay.

Whilst I was in hospital I met quite a few characters. Joe, who had the same trouble, had the bed next to mine, his skin had turned a bright yellow and his eyes glowed in the dark, which came in very handy after lights out if I hadn’t finished reading my book.

A trainee Doctor made a hash of taking Joe’s blood one morning and after using a hundred or so needles and leaving the poor lads arm battered and bruised Joe told him to piss of and find someone who knew what there were doing. He scuttered away and came back several minutes later and informed me that he was ready to take mine.

I of course declined and reminded the young thug that he was supposed to find a replacement blood taker, as per Joe’s instructions. He smiled at me and said “oh no, it was you I was supposed to do, not Joe, I got you two mixed up”. I politely told him that this was not going to happen, I had been witness to the butchery in the next bed and wasn’t prepared to undergo the same violence.

The conversation then went something like this, “but” “N0” “but” “NO” “but” “I SAID NO” there was a short pause then “I’ve been practising on an orange”. Joe nicknamed him Dartanion and thankfully he never visited us again after that, but there were other less fortunate souls on that ward who underwent torture at his hand.

The next bed on the other side was occupied by a timid chap called Louis who hated to be called Lou, so of course we did. He had been a heavy smoker all his life and had suffered several Mio cardial infarctions (that’s heart attacks to you) his lungs were on their last legs, and he had had a leg removed a couple of years before. None of this made him give up smoking though, and I suppose you have to admire his tenacity in the face of such medical adversity.

This time he was in to have tests and x-rays to discover whether or not they were going to lop of his other leg. He wasn’t a happy chap and continually wore a hangdog expression, which was made worse one morning by the bollocking he received from a consultant surgeon about his smoking. He told Lou that his one good leg wasn’t good any more and would have to be amputated at the knee. We tried to comfort Lou as best we could, but failed miserably, “you don’t understand, I can’t stop smoking, I have tried, honest I have” he told us with tears in his eyes.

Then I suppose you will just have to keep on smoking Joe told him, “oh yeah then they will take more of my legs away, and then more” He burst into tears and sobbed “when will it stop” Probably when they get to your arse I said. Joe looked at me with thunder in his bright yellow eyes, and just for a second I thought I had gone too far. Then Lou burst out laughing, he rolled about on the bed clutching his belly, and suddenly the awkwardness had gone, we laughed with him. It saved the day and thankfully Lou didn’t have to have his leg removed that time, but he only lasted a couple of years, I’m told it was cancer of the lungs that finally got him and sent him to that big fag packet in the sky.