What A Reception.

Oh no, not again!  I phoned the health centre and got the following message.  "All of our receptionists are currently engaged..."  

Good gosh, I phoned to arrange an appointment with the doctor.  I didn't phone to find out about the relationship status of the receptionists......

Spot The Dog.

Yep, still waiting to get my elbow fixed.  Still need surgery.  I've got a vague letter from a nearby hospital that might well be in regards to having surgery or perhaps have some doctor stick a needle in my elbow, yet again.  Only to have the doctor look puzzled and tell me I should get some surgery on my elbow.  I think they should rename the hospital.  "Groundhog Day Hospital", perhaps.

The letter from the hospital is for me to show up on May 26 of this year.  Yes, I will phone them and ask what the hell my appointment is actually for.

In the meantime, I still have the comments section switched off.  If you check your Google + and Twitter accounts, you may note I've been sharing your posts.

For reasons beyond my comprehension, you might be one of those bloggers who's obsessed with the alphabet. This means you might well be posting up some A to Z stuff.

As a bit of a distraction for you, please have a look at the above photo, taken near "The Roaches" in the Staffordshire Moorlands, near Leek.  Spot the dog?  That's not a reference to Spot the dog and the series of books.  Do you notice Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar having a right good sniff?

Hospital Humour Meets The Comedy Clinic.

You may have noticed I'm still not exactly active in the blogging world.  Yep, I'm lurking in the background sharing your posts via the various social "notworking" sites.  That's about the extent of it because I'm stuck in irony overdrive. Stuck,for now, with the aggravating "tit" on my right elbow aka "tennis elbow" aka bursitis.

I went to the hospital to get it sorted out way back on February 28.  I should of sensed that things weren't going to go well when the doctor asked me if I had a Northern Irish accent.  That's a new one on me.  Sort of refreshing, I guess, when I think about the number of times people have asked me what part of the States I'm from.  I have, well sort of still have, a Canadian accent.  Some might think my accent is "mid-Atlantic".  Which confuses me because I most certainly don't sound Jamaican.  "No way, mon!"

Oh, I've nothing against Northern Irish accents if you like to listen to people who sound pissed off all the time.  Maybe the doctor thought I was pissed off.  He would be correct, especially after what transpired next.

Right then, so this doctor, who probably sees loads of swollen elbows in a day, stuck in needle in the offending right elbow.  He looked puzzled.  "Never seen this happen before." he stated, "I should be getting out fluid but I'm getting out blood."

For the next few minutes he proceeded to squeeze my elbow.  He finally gave up, stuck a plaster on my elbow and suggested I have surgery.  I agreed to that.  He told me I would get a surgery date.

I left the hospital with a sense of irony.  My elbow was now feeling worse than before I went to the hospital.  Yes, irony right up there with the time my car got wiped out by an ambulance.  Note, "irony overdrive", in the first paragraph of this rather disjointed post.

On March 9, I received a letter that I thought would be in regards to my appointment for my surgery. Instead it was for me to make an appointment with a doctor at my health centre for a routine check in regards to my visit to the hospital.  Huh!?

On March 27, I got to see a doctor about the letter I'd received  He was as puzzled as I was about not actually getting a date for my surgery.  He said he'd  contact the hospital to actually get me a real time for my surgery. What a complete screw up.  Thus, I wait and wait and wait...

Here's me

Doing a selfie

What agony

See my elbow

Oh no and woe

Took five days to type this

Not exactly bliss

Elbow, el-boob, on this dude

How very, very crude. 

Time To Cope With A Telescope.

I said I'd try and catch up with commenting on other blogs.  Total fail on that.  My humble apologies.  

Since my move from one place to another place, it's been a stressful, chaotic mess.  Doing it all, virtually by myself, has caused me to be most absent from the world of blogging.  It appears it's going to be a stressful, bureaucracy beyond belief, load of crap, for at least another month.  I'm exhausted, both physically and emotionally. 

I know how much you've missed me.  I will endeavour to inform you of what transpired with my move in about a week's time.  

During the hectic farce that has been moving, I had to go to hospital for a discussion about my ongoing male-type issues.  No, not typical dude constantly moaning and thinking about sex every six seconds. I'm talking about waterworks problems.

The urologist has told me they're going to make arrangements to have me come in and have a "telescope" prodded down my urethra. 

