You open a new page on your computer to go and visit your favourite bloggers or Facebook, but you never get there because you can’t resist clicking on to startling headlines about celebrities you have never heard of or, shocking events somewhere… you don’t know where till you click on to the item.
Why do you feel compelled to find out why the unknown celebrity, who appears on a programme you have not heard of, is so devastated with the news about …what? Obviously you can’t concentrate on writing your blog without finding out if that really is an alien ‘mummy’ or how someone choked to death on a marshmallow.
And where had that woman been for forty two years? Do not be tempted to go down rabbit holes as most of the dramatic headlines involve death sneaking up at the most unlikely times and places, under the strangest circumstances. Suffice to say anyone can be struck down by a mystery illness, the only symptom of which is sudden death. If you are amongst the lucky few to be in perfect health, do avoid alligators, bears, anything higher or deeper than two feet and best to avoid sleeping and eating as well.
Scroll down further and cheer yourself up by reading why you have ruined your joints and what you must never feed your dog. And look in the mirror and reassure yourself that you probably look better than the numerous famous stars whose appearance NOW will shock you, perhaps they were the Mexican mummies?
Being under the hospital for five years after cancer treatment means getting advice quicker than going through your GP. Which is how I came to be having an appointment at the Lymphoedema Clinic.
When the oncologist said I would have to have lymph nodes removed she said there was a risk of lymphoedema, but I was unlikely to get it. I replied ‘Oh good, I don’t want to wear one of those awful sleeves.’ No doubt she thought there were worse things that could happen and I assumed I would not get it, especially after two years had gone past… until I noticed that my right forearm seemed a bit puffy…
My appointment letter included a map to find the hospice where the clinic was located, the good news was it was just up the road from the bus station, but the instructions didn’t sound very welcoming.
‘There is no waiting room so please don’t arrive early… or late. If it is sunny there is a bench outside. Press the buzzer below the lymphoedema clinic sign and wait for instructions.’
It was a sunny day luckily, but I was sure nobody would answer the buzzer. I arrived just in time to hear a woman announcing she was Janet. She was let in, that was hopeful, but I guessed they would say go up in the lift, even though it was only a two storey building. I hate lifts.
The greeting was friendly and I was told to come up in the lift and turn left, or was it right and sit on a chair in the corridor. The other Janet was sitting waiting and she said ‘Oh I could have kept the door open for you’. Lucky she didn’t as it later transpired that on no account were we to enter if the door was open without ringing the buzzer to announce our arrival!
I was soon called in, by which time the other Janet and I had exchanged the complete medical histories of our families.
All readers need to know about Lymphoedema is it is difficult to spell and not to be confused with Lymphoma. Our lymphatic system is a wondrous thing we don’t take much notice of unless we have swollen glands, or doctors start talking about ‘spreading to the lymph nodes’ in cancer patients. If you are in normal health it is very clever at fighting off infection and cleansing the body of impurities. It works fine if not interfered with by surgery or radiotherapy. The salient point is that your blood is pumped round by your heart, but your lymphatic system has no pump, it relies on the general movement of your body. For the very immobile and the elderly this is why they can have swollen legs as it drains down but can’t drain up.
My diagnosis was done with a tape measure to compare arms, but also a clever high tech thingy the nurse presses at various points that reads how much fluid is lurking and where. The dreaded pressure sleeve doesn’t squash fluid out, it makes your muscles work harder, the better to keep lymph fluid moving. The condition can’t be cured but can be managed. Like all things medical there are dire warnings of what might happen like cellulitis, an infection of the skin. Any sign and you must get antibiotics straight away, so there is a card to carry on holiday in case a doctor doesn’t believe you!
Chocolate Moose is glad he doesn’t have to wear this.
The Four Big Things we have to do are skin care, exercise, pressure and lymphatic drainage which I am learning on my next appointment. In the meantime the sleeve is quite hard to get on and the awful colour makes it look like I have an artificial arm. But compared with all the multitude of medical problems people have I’m not complaining. If people ask what’s wrong with my arm and they do ask, I am tempted to say it got chopped off or I have third degree burns, which sounds much more exciting.
If you like aeroplanes, beach life, swimming in the sea, beach huts and sunshine …and people, you might be lucky and enjoy the perfect summer day. The Bournemouth Air Festival usually occurs after the bank holiday weekend and just before the children go back to school for the autumn term, which of course means the weather is guaranteed to suddenly improve. As the festival is held over four days, the chances of sunshine and planes actually taking off are greatly improved. It rained all of August and true to form Thursday 31st August started with torrential downpours.
In the afternoon it ‘brightened up’. Consultation of programme updates indicated nothing was flying all afternoon except the Red Arrows with a low level display at 5.30pm, so there was a mass migration to the cliff top.
The excitement was short lived as they soon flew away.
I usually get lost inside hospitals, but this week I got lost trying to get into a hospital.
