So, for the last few months, the NHS has been trying to get me into the hospital for another round of bottom invasion. For various reasons (unwillingness being one of them) I’ve not been able to schedule it properly. This time though I’d run out of excuses.
It seems like once you reach my advanced age, you have to have one every five years.
And it’s not like you can just say “No, thanks, I really don’t need it,” because they just keep scheduling you in for an appointment then sending you a letter and the nasty yellow stuff that turns your insides fluid.
So, starting yesterday afternoon (after lunch with Dawn) I stopped eating and started evacuation procedures, drinking the laxative powder that was so effective last time. This meant a lot of time on the toilet yesterday. Then, this morning, I took the second dose.
And so I spent quite a lot of the morning either running for or sitting on the toilet.
I’d planned to do it without telling Mirinda. She’s busy at work and seems to have meetings almost every day so I didn’t want to worry her. Unfortunately I put the date in our shared calendar and, unusually, she spotted the entry. So, unscheduled, she came home to take me.
The main reason she wanted to take me was so I’d have the sedation. My reportage of last time may just have convinced her that sedation is the only way to go. Of course, in order to have the sedation, the patient must have someone to take them home. I wasn’t going to have sedation.
But that all changed with the arrival of Mirinda. We took off for Frimley. She wasn’t happy that I hadn’t told her. I left her in the cafe with her laptop and phone and went in search of Endoscopy.
The department responsible for butt invasion has moved to somewhere very difficult to locate but, eventually, I managed to track it down and waited to be called forward which happened very quickly. I then went through the paperwork, had my blood pressure taken and put a big tick in the ‘sedation’ box.
I then undressed and put on the silly double hospital gown arrangement and went and joined the other chaps of my age in the small waiting area.
One chap was talking (too loudly and monotonously) to a chap on the other side of the room – why didn’t they sit next to each other? – telling him about his litany of complaints and procedures. I seriously wondered how the hell he was still alive. If you think of it, he’s had it and then had it removed in order to get another one. He must be in the BMJ as an example of Health Tenacity.
Eventually I was called to be interviewed by the guy who was going to perform the procedure. We went through the form then he become all quizzical. He couldn’t work out why I was having it. I told him it was just scheduled, that I’d not been to the doctor or anything. It was following one I’d had five years ago.
He asked if he could look at the results of my previous colonoscopy and I wholeheartedly agreed. He said if I didn’t want one and there was no immediate need, an invasive procedure should not be necessary.
Mirinda was not happy about this. In fact she had a right go at the NHS and at the guy who told me to go home and even me. I think it was partly because she’d had to come home even though she’s always happier when she’s at home. It’s also because she can’t abide hospitals. And who could blame her.
Anyway, she hit the work stuff as soon we reached home and I went into Farnham to shop.
Oh, and I did this today…