The Best and the Worst of the NHS

Mick the porter is a cheery chap. He's come to take me down to xray.
It's Saturday; Day two after my operation. Mick and Nurse Alice coax and cajole me into a wheelchair. I'm reluctant to move too much. Last night whilst the nurses where getting me back into bed I experienced pain like I have never known before. Trust me I'm no wimp - I have fillings at the dentist without any anaesthetic... But whilst sitting on the edge of the bed the nurses started to turn my legs to swing them into bed, unfortunately I didn't turn my bum and hips at the same time. It felt as if someone had poured petrol down my legs from hip to toe and then set fire to it - so I had this wave of burning pain moving down my legs - it took my breath away to say the least.
Anyway the result of that experience is that I am now a little reluctant to do anything that involves swinging my legs. Nurse Alice was there last night and she seems to understand. Between them they get me into the wheelchair and off we go xray bound!

Mick is obviously very experienced at wheeling patients and wheelchairs around the hospital - as we approach a set of double doors at some considerable speed he senses me tensing up and reassures me...

"Don't worry mate I haven't crashed a patient into these doors for... Oh at least an hour!"

At the last second he swings the wheelchair round and reverses me through the doors. He's smiling and although my heart rate is through the roof I find myself smiling as well and I know I'm in safe hands.When we arrive at the xray department there is a queue of three other wheelchair bound patients and various walking wounded waiting to be xrayed. He parks me next to the other wheelchairs and with a cheery 'See you later' heads off into the bowels of the hospital.
The doors to the xray room are wide open. It's being cleaned. So we know we are in for a bit of a wait. I chat happily to the hip replacement next to me. She's even younger than I am. Thirty Eight! The knee replacement in front of me is a bit grumpy - he's got a real downer on NHS food and is having a Kentucky Fried food parcel brought in tonight. The other wheelchair is occupied by a leg in plaster covered in graffiti - he's reading the Sun and wearing a baseball cap. Strangely he ignores the rest of us. After twenty minutes or so the xray room doors are closed and things start to move.The graffiti leg goes in first. He comes out some time later looking very pale. His baseball cap is on his lap and the Sun newspaper is nowhere to be seen. He's swearing under his breath. He looks at us and shakes his head as a porter wheels him away.
"Well!" exclaims the knee replacement "He's not a happy chappy is he!"
The young hip replacement is next. I can hear raised voices from within the xray room - all is not well.
When she eventually emerges she's in tears.
"What on earth happened?" I ask nervously.
She's sobbing now and almost unable to speak.
"Expected me to get on the table without any help... she didn't help at all... just stood there while I struggled..."
"What?" I'm stunned by this and knowing how I struggled last night I have to say that I have a feeling of impending doom.

It's my turn now.
"Right!" I say "We'll see about that!"
A porter wheels me in an parks me a good few feet away from the xray table and departs without speaking to the commandant of camp xray. I get the feeling people are a bit scared of her.
I turn my head and there she is... She's big and menacing, yet her eyes are bovine, dull and lifeless.
I got the impression that here was a woman who didn't really want to be here.
"Lie on the table for me." She's going through the motions.
"Given that I had a hip replacement two days ago how do you propose I do that?" I thought it was a pretty good opening line.
She pushes the wheelchair closer to the table.

"Thanks!" Trust me - sarcasm is wasted here.

I concede at this point that I might have to at least try. She's standing there just watching me.I stand and shuffle to the edge of the table. With a bit of effort I get my bum parked. I try to lift my legs attempting to swing them around.My worst fear is realised as fire like pain spreads down my legs, I gasp and give in, putting my feet firmly back on the ground.
She hasn't moved. Her expression hasn't changed.
"OK now either you're going to have to help me here or you'd better go and get someone else to help me. I cannot and will not do this unaided!"
She walks out without a word.

"I don't believe it!" (Oh no I've turned into Victor Meldrew!)

After several minutes she returns accompanied by a tiny smiling nurse. The nurse reassures me and gently, expertly assists me onto the table.She waits patiently until the xrays are done and then helps me back into my wheelchair. She is all grace and professionalism. She is what makes the NHS the envy of the world.I realise that in this room I have the best and the worst of the NHS.

I realise too that the NHS is not about money and budgets, targets and league tables, policies and regulations; It's about people.