The above illustration may be the sort of "telescope" the urologist meant.

Based on my experiences during moving, I visualised a telescope something like the above being shoved down my tormented trouser snake.  

The above telescope will have the capability of having an up close view of the rings around Uranus. 

Time to cope with a telescope

Maybe yes or maybe nope

Where's there's a willy, there's a way

So they say

I hope 

I cope

With the telescope.

All Our Receptionists Are Currently Engaged.

Ten days ago, I went for my annual every three months or so, give or take a week, check-up with the urologist.  This is always loads of fun because I check in at a kiosk machine and get issued a ticket.  From there I take the ticket which indicates to proceed to the Outpatients Clinic 1.  I then watch the monitor to wait for my number to show up.  It feels like an airport departures lounge.

"Patient 2407, please report to subwait 3",  the voice states from the monitor.  Now I wait for the urologist to come and get me.  Ten minutes later and for the first time ever, I actually get to see the urologist whose name is on the letter from the hospital.

We have a nice little chat and he asks me, "Where does your accent come from?"  To which I reply, "It starts out from my larynx, works up through my throat and comes out my mouth.  Okay, seriously, it's a Canadian accent."  He then made mention of a certain Canadian chap now being Governor of the Bank of England.  I decided to curtail any further musings, such as, how Mark Carney, the Canadian in question, would be sorting out the economy by having thousands of Tim Hortons restaurants open up in the UK.  The main thing is that my overall condition has improved.

He hands me a prescription for some antibiotics.  This I take to my health centre.  He also gave me a green form that I'd never received before.  I forgot to ask him what the green form was for.  For all I know, maybe he told me what the green form was for. I just wanted to get the heck out and the heck home.  Once home, I noticed it was to arrange an appointment at reception.  For some baffling reason, I thought it was the reception and my health centre.  So, I handed it into the receptionist at the health centre.

That was on Friday, September 13.  On Monday, September 16, I checked a message on my answer machine.  It was from the health centre and it was about the green form.  I went to the health centre on the Tuesday and realised that I was supposed to hand in the green form to the receptionist at the hospital.  While at the health centre, I asked about my antibiotics prescription.  It wasn't ready.

On Friday, September 20, I phoned the health centre to see if my antibiotics prescription was ready.  *Ring ring*  "All our receptionists are currently engaged...please hold the line....there are two calls ahead of you..." So I'm thinking, do I really need to know about the status of the receptionists' personal lives?  Are they going to stay engaged?  Are they truly happy?  Will they get married?  Anyway, I'm pleased to report I have my antibiotics.  As for taking that green form back to the hospital.  Guess I'd better get going.

Green Lights.

Monday morning, February 25.  Today was going one of the most significant days of my life.  I got into my car and looked at the clock.  Green digital clock indicated 9:20 A.M.  Plenty of time to get to the hospital for my 10:30 A.M. appointment to get the results of all my tests.  I set off on a journey I'd become all too familiar with.

I really hadn't been giving the appointment much thought.  I lived in the now and tried to keep busy with positive distractions.  Driving there, I had a whatever happens, happens attitude.  No matter the outcome of my test results, I knew I could handle it.  If it be the worst result,  I'd take it in stride and see what course of action was needed.  And a best result would give me the urge to sing, dance, drive down to the Houses of Parliament, rush in and say "Hey Prime Minister David Cameron, have a look at my butt."

Okay, where was I?  Oh yeah, so I'm driving along and each intersection that has a traffic light is green, all the way to the hospital.  Can't ever remember that happening to me.  Maybe the green lights are a sign   A precursor message to what the results of the tests would reveal.  At 9:47 A.M, I park up near the hospital.  Wow, that was quick and no, I wasn't speeding.  Thank you, green lights.

Plenty of time to check into the Main Building at the hospital that does remind me of a departures terminal of an airport.  I get my ticket that has the directions to get to the clinic where I will see the urologist.  I sit there, stare at the screen, waiting for my flight number, sorry, my appointment number to show up on the screen.

Finally on the screen, along with a recorded announcement, came my turn.  "Patient 1680, please go to Subwait 3."  The urologist came to the waiting area and summoned me into his office.  "And how are you today, sir?" I inquired.  After exchanging a few pleasantries, we went over the test results.  I sat there wearing my usual silly grin.  Remember Gary, whatever happens, happens, I thought to myself.

