ill

All posts tagged ill

When a virus hijacks your brain.

Published September 1, 2017 by Naomi Rettig

(In bed, ill with a high temperature)

Brain: Ooh isn’t it cold.

Me: No.

Brain: It is.

Me: It’s not cold, I’ve got a temperature.

Brain: It’s freezing.

Me: (touching head to confirm) No, I’m boiling.

Brain: What’s that noise?

Me: (listening carefully) I can’t hear anything?

Brain: Can’t you hear that? The sound of your bones knocking together as they shiver?

Me: Pack it in.

Brain: Why don’t you put some socks on, your feet are cold aren’t they?

Me: (sighs) Yes, my feet feel cold now that you mention it. (gets out of bed and puts socks on)

Brain: (sings Vanilla Ice’s ‘Ice Ice Baby’)

Me: (back in bed) What are you doing now? I need to sleep.

Brain: I’m singing cold songs. Because it’s cold.

Me: Please stop.

Brain: Why don’t you put a nighty on. It’s cold and you’re nude, that’s just silly.

Me: I’m not nude, I have socks on. (gets out of bed and puts nighty on, gets back into bed)

(One minute and thirty-nine seconds tick by)

Brain: (sings Ultravox’s Vienna)

Me: That’s not a cold song, why are you singing that?

Brain: Midge Ure looked chilly in the video, so it’s a cold song.

Me: Stop talking, and singing, I need to sleep.

Brain: It’s too cold to sleep. But if you put another layer on you’ll feel all snugly and fall asleep.

Me: Ok, I give in.

Brain: Good, if you get any colder you’ll need the toilet.

Bladder: Hello!

Me: Great. I suppose you want to be emptied?

Bladder: Yes. Isn’t it cold.

Me: Don’t you start. (Empties bladder, layers up, back into bed) Can I sleep now?

Bladder: (snoring)

Brain: Of course. Snuggle down. Right under the duvet for maximum warmth.

(waking six hours later in a pool of sweat)

Me: Oh sweet horse chestnuts! I’m roasting alive! (fumbles feebly to remove socks while fighting heat fatigue)

Brain: Ha! Got you!

Bladder: Hello!

Advertisements

A Colonoscopy Adventure

Published January 19, 2015 by Naomi Rettig

I arrived bright and early at Nevil Hall Hospital. When I say bright I of course mean the day was bright not me. I was feeling hollow and fantasizing about soup – carrot and coriander. I also had the shakes. My body wasn’t enjoying the effects of no food for twenty hours and it certainly didn’t like the lava waterfall the night before courtesy of ‘klean prep’. Horrific and no more will be said of that.
I reported to the desk of the LLanwenarth day surgery suite, which makes it sound quite glamorous, and waited my turn. A lovely nurse called Judy checked me in and took all my details, my allergies: penicillin, animal saliva and fur, broad beans. I’m guessing they only needed to know about the penicillin allergy. Judy then discovered my blood pressure was a little high – no surprise as I was in the middle a panic attack. I was given wrist bands on each arm (appearing like I’d been to a really good festival) and an extra red one alerting anyone of my penicillin allergy. I was disappointed I didn’t have one alerting people to not feed me broad beans.
Judy then left the room for me to strip off and change into the fashionable hospital gown. I’m being sarcastic, it was anything but fashionable. I know these have to be low budget but surely they could find material suppliers with cheap funky designs. I’d want disco cats on mine. After a quick sit down in a side waiting room, doing some last minute Facebooking and a quick Kindle read, I was whisked into the treatment room.
My veins are cowardly and like to play hide and seek and thought it would be great fun to disappear completely. It took a full ten minutes for the surgeon to get a cannula in a vein. The nurse had looked first and decided she’d leave it to the surgeon as she couldn’t find any at all to even have a stab at. Now ten minutes may not sound long but when you are needle and hospital phobic and already struggling to hold onto happy thoughts to stay in your happy place, (a snowy winter forest with a wolf watching over me), having people tapping all over your arms and hands to find a vein seems like hours. The surgeon kept apologising for my uncooperative veins while he tapped. It reminded me of when seagulls tap the ground to get worms to rise to the surface.
I was given a drug first to make me woozy, it did and I felt nicely fuzzy headed. Then I was given anesthetic to make me sleepy and floating but not go under. I don’t know if I had a little too much but my blood pressure dropped like Mafioso in concrete boots and I went under. That was my highlight. It was heavenly. I felt myself free falling slowly down through water with friendly pink and green spotty octopi and electric blue jellyfish buffeting me like mini trampolines as I sank. I felt so relaxed. So I wasn’t best pleased with the nurse for waking me up and I asked her to leave me with the octopus. She didn’t though and I had pain inside that I can’t even describe. Every time I cried out in pain I apologised straight away for being a baby. I requested ‘give me more’ meaning give me more drugs but it felt like this had been misinterpreted as give me more tubing up my backside!
The nurse was a star though and tried to keep me calm by reminding me how to breathe, always good to be reminded, and telling me that she would like to go and work in Canada but her boyfriend doesn’t want to leave the UK. I normally wouldn’t offer advice without being asked but the power of anesthetic removes the filter of tact. ‘Leave him behind’ was my helpful drugged up advice. She had lovely eyebrows and an unpronounceable Welsh name beginning with I. ‘Ooh that’s exotic! Where are you from?’ ‘Merthyr’.
I was wheeled to the wake up room and had three more lovely nurses looking after me, well, chatting by my bedside monitoring my blood pressure readings. Its great lying back with your eyes closed listening to other peoples conversations. I learnt that a nurse in another room was a boring stickler to the rules with no sense of humour but she had a sporty car with a double exhaust. Yes, a double exhaust – this was quite out of character apparently. One of the nurses around my bed had moved to Abergavenny from Bristol to be near her husband’s family but they were all horrid to her and she wanted to move back, but he didn’t want to move. ‘Leave him behind’ I shouted in my head. That seemed to be my stock advice of the day. Do what you want with your life not what others want you to do.
After sitting in a squeaky green pleather chair with a cup of tea (which tasted like the best tea ever) for half an hour I was discharged home with a report of a normal healthy colon and wind noises in my bowels sounding like a blue whale fighting with Chewbacca. Happy days.