So; To the bovine workers who are just going through the motions - please leave and get a job in a factory somewhere.

To those people who care day in and out, to the doctors and nurses, cleaners, administrators, porters, managers. To those people who believe in what they do, who want to make a difference and do make a difference - Respect!

Well - it is the NHS you know!

Guilty Pleasures.

Go on admit it! You have a whole raft of guilty pleasures hidden away - things that you adore in secret. Pleasures that you indulge in whenever you get the chance but wouldn't admit to anyone!


I do. Lets see...


I like the Xfactor! I can't believe Austin got knocked out so early! What I really like, what amazes me every year is that the contestants, love 'em or loathe 'em are singing live. Live!

How many of your so called superstars can actually do that? I've heard old Madge live and trust me it wasn't good. I even picked up my phone last year and voted for Leona Lewis!


I'd kill for Jaffa cakes! In order to beat my daughter to them I hide the packet in my desk. I know I'm a terrible father!


I'm a bit of a sucker for romantic comedies... Sleepless in Seattle... Love Actually... Four Weddings... you know that sort of thing!


ABBA! I know... I am truly ashamed... but there is something, I don't know... happy about their music that always gets to me and I end up, heaven forbid, singing along! This is not something that any other living human being should experience... me singing... Yuck!


What else... Hmmm... I'd love to learn to dance.... say the Salsa... or even a bit of ballroom! I think it would be really neat when you go out with your loved one to be able to just get up and dance simply for the fun of it!


Talking of dancing I suppose I should add the film 'Dirty Dancing' to my list of guilty pleasures.
If I could get half the reaction from women that He gets when he looks in her eyes like that then I'd die a happy man... Come on! You know what I mean!


And one final one. One that I have just discovered after returning to work last Friday.
I actually like the people I work with and I've missed them.


But, of course, if you mention any of these to anyone I'll deny them totally and completely!
I've got my reputation to think of after all!

The things they don't tell you...

In no particular order...

1 - Painkillers in high doses cause constipation

I've been chewing on something like 4000mg of paracetamol and 240mg of Codeine Phosphate

a day since the operation so no wonder my innards have been somewhat quiet recently;

quiet... they've been bloody comatose!

So now I'm off to the Docs to get something to free things up... if you get my drift.

2 - Having a catheter removed can be painful...

Nurse Gladys distinctly said it wouldn't hurt. OK I accept that my definition of pain may differ
to some extent from hers but trust me that made my eyes water...

3 - Having the drains removed can be VERY painful...

I had two tubes inserted just above the wound site - they are put there to drain blood / fluid
from the wound and this helps to reduce bruising... so far so good.

Two nurses came round to remove the drain. It was a bit like 'Good cop, Bad cop...'

"Ok Robin you wont feel a thing..." Nurse Crippen says as she's preparing the swabs and trays
and whatever instruments of pain she enjoys using.

Nurse Alice leans over and whispers confidentially "It can hurt sometimes... especially when
She does it...

Nurse Alice was right... That was a real toe curler!

4 - Real men don't look good in stockings

Look at the evidence...

I mean.... look at it... I have one elephant sized leg and one wimpy little leg. I look like a reject from the Rocky Horror Show! (there is a full length shot of me and my stockings but it's just too horrible to publish here! Private viewings can be arranged if required...)

I rest my case...

5 - Morphine makes you giggle

Yes of course it does... everyone knows that... The liquid Morphine that I had the Saturday
after the op didn't take any pain away... But who cares! It's Sooooooo funny! Ha ha! He he!

Does it affect everyone like this?

6 - Simple things please simple minds...

I thought this was highly appropriate...

Some people didn't get it?

7 - Laxatives in the right doses can have the desired effect.

Sorry got to go...

Me and My Arrow...

You may have gathered from previous posts that I am something of a gadget freak. I like technology. I appreciate how sometimes man invents a new technology just because he can and then sets about finding a way to use it in practical everyday ways. I like the way he keeps trying and trying until the world finally gets it. And I particularly like the way he solves problems using innovative technology.

Imagine then how my gadget loving brain was going to solve one of my real worries over this operation. I'm having a hip replacement. My right hip to be precise. Not my left hip. That was my concern.

What happens if they do the wrong one? How can I be sure that they'll do the right one - I mean the correct one?

