Yesterday’s mission to Frenchay hospital entailed multiple visits to X-ray and the consultant, words of encouragement to start phasing out the ortho boot and crutches, news that my right leg isn’t quite as “fixed” as previously announced and a small protrusion on my right elbow is a piece of wire.
“All good news…” as the surgeon wearing blood spotted rubber clogs said with an assassins smile.
The NHS showed its occasional glitches as at the first visit, they weren’t going to X-ray my elbow. I suggested they might want too and a huddle of radiographer’s behind a glass screen eventually concurred. Then I hobble back to see the consultant who then sends me back to X-ray so he can look at my right leg fracture. Cue the ambulance transport crew eager to depart for the next job. “Not your fault,” I’m assured by the senior man, “just the bloody system at work. Goes with the job.”
I return to the consultant with ambulance men in tow, who have a polite word with a nurse to get things moved along. The consultant reassures me all continues to look ok, and to start walking without the boot. “But no running, or sports,” he says, though without a trace of a joke. I then point out the small protrusion on my elbow, wondering if it was bone or metal. “Wire,” he says matter-of-factly, wholly unimpressed by my discovery. “We can take it out, as its no longer doing anything, but it’s stainless steel, it’s fine. We’ll see you in two months.”
And with that I was back in the care of two polite but slightly disgruntled ambulance men.