I originally opted to have my cancer treatment at Poole hospital because my two local bus companies, three bus choices, all stopped at the main entrance. Since the sudden demise of Yellow Buses ( that’s another story for a bus blog ) my one local frequent bus service stops there. I was additionally relieved to have avoided Royal Bournemouth Hospital when the building work began…
Our three local hospitals now come under University Hospitals Dorset NHS Foundation Trust. Whether this rebranding prompted the building frenzy and swapping round of departments between hospitals or followed the new ideas who can guess. Most patients just want to know which hospital they are supposed to be going to and which door they have to go in.
The original two storey unimposing building was white with blue roofs and recent improvements made it easy to get from the ‘bus hub’ to the main entrance. The main entrance led to a light atrium where the stairs, a café, toilets, information desk, buggy rides, chemist and free taxi phone could all be found. If you stuck to the main corridor that led the length of the hospital, all was well. Of course if you left the main corridor you could easily get lost, you know the scenario…
‘When you come out of the Ladies I’ll be sitting here…’
‘Okay.’
‘Oh dear, I can’t see any seats, let alone a waiting husband…’
I once went out the wrong exit and ended up in the Toby Carvery car park instead of at the bus stops.
The main entrance has now disappeared completely in the building works.
Caner treatment and ongoing medication can lead to other problems, so a recent hospital appointment led to me going off in several directions. Already existing joint problems can be made worse, especially hands for some reason, with perhaps residual nerve damage. At least having bunches of bananas for hands doesn’t stop me writing. The nurse suggested visiting my GP about steroid injections, but he suggested an Xray first.
It has been a long time since I had a face to face with my GP. The wonders of modern technology; he sent my prescription for Ibuprofen gel straight to the chemist and pinged the phone number for X-ray department to my phone. When I rang up I had a choice of Christchurch or Bournemouth; Christchurch not easily accessible by bus, I can at least walk to Bournemouth. The walk is probably an hour, ‘cross country’ past my sports’ centre and then eight lanes of traffic to cross. Not a hike to be taken if the weather is bad or on a very hot sweaty day if you have to strip off for an examination, but a hand X-ray would be fine.
There was a map with the hospital letter and on the phone the receptionist had given me directions from the bus hub… but the reality didn’t make sense. If I had just been told not to go near the hospital, but ‘stay on the road and walk for miles until you find a hole in the hedge’ it would have made sense. I hoped for a bus to arrive and disgorge staff or confident patients I could follow, but the only humans around were waiting for a bus. A board showing departments revealed I needed The West Wing. There was a gate in a fence that said To the West Wing. I opened it, but another sign said No Access to Pedestrians. There did not seem to be any way to get near the hospital. I found signs that pointed to the West Wing and back out of the hospital …and back home? Eventually I realised there were signs at intervals along the hedge and at last a gap… I finally found my way between hoardings and confused motorists to the entrance at the far end of the hospital. Then I walked that long corridor almost back to the main entrance where the X-ray department lies.
GETTING INTO THE HOSPITAL WAS NOT GOING TO BE EASY
Luckily I had planned to arrive early and relax at the coffee shop, no coffee but at least I was in time for my appointment and I was seen straight away. A cheerful young woman took me down the usual maze of corridors, confidently opened one of those doors with skull and crossbones warning of radiation… and quickly backed out saying ‘whoops, sorry’. Obviously that room was occupied and she then found an empty one. It had occurred to me I might have to take my eternity ring off… I never take it off and it won’t come off…
‘Can you just take your ring off.’
‘Well I could run it under this cold tap.’
‘When did you last take it off?’
‘Probably over twenty years ago when I had my carpal tunnel done.’
‘Oh dear, I’ll ask my colleague… try using the sanitiser to make it slippery.’
That didn’t work, more consultation, then she came back and said she would just write in the notes about the ring. I would imagine that on an Xray it’s pretty obvious if the skeleton is wearing a ring… all went well after that. For some reason I had imagined putting my hand between two photographic plates, like a sandwich maker, but the rays came from above.
‘Can you find your way out?’
‘Yes, er maybe…’
‘Just follow the red dots on the floor.’
What a simple but effective idea. When I looked at my watch I had spent a very short time actually in X-ray.
Mellow yellow? You would be far from mellow if you suffered from Xanthophobia, fear of the colour yellow. Xanthophobia from Greek xanthos, yellow .
If you could prove your condition you could opt out of work and many life situations. If we are to be an inclusive society we would need to take drastic action to help sufferers.
There may be a good reason for fearing yellow; which came first, the yellow warning signs or the danger?
In the work place even a cleaning job would be out of the question with those yellow plastic boards warning of wet floors. The police are no longer the Boys in Blue, but the Girls and Boys in yellow. High Viz jackets are standard wear for many jobs now and yellow tabards are worn by everyone from stewards at events ‘Look at me, I’m important and I’m not afraid of yellow’ down to school outings.
Even if you have obtained exemption from work, yellow lurks everywhere. Roadworks going on outside your house? All the council vehicles will be bright yellow. Going on holiday or a day trip? You are sure to come across a yellow bus or even an amphibious vehicle.