I decided first off that I could encase my good leg in a metal jacket locked with a combination that only I know... Hmmm... probably a bit over ambitious for a man with my DIY track record. How about an alarm system wired to my good leg... Mmmmm me and electricity? I think I'll pass on that one too! No I need something simple... something foolproof... something that even the consultant couldn't miss...

Well... It is the NHS you know...

A message from K2 basecamp...

K2, the mountain, peaks at 8,611 metres above sea level.

The distance from K2 to the bathroom in Tye Green Ward is about fifty feet. Of course this particular K2 is not the mountain. It's my hospital bed. I think you'd probably figured something along those lines already...

I'm out of bed; It's day two according to the NHS way of counting... so it's actually day four.

I'm sitting in my chair listening to 'two knees' telling a story about using a bedpan (these are very exciting times.) The part of the story where he slides off and sends the contents flying is actually quite amusing!

However, a part of my brain has already latched onto this situation and has figured that my chances of reaching the lavvy unaided in time are pretty remote and that if nature calls unexpectedly I am, to use the vernacular, up s*&^ creek without a paddle.

I could just give in, I suppose, and ask for a bedpan when the need arises - but hey! Where's the story in that?

I know this is dumb but this is the kind of thing that motivates me. I will not and cannot contemplate the indignity of having to use a bedpan - I know! I said it was dumb but there is no way as long as there is strength in me that I am not going to the loo under my own steam!

Physio are due to see me in a couple of hours - they'll get me to stand using a frame and take a few steps. Yeah right!

I ask the nurse to pass me the walking frame - she's busy and doesn't think twice. I haul myself up and by the time physio arrive I'm smiling again - I've been to the loo and back again twice - not to do anything but just to know I can do it.

After she has taught me to stand and take a few steps she says that I look tired.

I am.

But I'm fired up as well - I know I'm on my way back now.

From the Diary of a Madman...

I've had a bit of a nap. The op seems like hours ago and now I start to examine the damage.
I've got tubes coming out of me in all directions and from all sorts of places.
I've got saline and morphine drips going into my left arm and there are two drain tubes coming out of my right hip - these disappear, at least from my restricted point of view, under the bed and into the floor, the tubes carrying on underground for miles until they connect with still more tubes from hundreds more patients eventually poring into a massive steaming subterranean cauldron...

What? Sorry - don't know what happened there... Ahem...

Where was I? Oh yes - So my left hand starts to explore and finds another tube. I give it a tug and wince as the ball of fire travels up my todger, past the crown jewels and explodes somewhere close to what I guess is my bladder!
"Ah! That'll be the catheter then!" I giggle slightly.

The nurse comes round and picks up the catheter tube - she is staring intently at it. I smile sweetly and try desperately not to pee... And I giggle again. I think this is very funny. She stomps off.

Opposite me 'two knees' is sitting on his bed with his legs up - he has a large blue elastic band that stretches round both feet and he is pulling on it like a catapult.
"On me 'ed Son" I say out loud - everyone stops and looks at me - there are now hundreds of people in the ward most of whom I know. My giggling breaks free again and turns rapidly into
hysterics, uncontrollable waves of side splitting laughter - however I am the only one laughing. Everyone else has gathered around my bed and is staring menacingly at me... They start to chant "Pull it out... Pull it out..."

I'm still giggling as everything goes black again...

Don't you just hate it when dreams end like that?

Don't blink or you'll miss it!

I've been pursuing this operation for years. It's been month's in the planning. Countless weeks of preparation. I've made hundreds of phone calls over the years, sent dozens of emails - Good Lord! I've even used one of those long pointy things called pens to write real letters to real people. Over time I must have seen a dozen or so different Consultants all over the country. I've watched videos of the op - read books, articles - I've even considered doing it myself! It has, to say the least, been prominent in my life for quite sometime.

Today is OP day... And here I am sitting in bed on my ward - I've just sent a text message to Lin to say I'm OK, that the op is done and all is well... and yet I feel robbed...

Let me explain:

I was expecting Holby City or for those old enough to remember - Emergency Ward 10. I wanted dashing surgeons and glamorous nurses, flashing lights and drama - I wanted to see the mighty machines that were going to keep me alive throughout my ordeal - to see tubes going everywhere carrying liquids of many colours and shiny instruments ready to cut into my flesh...

