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Thought I would put this here in Health, instead of clogging up other forums.
Yesterday I went to Grimsby for the results of my CT and MRI scans. Good news: Prostate is shrinking, no blood in my urine. That consultant does not want to see me again for 6 months. Bad news: He has referred me to another consultant as a result of one of the scans (forgot which) that picked up a lesion on my Pancreas which will need surgery. I am aware of what this might mean, but I am just going to take it as yet another problem which from the Gospel of Matthew, 6:34 is- “sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” *
In other words, I wait for further investigation. I have told my son and explained what it might entail, I tell him what he might need to know. We have always been able to share stuff and he has broad shoulders. Whatever comes out of this, I will cope with and his help is invaluable.
*No I’m not getting religion guys. I am no believer in any Deity or organised religion, but I was forced into Methodist Sunday worship as a child by a mother who was a Primitive Methodist. Who married an atheist. Go figure, as the Yanks say. Sometimes you cannot remove this krap from your head.
When the Thought Police arrive at your door, think -
I'm out.
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My paternal grandfather suffered with piles for years, the rubber ring was used for many things by my brother and I as youngsters (about 5 and 7), Action Man used it to cushion his fall from whatever tree I could climb, it was also used as a floating base for Action man in his scuba gear.
IIRC he chose his last car (A Datsun Violet) for the ‘accommodating’ drivers seat.
Thanks Richard
I had a brain Injury (after falling 50ft down a partly finished lift shaft)
I was on life support, the doctors wanted to turn it off, I am still here.Cheers Duke, You don’t realize how common it can be.
Thanks Bob
It’s my back/leg the first time I put it off I can’t lie down long enough on my back, it
being important (as you say) I had another appointment, it was the day of the worst snow
and I couldn’t get there on my crutches.I did ask for March feeling the snow won’t be around, but then it has snowed in April,
I have to contact agin nearer MarchI could do with a special pack, but I wasn’t offered one.
Cheers
JohnJohn: get the Screening Pack info here:
Probably best to use the Freephone number.
Ed and Nolan: my first operation for piles was in the Army. The only funny part was the M.O. (Army GP) who sent me to Aldershot for it. He was a real Welsh comedian – I said “I have Haemorrhoids Doc.”    “No you have Piles, Corporal. Haemorrhoids is for the Haristocracy, Piles is for the Proletariat.” I had another Op for the same thing in ’82, 6 years after leaving HMF. The surgeon said that the Army Op had made a botch job. When I came here to Lincolnshire I had yet another Op. I believe that this all lead to bowel disease and a prolapse, followed by removal of part of my bowel and a Stoma. John – get it done, mate. That’s what can happen, to be brutally honest I am krapping into a bag for the rest of my life. Every morning I have to change that, sometimes twice a day. With cleaning, drying and hygiene, it can take an hour or more out of my morning.
John, I don’t have two crutches, just one. That checks my weak left side and the associated nerve damage from the repaired vertebra in 2005. I can just drop to the left with no warning, but with the crutch there I feel it and check it by pushing to the right: it has become an autonomous response by now. From behind, on a bad day, I must be a comical sight, sort of Charlie Chaplin on Steroids. ??
What would I do, if I couldn’t laugh at myself? A couple of years ago I was walking through town with No.2 Gson. Two local yobs were mocking me, Gson copped that in a shop window, turned and whacked one of them. He was only 17 at the time, but has always been a big lad. I stopped him from going further, the other yob was in the distance. I never knew that he had that kind of aggressive spirit, he is usually quite placid, but makes a good bodyguard.??
When the Thought Police arrive at your door, think -
I'm out.People younger than 60 aren’t eligible for the FOB screening test,
I have to go to a NHS bowel cancer screening centre.I have always felt embarrassed as I walk like charlie (without crutches) mainly down hill, crutches also stop this.
My balance can go at any time anywhere for no reason. Since my accident (brain damage) Paralysis down my left side. I still can’t write properly as I am keft handed.
Cheers
JohnJohn, I can see your multiple issues, but I wondered if there really was no way to press to obtain a more user friendly access to the service. The testing kit is so much easier than traipsing about the countryside even when you have no restrictions on mobility.
I have had a few episodes of needing crutches, and when you need them do not be shy about using them. However I can see your concerns about about the dangers of slippery surfaces – they are best avoided at all times. I slipped on a polished office floor, my foot hit the wall as I fell. I damaged ankle, broke the big leg bone and left the foot in a new and ‘interesting place’ no one questioned the use of crutches after it was screwed and stitched together once more. Towards the end of my recovery in the mid 1980s, I went to the USA. Washington DC was the most disabled person friendly place I have ever visited. It might have helped that it was reunion season for the various forces, though I don’t think so. I practically had to fight to avoid being dragged into receptions everywhere I went, Navy, Air Force, Marines and some I can no longer remember. However, even regular places like the subway and side walks were warm accessible and welcoming to use.
