Life, And Other Natural Disasters...

I hate buying new shoes.
Well, that's not quite true.  It's not the buying of the things; it's the month or so of blisters and covering my feet in sticking plaster, mainly because I can only really buy inexpensive shoes not tailored to my feet.  When I get a pair that are comfortable, I wear them until the soles wear out.  Sometimes, I strike lucky and get a pair that are comfy straight away - bliss!  I tend to wander around the office in socks, preferring to kick my shoes under my desk.
I had to buy new shoes yesterday.  I think they will be ok but time will tell...

Bank Holiday Monday is not good.  I'm feeling down because I'm not having much success in getting a social life, despite research, phone calls, e-mails etc.  I've got just about enough money to last the month but little wriggle room for doing anything social.  I would like a holiday (yes, there are people out there who haven't had a holiday for x years - I wish I had your patience!)  And now, it looks like I have to go to the NHS Walk-in Center in Birmingham because I've aggravated an injury in the base of my spine.

So, I'm not in the best of moods today.

An unexpected side effect of my accident 6 weeks or so ago was the curing of a long standing fear of mine.  I have had, for more years than I care to think of, a morbid fear of general anesthesia.  Up until 6 weeks ago, I had never had one.  Indeed, over my 42 years or so on this planet, I had developed quite a nice little phobia.  First, many years ago, I heard too many tails of people either not waking up or suffering permanent brain damage after being filled with Carbon Dioxide instead of Oxygen upon waking when someone got the pipes confused.

I spent many years researching statistics and managed to convince myself that these accidents were quite rare and, by and large, most regular procedures took place without incident.  Fine.  Then I find out about a case where someone with a fear of anesthesia is induced and dies of a heart attack whilst induction was taking place.  Great.

Imagine, therefore, my horror when the registrar in the emergency room told me that because of the fracture on my humerus, they would have to re-position my dislocated shoulder under general anesthesia.  Very calmly I explained to him my fear; naturally, he told me not to worry as I would be able to have a chat with my anesthetist prior to the procedure.  I am wheeled up to the ward and shortly afterwards, I am introduced to my anesthetist, a cheerful lass who virtually assuaged my fears and went through everything with me.  So, when I was wheeled to the theatre suite and into the anesthesia room, I was quite calm.  She positioned an Oxygen mask over my face then inserted a syringe in the veniform in my arm.

"100... 99... 98... ..."

I awoke in the recovery room after what felt like moments and I swear the first thing I said was "Well, that was wierd..." in a very David Tennant-esque manner.

So, now I have to find something else to be afraid of.  Any ideas...?

First the good news - the arm is healing remarkably well, according to my consultant today.  Bad news is, I'm signed off work for another three weeks.  Most of the pain is gone in my shoulder, but I still have a lot of bruising around my elbow.  It's just a case now of getting strength back into my shoulder, but I still have this damn (and somewhat smelly) sling to contend with.  Oh well, back to counting the days...

Alas, not the type of theatrical excursion that I would enjoy.  I was less than 100 yards out of my front door yesterday morning when I heard the distinctive tinkle of someone ringing our doorbell.  I turned and saw it was the postie and started to run back to the house, as he was delivering a package.  I wasn't expecting anything, but I knew that the two new additions to The Sneinton Homestead didn't know where the mail depot was.  So, I turned and started to run back to the house.  Except, I tripped and fell to the ground.  I felt an agonising pain in my shoulder; somehow I managed to limp to the front door.  Anyway, to cut a long story short and after a trip to the NHS walk-in center, followed by spending most of the day in A&E at the Queen's Medical Center, I was wheeled into Operating Theater Number 7 to have my dislocated shoulder manipulated back into place and now have my left arm immobilised to heal the fracture in the top of it.

Ouch... :(