What I got was this...

I'm lying on a trolley surrounded by three guys in silly hats and even sillier glasses. One leans over and says something like "We're just going to lower the back down Robin and then we can give you something to help you sleep..."
I blink...
The guy in the funny hat has turned into a smiling nurse in a funny hat.
"Hello Robin... All done now!"

I lift my head
"You're kidding me... that can't possibly be it..."

I blink again and I'm back on my ward... game over... and bugger me I missed it!
I don't even feel groggy.

So if you want to know what it's like to have an operation these days I'm afraid I'm not the man to ask - haven't a clue... not the foggiest. I just blinked and that was it.

Admit One:

I feel like a spare part at a wedding... a tiny component that has just been delivered to the factory, about to be devoured by the merciless machine. It's Wednesday; the day of my admission to hospital for a complex total hip replacement. I know there are people having bigger ops, I know that in the scheme of things this is pretty routine. The staff in the Admissions Unit are very helpful, and cheerful. But they're obviously very busy. There's a lot us coming in today and we've all got to be processed. There are forms to be filled in and signed, details to be checked, patients bags have to be collected and taken to wards, patients too have to be dispatched to the correct places. It's very efficient. Very machine like. Very production line... new batch in... chug... chug... chug... My head is in a whirl. I feel for a moment that I want to baulk against it, to rebel.
"Stop! Hang on... What's going to happen to me..."
But the production line rolls on. I know that some of the staff have already spoken to me - I couldn't tell you what they said to me. I have this terrible feeling of dread as someone calls out my name. Even though Lin is beside me I feel very alone. It's my turn to be taken to my ward.
This is it then.

I don't know how we got to the ward or which way we went - it was a complete blur.
But here I am sat by my bed in my pyjamas; Lin has just left and if the truth were to be told I am absolutely terrified. I don't much feel like being funny. I'm writing this using good old pen and paper and I'm trying to drag my thoughts to a nicer place. I look around the ward. There's an older guy in the corner who had his op this morning. He's sitting up chatting to a nurse whilst she checks his blood pressure. She takes her time. She listens to him, smiles and chats gently away to him.
Opposite there's a chap who had both knees replaced just three days ago - he's debating the current state of the economy with a nurse and an auxiliary - he's animated and clearly in full flow. They are trying to get him back into bed... Everybody is smiling.

I look at the scene in front of me and at last I know I'll be OK. How could I not be. It is the NHS you know.

How tall is yours?

Twenty inches... I can't say I've given much thought to twenty inches before. It's not a measurement that has had much relevance in my life. Recently, however, I've become somewhat obsessed with it; suddenly twenty inches is very important to me.

My wife has found me on several occasions wandering around the house, tape measure in hand,
muttering like a noughties version of Catweazle...

"Tchh! Nothing works... nothings right..."

Do you know how high your toilet seats are? How about the height of your bed? Or the height of your favourite chair in the living room?

Whilst it may appear that I've succumbed to some bizarre form of OCD there is a modicum of sense and reason in my apparent madness.

You see, when I return home after my operation I have to ensure that, for six weeks or so, my knees never get higher than my hips... (I'm not entirely sure that my knees have ever been higher than my hips - I'm just not that kind of bloke!)

Anyway... the point is I have to be careful about how and where I sit. My bed has to be twenty inches high, the chair I sit in has to be twenty inches high and, of course, there will be times, sorry to mention this, when I want to sit on the loo... and guess what? Yep - the toilet has to be twenty inches high. Now that is certainly something I'd never given a moments thought to... ever! Who thinks of this stuff?

Imagine my horror, then, when I discovered that my toilets are painfully short - four inches short of the required standard to be precise! I feel so... so... inadequate! I never realised...

Of course, the NHS being the resourceful organisation that it is has come to my rescue and delivered two of these stylish looking devices to my home along with a seat for me to use whilst washing (the height of luxury I think!)

My nineteen year old daughter and her boyfriend were home from Uni when the delivery arrived.

I wasn't.

By all accounts my daughter was so overwhelmed by the elegance and style of these articles that she wept for quite some time. Her boyfriend seemed to be affected in a similar way!

Strange creatures teenagers!

Gadget Man cometh!