He stared at the computer screen.   I stared at the computer screen.  MRI prostate scan, all clear.  Ultrasound prostate scan, all clear (no, not pregnant for certain).  Prostate biopsy, all clear.  No "hostile cells".  Just a bit of irregular gland swelling in the prostate area that was a bit of a mystery but not a concern.

Thus, from all the tests, I have a provisional diagnosis of bladder over-activity.  I have been given a subscription for some pills that hopefully will counteract a urinary urgency.  I was told that I should take them at a time that best fitted with my schedule.  Evidently you can variate the times.  And in reference to the times, he said "You can play with them a little bit."  To which I responded, "Are we still talking about the pills?"

Um, moving on, I was told that an ongoing blood test would be needed every three months or so.  This is to check my "PSA"  (Prostate-Specific Antigen) to monitor any disparities that can cause concern.  And oh no, I was told to reduce my coffee intake.  What?  I like having my eyebrows stuck to the top of my forehead.

Seriously, you know you should get checked on a regular basis to make sure your health is okay.  We can all too easily put off that appointment with the doctor because we are embarrassed, worry about our dignity.  Yet, at what cost?  I knew I couldn't put it off any longer and the challenge I have gone through has, I hope, I pray, brought inspiration to those who have been neglecting to have their health checked out.

Heading home, I got red lights all the way.  Did I care?   Heck no.  I got green lights on the way to the hospital and green lights from my tests.  Thank you for coming along with me on this journey of the fears I challenged.  The biggest fear was going out and I did it.  Oh yes I did.

A Fair Assessment Of The Week That Was.

Tuesday, February 12, MRI scan.  Wednesday, February 13, ultrasound.  Thursday, February 14, prostate biopsy.  Yes, three straight days visiting the hospital.  Three days of mixed emotions, worry, stress and laughter to cover my fear.

Now it was Friday morning, February 15 and I was driving to attend to a medical assessment done on behalf of the government by a private healthcare company named "ATOS".  A very quick turnaround from the day before.  I was sore, uncomfortable, nervous, exhausted.

I'd read the stories, watched the news.  The reports coming back from the medical assessments of people too ill to work, were outrageous, horrifying.  The agenda set by the government is to get as many people of incapacity benefits as possible.  This has meant that there have been numerous cases of people deemed fit for work who could not possibly work.  Their disability benefits stopped and their lives thrown into turmoil.

I parked up and headed for the building, preparing for the worst but maintaining my composure.  The building is located between a well known ghastly food restaurant and a franchised computer company.  So, with an "Unhappy Meal" in one hand and a new laptop under my arm, I bravely entered the healthcare building.  "Would you like a fry?"  I asked the receptionist.  Ignore all that.  I had a stressful week.  I actually went straight into the building.  Well, using the door to get into the building.  Enough already.

That would be after a brief conversation with a very irate guy outside totally aggravated by his treatment and how he'd had several heart attacks and was deemed fit for work.

Deep breath.  The receptionist was polite and directed me to the waiting area.  I looked around and sadness, rage, a growing resentment towards this evil British government surged through me.  Yes, there was the lady barely able to walk, being comforted by the lady with her.  There was the scared young man sitting on his own until his support worker came and sat beside him.  And there was the frail old man, aided by two crutches, his partner and the healthcare professional, as they slowly guided him from the waiting area to an office down the hallway.

And there was me, alone and worried.  I shuffled around the waiting room and thought about how inspired I was knowing so many thoughts from you on the other side of my computer screen, had come my way.  A gentleman escorted me to his office for my medical assessment.  You might note the photo at the top of the posting.  Such was the quick turnaround from being at the hospital the previous day, I still had my hospital wrist tag on.  I also had my paperwork tucked inside my hospital patients bag.

This gentleman, was kind, courteous and he came across as compassionate.  Upon looking at my series of tests on my clearly instructed appointment letters, he immediately went and photocopied them.  He didn't even want to see my other overwhelming evidence that I'm not well.  He told me that I had given him more than enough proof and he would forward it onto the Department of Works and Pensions.  The DWP make the ultimate decision.   I'm not naive.  I know that all sorts of hassles might transpire.  I shall remain positive that justice will be served from the outset.

