The looming abyss of a deep biopsy

A future blurred by heaven

It was definitely in the 1990s in London during one of the Party in the Park concerts at Hype Park, probably the first that I went to see Bryan Adams.

This comes up because a variation of his hit single crossed my mind and got stuck as a lingering thought as I contemplated the next few minutes of my life, it was that dramatic and I can assure you I am not that given to histrionics.

The variation was, “I thought I’ll die and go to heaven”, it was me contemplating a future that had been made fuzzy that I saw release from an impending event than live through it as opposed to Bryan Adam’s past tense of “Thought I’d died and gone to heaven”.

The foot topology of pain

I was down to see the dermatologist which took the best part of two days to book, I arranged for a wheel chair with a raised leg to forestall the excruciating pain of blood rushing down to my feet exciting the over-active nerves that send messages of pain to my brain on the emergency line untrammelled.

I only half succeeded as having morphine 30 minutes before my appointment did not do the trick, I literally cried down to my appointment.

They were serious and prepared

When the consultant came in to see my feet, he ordered deep, I mean, deep poke it in and pull it out biopsies of the wounds, my restraint got the better of me where I should have blurted out – “You cannot be serious”. Serious, they were because without those biopsies we’ll be no wiser about why we were in the situation we were in.

Here I was thinking the dermatologist will rub a balm over my wounds and all will be well, with a pat on my head, I did get a handshake but instructions were clearly what I had not prepared for.

Thankfully, all those were to be taken under local anaesthetic but injecting that was painful enough, I ended up with 5 injections where at first the doctor expected me not to move my foot as she tried to prick me, I remonstrated, she had to get someone to hold down my foot because my reaction was too natural to overcome with the discipline she seemed to expect.

Interesting role reversal

One lady held down my leg and I had another lady speaking softly to me holding my hand in role-reversal as I was asked to breathe in deeply, surely, this is not the pain of labour in a maternity ward. I could not wish for an epidural.

I stuffed a towel in my mouth, bit on it and thought about a place with no pain as chunks of fungating flesh were extracted for laboratory analysis.

When finally the ordeal was over, it was not really over because on returning to my bed, I could call on no further shots of morphine for another 5 hours, meanwhile, I had a large morphine patch pasted on my chest.

No morphine anymore

Now, I am completely off morphine because it was the cause of my nausea, the new pain-killers just numb the feeling but do not kill the pain, I cannot say I am in agony but there is enough discomfort to make me uncomfortable.

Even whilst in hospital getting treatment, you are no less an experiment of trial and error till a full diagnosis is made and a regime of therapy or palliative care is offered as succour.

No, I did not die and go to heaven; I lived through the pain to tell another story of an event in my hospital life.

Golden red and painless

Vintage without palate

And so I have been manufacturing bottles of Premier Cru Urea 2009 by the gallon, the colour is golden, there doesn’t appear to be impurities, I would not hazard the ideas of bouquet, palate, odour and what not.

A good deal of it seems to come from the metabolism of saline solution intravenously fed into me over the last few days.

In addition to that, I have antibiotics dripping in and a quick check on what this antibiotic is supposed to treat includes fungating tumours, what a name for the condition and it doesn’t half teach you the fundamentals of pain.

All bloods for slow results

Meanwhile, one would be forgiven for thinking there was a vampire’s convention on the premises, I have given so much blood, I do wonder how much I have left in me. I developed a fever overnight and some blood was drawn into a culture to determine if there are bacteria in my blood.

You suddenly realise these tests are procedural rather than instant, observation and analysis means it could take days for results to come in, one just has to wait.

Not in my abdomen

Every 6 hours or so, I have been given morphine injections, all the time, it has gone into my left arm, then one nurse suggested injecting straight into my abdomen. I don’t think so.

It is hard enough trying not to see the needles as they go in, but the thought of having it go in my abdomen had me freaking out, big time.

She relented and injected my arm, I’ll rather that than the quick acting injection to the abdomen. It is a very sunny day, but when you are ill in hospital you get to observe nature’s beauty from the window and wish for the day when the joys of nature with the breeze of comfort blows into your face as you give thanks to God above.

In hospital to kill the pain

A bed far from home

It was as unexpected as I was to find myself in shock. What began as a visit to the doctor last Wednesday that lead to a visit to see a consultant on Friday just thickened in plot as I found myself not being able to wiggle free.

I was invited for a number of bloods to determine what exactly was the cause of the foot sore that was creating the mother of all pains; I cried like a baby with no pacifier to quench the heat.

Each time my feet were below the level of my heart I felt like my feet were on fire, it was most convenient to just stay in bed; the pain was just too unbearable. The pain killers which were heavy duty multiple strength pills just did not do enough apart from ensure that exhaustion induced sleep.

So, on seeing the consultant on Tuesday, he simply said, we have a bed for you and we are going to sort this thing out – that is how I ended up in a hospital bed since yesterday.

Many morphines to come

I have seen doctors, consultants, interns, nurses and orderlies, not to talk of stewardesses and other people who make the hospital function; it is suddenly no wonder why health costs can be just so high.

My face contorted into the most screwed up look you can have a human being produce from the pain, there was no other alternative than to put me on morphine – that took its time to work its way into my body and ease the pain.

Even so, a nurse on another shift felt that the pills would still work, I was literally begging, give me morphine, I beg of you – I am in a hospital for crying out loud, I am not here to find out how much I can endure pain and seek my pain threshold as a thing of achievement – I am not that mad.

The gender of food

Hospital food is well, just what it is until I ended up with the gluten-free bread meant for the patient in the next bed – tasteless, YuK! Yuk!

I was however bothered because the bread was clearly labelled for the lady, I do not remember undergoing a gender reassignment overnight though the sojourn of pain was enough to turn you into anything.

Even in all this, one has many things to be thankful for, health is wealth, any day anytime, for all that suffer, I wish them all a speedy recovery – yes, I got my netbook delivered to the hospital – there is much to talk about, between the pain, the sheets and the healing.