Men and their gadgets eh?

Let's see: I have an iPod, an eReader, a mobile phone, a laptop, a collection of USB pen drives, including one the of the latest 16 gigabyte ones, a desktop computer, an Xbox 360 (with wireless of course), several stereo players dotted around the house, digital photo frame, digital cameras times four (or is it five?), card readers, dozens of memory cards... You get the picture.


Now if all goes well I'm going to be in hospital for roughly six or seven days. So which of my gadgets am I going to take with me? Lets eliminate the obvious no-no's straight off the bat:

The xBox is connected to the TV and sound system so that's out. The desk top computer... too big, too many wires, too many other bits and pieces attached to it (three external drives, a usb hub, the network router, graphics pad and printer).

The stereo players... I've got an iPod.


The laptop? It has been suggested that I could actually carry on working on the day of my admission and if I were to have a local anaesthetic I could be typing away during the operation ( thanks Boss!) and throughout the rest of my stay in hospital. I was planning on using the laptop whilst in hospital to write this blog... I think I'll take a notepad and a pen in with me!


So no laptop, no desktop; therefore no need for the usb pen drives and any of the other associated gubbins.


I can't see me running around the hospital with my camera taking all kinds of pictures for my portfolio so the cameras and memory cards are staying at home.

As for the digital photo frame - well I have photos of my loved ones on my phone so I guess I can manage without the digital photo frame for a while. (Ahhhh what a sweet man!)


What does that leave me with then? Lets see:


My eReader - I currently have about one hundred and twenty books on it - some of which I actually want to read! Battery life is brilliant - I've used it almost every day since I got it in July
and I've re-charged it once... once! And that was only because I wanted to see if the charger worked! Battery life really is measured in weeks. The screen is excellent even in bright sunlight
and it's very easy to use. If you like reading get one!


See http://www.bookeen.com/ebook/ebook-reading-device.aspx (I should be on commission...)


My iPod - It's a one hundred and sixty gig iPod Classic and I love it! I have almost my entire music collection on it along with assorted music videos, podcasts and movies. I'll put some more
movies and TV programmes on it this weekend so I'll have plenty to watch or listen to!


Of course I'll have my mobile with me but I don't think I'll be allowed to use it too much inside the hospital - I'll hop outside every now and then to check for text messages and missed calls but I may be out of touch most of the time!


That's it then - one hundred and twenty books, fifteen thousand music tracks, a hat full of music videos, a dozen or so movies and a phone I probably can't use...

What the hell am I going to do with myself?

X-Rated Pictures

Fascinating things x-rays... you can see all manner of interesting things using x-rays - including my hip bones (now you just knew I was going to mention them didn't you!)

During my pre op assessment I had to have yet another set of x-rays taken just in case anything had changed in the two months since the previous snaps were taken.

On our return from x-ray we were asked to wait in an consulting room until the consultant was ready to see us. The nurse took the x-rays and placed them on the x-ray viewing thingy mounted on the wall over the desk and off she toddles.

Now of course I have to get up and have a butchers at the x-ray hanging there.

"Look" I say knowingly to Lin "That's my leg bone... and that's my hip..."

"Yes Dear." She smiles that certain smile that wives reserve just for their hubbies.

I'm now pointing at the big knobbly bit on the end of my femur (I've got an O level in biology you know!)

"Blimey! I don't like the look of that!"

"Really?" asks Lin "What's wrong with it?"

"Well... It's all... it's all knobbly and... and..."

"That's your good leg dear..."

I carry on with the assessment of my hip x-ray in silence.

It really is fascinating looking at an x-ray of yourself. I found it really hard to associate the picture I was looking at with the bits and pieces inside of me. It's hard to relate the image of that

hip with the thing that has given me so much hassle over the years. It looks relatively harmless. It doesn't seem jagged or rough or even particularly malicious; it's just a bone. Albeit a strange shaped one. It will be interesting to compare this x-ray with one after the op... to see what they've done, you know - to make sure I get my monies worth!

After a few moments of silence a light bulb goes on in my brain...

"Lin! Take a picture... of the x-ray.. it'll be great..."

And bless her she does - out comes the mobile phone with its two mega pixel camera and she

starts snapping away...

"I could show them to your Mum or the kids - it'll be cool! Hey! I could send copies of them to... to... people... Yeah!"