With that, realising I was in discomfort from my prostate biopsy, he ended the assessment very quickly.  "Please go and get some rest and have a pleasant weekend", he stated.  So now we wait for the results of an assessment I shouldn't of had and so many vulnerable, sick, disabled and scared people, should neither of had to go through.

That was the week that was.  I have witnessed mankind at its finest.  The NHS gets full marks for kindness, caring and efficiency. As I mentioned before, the NHS contacted me via a comment regarding a concern I had.  This is the comment :

"Dear Klahanie,

We've read with interest your experience of using our services from your blog, and enjoyed the humour with which you write. We are particularly interested to hear how we could improve the information and the services we provide. If you would like to meet with us to discuss this, or any other hospital related subjects, please contact Hannah Gibson, patient experience lead, at Hannah.gibson@uhns.nhs.uk.

Kind regards

Andrew Ashcroft
Senior Communications Manager
University Hospital of North Staffordshire"  

And bless the NHS.  Yes, they acted swiftly on my concern in regards to the vagueness of an appointment letter.  I'm very proud of this.  An example that we can make things happen.

Now, David Cameron, so called Prime Minister of Britain, shall you be making note of my concerns about the way your inhumane, immoral government is treating, the vulnerable, the sick, the poor, the disabled?  Yes, you call it austerity measures.  That would be where the unfortunate pay for the mistakes of the incompetent fortunate.  I await your comment, Dave.  After all, you say, "We are all in this together."

Through the week that was, I saw the good, the kind, the caring.  Through that week I sensed a solidarity, a unity against the adversity so many of us here are experiencing.  That inspires.  Through that week, this virtual recluse, challenged his fears, did it with dignity, humour and by the weekend had become a better man.

Now, this better man, a reflective man who has gone through emotions of such extreme, awaits for the results of all the tests.  Monday, February 25, the day I should finally know.  I thank you profoundly for your thoughts, wishes and prayers.

A Snip It Of My Life.

I shall try my best to type this.  Somehow managed to wrench my back and the pain earlier was excruciating.  And, before you ask, I didn't actually use a wrench or any other type of tool.

Valentine's Day, Thursday, February 14 and the third straight day of my hospital tests.  Tuesday, February 12, MRI scan.  Wednesday, February 13, ultrasound.   I knew this would be the most memorable Valentine's Day of my life.

My appointment was scheduled for 4:00 P.M.  The consultant being aware that I was early, brought me through before my scheduled appointment time.  Not only did she tell me what the procedure would entail, she thanked me for my input in regards to the vagueness of an appointment letter I'd received.  "Oh, did you read my blog post about it?", I asked.  She said she had and that they had a meeting about the way my appointment was phrased and have rectified the clarity of the appointment letters.  I have the proof of this with the very detailed and clear appointment letters I have received since.  I was very proud of that and also showed that blogs can bring awareness.  Well done to the NHS for taking such swift action.

Valentine's Day, a snippet, or a 'snip it' of my life.  Oh yes, this was prostate biopsy day for me.  I was taken to a waiting area where I got to sit in a really comfy chair.  A nurse came and took my blood pressure.  A few minutes later, a very polite gentleman who was going to check me out, directed me into the biopsy room.  I sat on a chair by his desk and he gave me a thorough explanation of the rest of the procedure.  With him, were two male assistants who put me at ease and we exchanged pleasantries.  Well, when you're lying on your side, are anticipating a probe up your butt, a distraction is most welcome.  "Any hobbies?"  The chap doing the biopsy asked of me.  "I attempt to do a bit of blogging.", was my response.  "Don't really know what to make of blogging.", he said.  My reply as I tried to breathe gently was, "I sort of consider it an email to the world."

I was informed that when he got to the bottom of things, they would be taking 12 samples of my prostate,   I said I thought that was a bit "greedy."

A few minutes later and the end was in sight.  A few minutes later and after some initial discomfort, the biopsy was over.  I was taken back to the comfy chair and one of the assistants asked me if I would like a cup of tea or coffee.  I declined and about 30 minutes later he asked me if I felt like I was okay to go home. Feeling quite okay, I was directed back to the entrance of the clinic.  At this point, the nurse with the strong Northern Irish accent who had been mentioned in the posting that lady consultant had read by me, where I joked about her referring to me as "Mr. Perrick", noticed me.  "Hello Mr. Pennick.", said the nurse with the strong Northern Irish accent.  I replied, "Happy Valentine's Day to you!"  "And you, Mr. Pennick.", was her reply.  Oops, paranoia now kicking in, I start to wonder if she read that posting.  If she did and she, per chance, reads this, "I was only kidding!"