Another time my left leg was withering due to spinal issues and the knee surgeon thought crutches were a bad idea – until he saw the spinal MRI. A couple of weeks later an operation solved that issue and I no longer looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame.
Take care and fight for what you can get.
John, do you have DLA or PIP? You are a prime candidate for both “help with Getting Around” (Motability) and the Care Component (help at home.)Â If you don’t get either, you must see your GP and/or consultant.
Use the Hepline in the Link I gave to explain your disabilities and inability to get to an NHS bowel screening, or phone your GP for a “call back” and explain the problem. Is there a Volunteer Driver system in your area, for hospital or trips to surgery or hospital? Red Cross do this:Â Â Â Â http://tinyurl.com/y9vq2ktz
Another example:Â Â Â http://tinyurl.com/ybg28flu
Just Google “Volunteer Drivers” in your area. Don’t let pride or ‘not accepting charity’ get between you and the right result for both you and your missus. Get help, you need it.
When the Thought Police arrive at your door, think -
I'm out.My biggest problem with crutches was not the use or reliability of them, but their invisibility to others. When I returned to work after breaking both legs, I lived outside London, but worked in Central London. I got more injuries off briefcases than anything else. People were in such a hurry, in their own little bubble, that all else around them was irrelevant.
If I could have caught them I’d have killed ’em!!
Having lower back issues, I can’t use crutches at all. I may get away with a left leg hurt, as I naturally favour my right side now, even though I’m a lefty, but it would be impossible for me you move around on crutches using only my left leg.
I opted for an auto car because clutching I’m beaver traffic would hurt my back after a few mins, and if my back was already playing up, it made driving sometimes impossible.
I still love driving manuals, time to time, but I’m a full convert, especially if you can take over the gearing when needed. Like when taking over people. Without being able to manually drop a gear, makes overtaking that bit more dangerous, as the box may take a good half a second to drop down then add the turbo lag, minuscule as it is, can make an overtake feel rather precarious. So I’ll drop back a few car lengths, so I can see, drop a gear, bring the revs up, and then pull out, and fly past. Nothing at all to do with crutches.
I want an Octavia next, but it looks like the wife will need something a little higher, so I may have to opt for some type of crossover (i feel old and defeated), plus a higher car would also be good for my back, and its not going to get any better with time. So if we don’t go Octavia, its looking like a pug 3008 gt line, (mid trim)as I just love the interior, even the wife liked that, she has no interest in cars what so ever, or the new Rav4 hybrid. As that has decent power at 200bhp, pulls well, and will get 46mpg which is great for a car of its size. Also, all 3 will fit a wheelchair. Though that isn’t that important, as its cheaper and better to buy a more expensive, compact and for me, lighter chair. Which would fit in most cars, golf size?
I’d actually love a Fiesta ST 200, but I think that is pushing it. Given kids, and the wife’s needs, so maybe I’ll get back to a hot hatch once the youngest is older. Though I may get a cheaper mx5 for my fun car. Pick them up real cheap and the old ones are just as fun if not more so than the new ones. Also, you can put a turbo on the old ones, and gain quite a bit of power, for little money or effort.
There we go I went from crutches to chairs. All on topic. Interspersed with fun car stuff.?
You want a Skoda Steve, Doriss wants a higher vehicle. How about the new Karoq?: –
VW based of course, maybe a less expensive Touran, or Touareg.
When the Thought Police arrive at your door, think -
I'm out.JayCeeDee:
John I have never forgotten the trials of coming through the Tube from Waterloo to St. Pancras when I served in various military areas of Hants, Wilts, Dorset and a brief period in Berks. “In their own bubble” is right, they don’t give a toss about each other or anyone else, just want to get home or wherever else they were going. I once saw an RN sailor’s suit case fall apart, he was trying to get it all back together and they were treading all over him and his gear. I got between the crowd and him, shoved them out of the way and helped him repack and fasten it back together. He was in uniform, but I always travelled home in civvy dress. “Bet you are HMF?”   –  “Yes mate, I’m a Pongo.”  –  “Thought so, this lot don’t care about you and me until there’s a war.”
He caught a different train to me, but we shared a smoke and he bought me a pint in the station bar.
The only part of London I like, is in the Northern suburbs – High Barnet, where our friends live. A really friendly town, good shops and restaurants. Not at all like a part of London, very friendly people.
When the Thought Police arrive at your door, think -
I'm out.The only part of London I like, is in the Northern suburbs – High Barnet, where our friends live. A really friendly town, good shops and restaurants. Not at all like a part of London, very friendly people.