"Sweetheart?" Lin is smiling that smile again.

"Yes Dear?"

"You can't show these pictures to Mum or the kids or anyone else for that matter..."

"But - why not?" I ask.

She walks up to the x-ray and points knowingly at the somewhat opaque image of my todger

resting neatly between my legs.

"Well it's not the kind of picture Mum wants to see is it!"

At which point the door opens - the consultant walks in... along with two female nurses and a startled looking junior doctor.

I'm not entirely sure what they thought - but the nurses were smiling very sweetly.

Do you think it knows...

For the past week now, as I'm psychologically preparing for the op, my hip has been letting me know that it to is not a happy bunny. It has been more than usually twitchy at night as I'm laying in bed. Not the usual 'Ah... Sorry Mate - got to move again' twitch - this is more of a 'You don't think you can get rid of me that easily do you?' sort of twitch.

In fact I think that twitch is no longer a reasonable word to use when describing my right legs nocturnal movements. Hmmm... How about 'flip' or' jump' or 'jerk'? Anyway I digress...

Walking into work this morning my fellow traveller and colleague kindly informed me that I was listing to one side rather more than usual; a fact that hadn't entirely escaped my attention owing to the fact that every time I put my weight onto the right leg it flatly refused to co-operate and informed me so by sticking a red hot ten inch blade into my hip! It's a very expressive hip!

Of course I know that for a while after the op I wont be allowed to cross my legs so to spite me the only position I can sit in now that isn't painful is... yes you guessed... with my legs crossed!

Do you think it knows?

One week to go!

A week from today I'll be sat in my shiny new hospital bed, wearing my freshly starched jim-jams clutching my brand spanking new tooth brush waiting for my fabulous all singing all dancing ceramic hip replacement. The operation is scheduled for the Thursday (2nd October 2008). I'm kind of hoping it will be an early start on 'op day'. Not that I'm keen to go under the surgeon's knife it's just that I want to get it over with A.S.A.P. and get on with the business of recovering.

You see - this has been a long time coming. During my teens I played a lot of football and did a lot of running. Both activities were always followed by periods of excruciating knee pain... (Ahhhh...)

After many visits to various specialists and after enough x-rays of my knee to make me glow in the dark the health profession in all its wisdom decided I was suffering from 'growing pains' and that my knees would eventually settle down all by themselves! We (me and my knees) were not entirely convinced by this diagnosis but went merrily along on our way hoping for better days to come! I continued to play football and would often run the seven miles or so from my home in South Shore Blackpool across town to North Shore to see my then girlfriend so I can't say that my 'knee problem' curtailed any of my activities because it didn't.


It was about ten years later that my dicky knees raised their ugly heads again - (do dicky knees have heads that can be raised?) - I was working as a postman at the time and was finding the morning deliveries more and more troublesome... now some of you that know me may just think it was my aversion to early mornings kicking in - but trust me on this one my 'knees' were really
starting to hurt again.


So off we go again on the jolly NHS trail looking for a diagnosis and treatment to rid me of these pesky knee problems. One doctor decided I was riddled with osteo-arthritis and would more than likely end up in a wheel chair so I might as well stop walking any great distance, get buses or taxis everywhere... he even offered me a walking stick... Now I'm no expert but I think he was a bit of a dick brained platypus! I spent months trying to come to terms with this outlook - I was twenty three for God sake!

I decided to change my GP at this point and registered with a surgery closer to where I lived (I had to reduce my walking after all... ;-) )
My first visit to my new GP was the turning point. Dr Brown came out with something revolutionary, something that no less than six other doctors had completely failed to grasp.
"You had Perthes disease as a child didn't you?"
"Yep... So?"
"I think we need to look at your hips..."

It turns out that the pain I was feeling in my knee was actually my body saying 'I can't make you feel the pain in the place where you are actually hurting i.e. your hip - so I'm going to send the pain signals to your knee...'
Technically its called referred pain. Whatever... Dr Brown - for connecting the dots... Thank You.

This blog is not going to be a pop at the NHS. It's just about a knackered old hip joint that's going to be replaced with a shiny new one. And about my experiences during the whole process. The good things and the bad. Warts and all.

And yes... I am scared... very scared. It is the NHS you know!