You will certainly not be safe in the garden, the Xanthophobic will pray for a cloudy day so the gazanias don’t open up and mow the lawn every day before the dandelions get a chance to pop up and attract those awful bees with their furry yellow stripes. Turning our lawns to meadows must be a nightmare for the Xanthophobic community.
Check before you visit your friends who have been decorating, what colour schemes have they chosen? It seems there is more to choosing paint than we imagined.
‘For all its decorating potential, yellow should be used with due consideration and care. Yellow primary action is to trigger emotional responses,’ says Karen Haller, colour psychology specialist. It has an impact on the nervous system. As a result, yellow is the strongest colour in psychological terms.
While yellow is a colour to use with caution, decorating with yellow has a relatively long wavelength and is emotionally stimulating, making us feel confident, positive and optimistic. but the wrong tone of yellow can lead to feelings of irritation, nervousness and depression.’
If you are Xanthophobic better not come round my house. But Xanthophobics would not be reading this as my website is yellow. I don’t know when it became my favourite colour. In the late seventies it was orange and brown, later it was pink. I’m not sure how I settled on yellow.
How does such a phobia start? Perhaps early exposure to Mr. Men books, the constant company of Mr. Happy and Mr. Tickle…
Do you have a favourite colour or a colour you cannot abide?
Happy Birthday – according to Facebook it is your birthday today, or at least lots of people seem to be having birthdays so it could be yours. I have already sent birthday greetings to three people, one an old school friend, two quite new Facebook friends who I have never met in real life.
At least twice I have received a birthday message from someone who wrote ‘Facebook keeps telling me to wish you a happy birthday so I suppose I had better.’ This led me to ponder what comments we might put on the Facebook birthday line…
‘I don’t know who the hell you are, but Happy Birthday.’
‘I have absolutely no recollection of becoming your Facebook friend, but what the heck, happy birthday and have a wonderful day and year and life….’
‘If you keep stalking me on Facebook I shall be contacting my solicitor.’
There is still hope for our government and the country itself as long as citizens like Count Binface are putting themselves forward as candidates for parliament.
Do you ever get that déjà vu feeling when watching the news? I’m sure most of us do. When hearing a holiday maker in Greece recounting her escape experience from the terrible fires it sounded very familiar. After a boat trip they were landed on a beach to make their way back to the hotel and wait for information to see if they needed to be evacuated, but as the boat left they looked up to see people fleeing from the hotel as it was engulfed in flames. The sea was the only means of escape. Hmm, that’s the story I wrote two years ago…
Do you ever get the wrong image when listening to the news on the radio…
‘Flights are still landing on roads’ .. what? OH Rhodes!
Handy hints for prospective holiday makers on the news
‘Contact your holiday company to check if you will still be able go ahead with your holiday plans to the wild fire area. Some holiday companies are sending empty flights to evacuate holiday makers…’
How was your day today. Have you any holiday plans?
You don’t have to be a chicken to go free range. Like chickens, outdoor reared pigs and hill sheep, free range humans are well adapted to life outside and wandering free. They don’t need to be shut in or put in a vehicle if it rains or snows.
Like us with the Covid pandemic, free range chickens recently had their life style cramped with outbreaks of bird ‘flu, but unlike other animals, free range humans don’t usually get eaten.
I have been wandering around by myself since I was seven and set off for the first day at junior school. Freedom was at my disposal, well as long as I didn’t take the short cut through the large park, which was like a rhododendron plantation with lots of hiding places. I was allowed to play there with my friends and had no idea why solo walks were forbidden.
Plenty of drivers enjoy walking and leaving their car at home, but for the dedicated non driver there is the added excitement of knowing you have to walk to get to places and buy your shopping.
Perhaps the three big ‘C’s, Covid, Cancer and Chemotherapy have enhanced the delights of being allowed or able to get out whenever I like. I am also only too aware that plenty of people my age or younger are not so lucky, whether struck down with strokes or waiting for new knees and hips. I don’t take being able to walk far and fast for granted.
During covid we were allowed out for a walk and many people discovered walking for the first time, but we weren’t allowed to go anywhere, just back home. The joy of our regained freedom is destinations, meeting your friends for coffee and cake, going to your favourite groups or just going anywhere with people interest.
Whatever the destination the free range human just goes there, no worrying about finding a parking place or nervously looking at the time in case their parking runs out. We just nip down footpaths or cross the river on a ferry. The free ranger is not always on foot, we can jump on a bus if it’s raining or we have shopping to carry. We could jump on any bus and see where we end up. The free range human sees life. The writer certainly sees real life on the bus, but that’s for another blog. The photographer can pause and snap whenever they spot something interesting, which is why I have so many photos in my WordPress gallery.
For our health we don’t need a running machine and step counter, though now I have a smart phone I can’t resist seeing how many kilometres and flights I have done. You can enjoy fresh air, nature and the four seasons or human life and the camaraderie of others ‘on the road.’
Do you like walking or jogging. If so, do you wander locally and walk your dog or are you very adventurous going up mountains and doing marathons?
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 