I spent the…………..I was about to say the best part of my adult life there, or thereabouts, but actually I spent the first 57 years of my life there.
I was born in Hornsey Rise, round the back of the Archway, not far from the infamous “Suicide Bridge”. After 3 years – of which I remember very little – we moved to Muswell Hill. It was after this point that my memories start. At the age of 5 I was prescribed my first pair of glasses, whereupon the world came into focus and my memories start.
It turns out I was an awkward sod from the word go. I was very comfortable where I was and I didn’t care who was waiting for me to arrive. The doctors gave Mum an epidural that had no effect, so some idiot gave her another. This went through the bloodstream and I arrived not really breathing too well ‘cos I was very relaxed. The treatment for that in those days was to put the baby in an incubator and deliver 100% oxygen for a few days. The side effect they found later, was it damaged the newly borns’ eyes. This became known as Retinopathy of prematurity (ROP) – although I wasn’t prem, I was treated the same, but for a much shorter duration – lucky really, because a lot of prem babies that were treated the same ended up blind!!.
I lived there until I was 18 and working, at which point, we moved to Hornsey. I stayed there until 1972 when I moved into my own flat in East Finchley. I was actually sharing a 2-bed flat with my sister, but she was at uni in Bangor and when she came back home she moved in with her uni mates. I stayed there for 10 party filled years until I met the missus and we moved into our first home together in New Barnet. That lasted five years where our son was born and when we needed more space, we moved to Potters Bar.
I have to say the people I met growing up, with the odd exception, were all really lovely people, not like the reputation London has for the most part. So you’ve got that bit right, Bob.?
Nice to get stability John. Until I retired I never lived in the same locality for more than five years. While I was at uni in London I never lived in any locality for longer than one year. Good in a way in that I pretty much know my way around most parts (and many many pubs) of London except the western side. Ditto many parts of the world.
There are downsides to doing this. As my elder son says – he has lots of acquaintances and casual friends everywhere, but a very limited number of true friends.
Before we moved to Potters Bar we were thinking of moving to Milton Keynes, but that never came to anything. It nearly did, and I chuckle at the details even now. We liked a 3-bed semi just outside MK that was being sold for £33k by probate. Stamp duty came on at £30k. We offered £29,950 but they held out for full asking price. With all the work that needed doing it wasn’t worth it. It had been used by one of the sons selling it and was in a right state. Oil stains on the living room carpet, banisters broken, doors broken off the bedroom furniture, garden overgrown and wrecked too. We blew it out. Shortly after that Anne was offered the business we took over, so there is a certain feeling of “grateful to fate/destiny”, as if we had moved, we couldn’t have taken it over.
I really should not have run all of London down. I was forgetting my 2+ years at sea, sailing out of Hull but picking up cargoes at West India Dock. The “Old” * East End was brilliant for a young lad like me at that time (’61 – ’63) and I had some great times amongst “proper Cockneys” there. On return from my second Meditarranean trip, I attained the grand age of 17 whilst at the W.I. Dock and the crew took me to a pub that my (possibly faulty) memory labels “Charlie Brown’s”, although it had a different name over the door, which escapes me. It was a big old Isle of Dogs pub with a stage and my birthday was given out to the patrons: it was packed with Dockers and their families. I had quite a few bevvies and was coerced to go up on stage to sing, where I gave my rendition of “It’s Now Or Never” and “All Shook up”. The crowd were throwing things at me and my first thought was “You barstewards, I’m just a kid!” Then I realised they were throwing half-crowns wrapped in 10 Shilling notes, which today equates to about 65p and amounted to quite a bit of cash for a kid who was making just over £3 a week. I don’t think I paid for a drink over the 6 days we were docked: everywhere I went, there seemed to be someone who was at my impromptu 17th. birthday bash.
*Blacklion1725 (or one of his elders) will know what I mean by “Old” East End. It no longer exists today, what a great community that was.
John (JayCeeDee): my entry into the world was as traumatic as your own. My mother and dad were both 40 and it was March ’45. Mam had already had 2 boys in ’28 and ’30, having lost her firstborn, a daughter, in 1926. “I had a terrible time having you” was a constant refrain during my childhood and teenage years, and she never let me forget that I was supposed to be born as her hoped-for girl. Apparently I was an awkward birth, being feet-first and earlier than I should have been. I never knew much about it, because she would not go into detail and dad was of the generation that did not talk about stuff viewed as ‘Women’s Problems’. To quote Stewie from “Family Guy”, I must have wrecked the place on leaving. That may sound rough, but mam was an abuser with a mental problem and TBH I hated her as a young boy and after she was treated and became different, the hate just became indifference. I spent more time at my big brother’s house than at home and I lived with an aunt in Staffordshire for almost 3 years.
