Going into rehab

Waiting in the Fracture Clinic

This was my view for a large chunk of the afternoon. The guy on the left kept making annoying grunting noises every few minutes, putting me off my book. I often wonder why people are unaware of the little noises they make. There was a guy on the bus this afternoon, (non)personal stereo blaring out through his ears, who kept making loud noises but I assumed it was because he’s so used to being deafened by thrash metal that he doesn’t hear himself. But the guy in the waiting room was just sitting there, making little grunting noises every few minutes, driving me crazy.

Of course I was kept waiting again. My appointment was for 3:30 and I arrived at 3:20. I was called in to see Miss Nunez at 4:30. One good thing was that grunty guy went in long before I did so I was freed from his annoying habit for a lot of the time.

Sadly the grunty guy was replaced by a family of inbred hillbillies. Mum and son – she looked too old to have a child of five and he never stopped shouting and generally annoying everyone – and a couple who looked like they could have been the product of the mother and her brother.

They had the buck teeth so well emphasised by Cletus Spuckler on The Simpsons with the personalities to match. Their conversation skills were a mere notch above Carmen’s. There accents were almost enough to tempt me to shove knitting needles in my ears, point first. Fortunately I didn’t have any knitting needles.

I may be being unfair but they seemed to be the general population type of Frimley. I snapped the High Street to show how ghastly it looks.

Grimley High Street

I have to admit, not everyone I saw on the streets looked like a hillbilly but then the ones who didn’t also seemed to be passing through rather than permanent residents. A couple sitting at a bus stop, seemingly NOT waiting for a bus, could have been the result of a badly judged experiment into inbreeding. One can only hope the experiment was halted after one generation.

So I settled myself into an uncomfortable chair (not that I had a choice – they’re all pretty uncomfortable) and waited for my name to be called. When it was, I had to shake myself awake and pull urgently on my feet which had taken root in the hospital floor.

On my previous visits, I’d seen Miss Nunez’s lackeys but today she wanted to see me herself. I felt quite honoured until she told me that she likes to see patients nearing the end of their time just to keep in touch with life in the clinic. So, hey ho!

Anyway, she was very nice and we sat at her desk, looking intently at my x-rays and MRI scan results. First she looked at the initial x-ray of the break and congratulated me on doing such a thorough job of it. She pointed out the bones and where they should be. She also pointed out my ‘Terry Thomas sign’.

This was what alerted her to the possibility of an operation on my thumb in the first place. It indicates that the scapholunate ligament has been torn. It leaves a black void which is why it’s called the ‘Terry Thomas sign’. Miss Nunez told me that because ‘youngsters’ have no idea who Terry Thomas is, it is sometimes called the ‘Madonna sign’. We both thought this was a pity because TT was a wonderful comic actor who should never be forgotten.

A wonderful comic actor

The thing is, as Miss Nunez pointed out as we progressed through the x-rays, it was clearly an old injury and long passed fixing except with a robot hand. By comparison, the rest of the wrist was looking very good and progressing beautifully.

She told me that the continued swelling was natural and the lack of mobility would gradually cease as I used it more often. When I told her about the hand starting to type of its own accord, she smiled and said that was very good. She assured me that the ache I felt the next day was because my muscles are just getting used to it all again.

The MRI scan was amazing! Because the scanner takes a series of images down through the hand, the images can be slowly stripped out so each part of the hand can be seen as if being peeled away. We could see the tendons, the blood vessels, the bones, the lack of a scapholunate ligament, everything. I told her it looked well cool and she agreed wholeheartedly, scrolling her mouse back and forth going in and out of my wrist like some medieval torturer.

The wonderful show of technology almost made up for the long wait to see it. In fact, the long wait was so long that by the time I came out, the receptionist had gone home for the night. Miss Nunez wants to see me in a few months but I couldn’t make the appointment without a receptionist so they’ll let me know.

Another appointment I had to make was for some hand therapy. For this I had to go to the physiotherapy department (I’m really getting to know my way around the hospital as nothing is close to anything else and requires a grand tour every time I have to visit someone else) which doesn’t appear to have a swimming pool.

I booked it and then took myself home to a pair of relieved poodles, one with a bucket on her head.

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Earlier in the day, I’d positioned the camera in the kitchen because it was raining lightly and managed to capture a few gold finches feeding together.

Busy feeder

It’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow so I’m hoping for some great bird shots.

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1 Response to Going into rehab

  1. mum cook says:

    Very good and interesting visit to the hospital, great picture of the Gold Finch its as if they knew you wanted them to gather to feed.
    love mum

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