Forget about chocolates and flowers on Valentine's Day. Can't think of anything more enjoyable on Valentine's Day than the experience of having a tube with some kind of snippy thing that sounded very much like a stapler shoved up my butt. Yep, much more fun than having chocolates and flowers shoved up my butt!

I'm rushing this posting for two reasons.  First, the painkillers working on the wrench in my back are losing their effect.  Second, I'm trying to get this published on February 21 and I started this posting an hour ago.  So, all the typos will be corrected at a later time.

And today, February 21, the joy of six.  What a posting to write on the sixth anniversary of my blog.  And speaking of prostate biopsy, this post has reached the bottom.  The end.....

My Ultrasound. A British Weather Map?

Last week was one of the most hectic, most challenging, most exhausting weeks of my life, both physically and emotionally.  This posting is about day two, Wednesday, February 13.  Day one's posting in regards to Tuesday, February 12, if you didn't read it or if you're interested, can be found here : A Scan Of Mine.

Last Wednesday was a 'bonus' day visit to the hospital.  On the Monday, I received a phone call from a very  polite lady at the hospital asking me if I could attend the X-Ray Unit for an ultrasound.  I wasn't about to turn down another opportunity at getting an ultrasound.   Perhaps this might give conclusive evidence as to whether I was actually pregnant.

I headed out from Leek, Staffordshire to the hospital in the early afternoon.  A few flakes of snow drifted gently down.  Nothing to worry about.  Half an hour later, I arrived at the X-Ray Unit for my ultrasound.

I was directed to the ultrasound waiting room where there were a number of doors with the word, not surprisingly,"Ultrasound", displayed on them.  I sat there waiting patiently along with all the other expectant mothers.  "How far along are you?", stated one mother.  "Pardon me?  Oh no, don't think I'm pregnant.  Just getting confirmation that I'm hopefully not!", I replied. Okay, I made that up.  It was to check me out while having a full bladder.  Gosh, that was fun getting filled up before arriving at the hospital and having to hold on, well mostly hold on....

Into one of the ultrasound rooms I went.  Two lovely nurses went through the procedure with me.  Then, oh yeah, I got the cold jelly on my belly.  The one nurse probed the top of my belly and I was rather enjoying the experience.  I never saw the image of my ultrasound, but I reckon it would of looked rather similar to a typical British weather map.  Cloud followed by more cloud with a trough of low pressure battling against a high pressure ridge.  A few minutes later and it was all over.  I thanked the nurses and left the hospital.

It was now getting late in the afternoon.  What had been just a few flakes of snow a couple of hours earlier, was now a full-scale blizzard.  A blizzard right at the beginning of "rush hour".  Driving along at the dizzying speed of about ten miles an hour, I inched along the treacherous roads. Then it suddenly got warmer and then colder again.  Now the roads had turned to ice.  This brought everything to a standstill.  As this point, I wished I brought along my ice skates, hockey stick and puck.

In such awful conditions, it was fantastic to see how all of us motorists cooperated with each other, kept a safe distance apart and let traffic merge in.  You can get such unity in the face of adversity.  Indeed, a half an hour drive there.  Over two hours getting home.  To think, this was my bonus day at the hospital and a memorable journey home.

These are unusual times and want to apologise to those folks who I said I would promote their books.  I haven't forgot.  It's just the exhaustion over the last few weeks has been catching up with me.  I know you will understand.

Tomorrow, February 21, I'm going to post up my experience of my third straight day at hospital.  Yes, it was Valentine's Day and one I soon wont forget.  To end this posting, I can finally confirm that I'm not pregnant....

A Scan Of Mine.

Last weekend, I visualised that moment when the week ahead would be over.  Where I could actually start typing about that week.  Now has come that time.  Unlike earlier last week when I didn't do a posting, this one actually is here.  At least I think it's here...

I braced myself for what I knew would be a week where I challenged the fears that lurk within.  A week where I knew I would be going to the hospital on my own.  Yet, despite that, I clutched onto the vibes, the thoughts, the prayers of so many.  I went alone, yet I wasn't alone.