I did try to find records of my birth some years ago. I was born at Peel Street Hospital for Women, Nottingham. I discovered that the hospital closed soon after the War and burnt down before the records could be retrieved. One strange coincidence came years later, when an old Army mate and Nottingham lad rang me. “You were born on Peel Street, in that old hospital, right?”  – “Yes mate.”  – “Well I’m working there, they rebuilt the shell and it’s going to be a block of flats.”  Couple of years later I parked there whilst collecting a TV from Richer Sounds across the road. “I’ve found the Crime Scene,” I said to my missus “This is the street where I was born!”
“There should be a Plaque!” she replied: “A big black one, with a wreath around it!” Save me from smartass women…???
When the Thought Police arrive at your door, think -
I'm out.You’re not wrong about the East End back then. I spent 10 years working in Shoreditch Telephone Exchange building on the High Street there from 1970 to 1980. We had some great times in the pubs around there.
One of the “characters” we met was Harry Burns. We first came across him when we were having a lunchtime pint one Saturday. It was in the Ship and Blue Ball, just round behind the Exchange, the pub where the Great Train Robbery was partly put together. The Olympics was on the TV in the corner and an English boxer was fighting a Russian. We weren’t really watching it, but were quite loud, being “mid-session” if you know what I mean!!:):) Next minute this old chap comes over and starts slating us for being un-patriotic f’ers, it turned out the Russian had cut the English boxer above the eye and he thought we were cheering him on!!
Next thing, Mac, the publican, comes over and tells Harry it wouldn’t have been anything of the sort. Bearing in mind we were 8 – 10 handed we couldn’t believe someone would have come across and fronted us all the way he did. Once Mac had explained, Harry couldn’t have been more apologetic – in true East End fashion!! He then bought us all a round or two and the rest gets hazy. Well, when we went back to the pub on Monday, we found a bunch of tickets to the next fight at York Hall, another couple of rounds in the pump and an offer of tickets to future fights, if we wanted. It turned out he ran the Repton Boxing Club with his elder brother Charlie, both deeply rooted in the East End “culture”.
When I first started drinking there, you could get a pint of Double Diamond for one shilling and eight pence – about 8p in modern terms.
Yes, those were different times. In the 1950s I lived in Northwest Kent, it was the
thirdI tell a lie, it was the forth, (before that I had a term in Birkenhead), place I had lived and father worked in Silvertown next to the river. I sometimes cycled up there, the roads were very different, the people were very different, the pace of life was different and the scale was to put it simply human. I went to the area again in the late 1960s, what a change, the river was no trade highway, the factories were shut and falling down or being pulled down, the heart had gone. I spent a little time in Cricklewood, Kilburn, Golders Green, (the site of a 1940s murder) and Dollis Hill around that time. Google maps showed me how they have changed, cleaner perhaps, sanitised, perhaps. Back then my flat mates and I went to a pub just round the corner, the table would not move, the chairs would not move, everything was bolted down, so we bolted our beer down and left.A total of sixteen move is more than I had thought it would be until I counted them up. I worked for ten years in West Central London, to be honest I could not stand the place by then crowded, dirty I could not relate to anyone. It was not helped by the Company losing its way, thinking big and grandiose until it ground its way into non-existence, the directors did well enough – for themselves. It summed up London, with one further performance. I went back or twice with of the children to ‘a well know hospital’, it was a shambles. It appeared that every paper that could be lost or delayed was lost or delayed. Parents of severely disable children were openly crying all over in the place because appointments were delayed and they faced impossible journeys home by the rush hour tube and trains. In another hospital the organisation was a little better. They even had a sense of black humour. The alarm system was not working, so they had paper signs about the place, ‘In the event of a fire or emergency, open the door and shout HELP’. That was about 20 years ago, thanks but no thanks I would not go back even there for anything.
The East End and area out to Greys were ‘interesting’ in those days. I had a mate in the ‘Special Protection Squad’ and he had spent some time in the area as a young copper. He took pride in showing me around some of the East End pubs and hang-outs of the Kray twins etc. Funnily enough as long as you were not ‘involved’ in any way and minded your Ps & Qs it was perfectly safe and rather like being in the middle of a detective story.
Bit different now, the area around Stratford can be positively dangerous with some of the spaced-out characters that inhabit it..
Yes, I heard that about the Cray territory from many sources, including a neighbour who knew all about those times. She idly watched the comings and goings at a laundrette used for money transfers when nothing else was entertaining her.
Now, Stratford and many other areas sound more like a don’t go area than anything else, yet property programmes call it up and coming. The shopping centre and train station there is not safe from gun and knife crime.
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