It all began on Tuesday, February 12 at 8:00 A.M.  I sat in the waiting area until I was summoned for my first test.  A very polite consultant explained the proceedings to me and what to expect during my experience within a Magnetic Resonance Imaging scanner or MRI.  He also double checked that I had no metallic objects on my body.  They can cause some problems with the scanner.  Unless I had some mystery piercings, I knew that there was nothing metallic on me.

Now then, just a few minutes past 8:00 A.M., I was strapped into the scanner by a friendly, informative lady who guided me through the process as it happened via the headphones provided.

Yes, headphones to also block out the noise of the machine.  So, in a machine sensitive to anything metallic, what  did I listen to on the headphones?  Glad you asked.  The music was by "Iron Butterfly", "Iron Maiden", "Steely Dan" and "Metallica".  Our blogging friend on 'Farcebook', Tammy, saw my profile update in regards to this and noted the "Iron'y" in the music selection.  So Tammy, I 'steel' your joke.

Seriously, the actual music selection was "Smoke on the Water" by "Deep Purple", something by "Tina Turner" and "Radar Love" by "Golden Earring".  The 'ride' in the machine took about 20 minutes. Staying as motionless as possible, I visualised the capsule transporting me to the 24th century and finding myself on the deck of the starship "Enterprise".  Near the end, the ride was kinda' bumpy and it felt kinda' good.  Ah yes....moving swiftly on.....

I asked if I could go for another 'ride'.  She laughed and then unstrapped me.

So day one of four in one of the most harrowing yet inspirationally defining weeks of my life was almost complete.  Remembering to get dressed, I thanked the kind, respectful, caring staff at the hospital and headed for my car.  Home to reflect and be proud I was challenging my fears.

I'm Not Doing A Posting.

"Sorry I haven't been posting much lately."  Whoa, I would never make such a statement.  I chuckle when I read such things.  Like I care.  If anything, I'd more likely say, "sorry about posting."  Yeah, I know how they mean it.

Thus, I'm not doing a posting.  I haven't got time to let you know how my first appointment at the hospital went this week.  I wont tell you about my adventures with the MRI scanner until another time.  I wont tell you that I now have an added appointment.  I now have an appointment slotted in for Wednesday for another ultrasound test.  However, not actually doing a posting, I wont mention that.  Perhaps they need to double check in regards to my possible pregnancy.  But I wont tell you that or my ongoing craving for pickles and ice cream.

This means in this posting I'm not doing, that my revised hospital schedule is this.  Tuesday, MRI scan, finished.  Wednesday, ultrasound.  Thursday, ah Thursday, Valentine's Day, the day they get to the bottom of things with a prostate biopsy.  And no, wont say something predicable like that it will all work out in the end. No, definitely wont mention that.  And no, wont mention after going for three straight days to the hospital, that Friday is a medical assessment by a private 'healthcare' company, hired by this wicked government to do their best to remove my disability benefits.  No, wont mention that.

What I will mention in this posting I'm not doing is that I'm profoundly grateful for your wishes, your prayers, your positive vibrations.  Thank you for reading this posting I'm not doing.

Eye Have A Vision.

Eye then, what's going on here?  In my last posting, it had been noted that the photo looked rather like an "eerie alien eye".  So, for your delight, here is an eye.  It's actually my eye and 'eye' took the photo.  I was always, okay sometimes, okay, hardly ever, an attentive 'pupil'.

On Wednesday, February 6th, I had to go back to the hospital to try again to do something that didn't happen on January 23rd.  If you haven't got a clue what I'm on about at this point, the details of my previous hospital adventures can be found here : New Year's 'Wee've'.. and here : From Leek To No Leak. 

Okay, on February 6th, I was asked to come back and 'POD', which is 'Piddle On Demand'.  I was prepared this time.  I knew the actual reason I was going to the hospital.  So I topped myself up before departing to the hospital.  Upon arrival and checking in, I headed straight to the drinks machine and had a few extra cups of water to complete my topping up process.

"Are you ready, Mr. Pennick?", inquired the nurse.  "Um, can I have a few more minutes please?", I replied.  "No problem.  I'll come back in a few minutes", stated the nurse.  The few minutes soon went by and off I went to the 'Piddle Room' to test my urinary flow.  I thought to myself, "Yeah, I'll show that machine!  Pretend I'm taking a leak on a robot, or think of waterfalls, or turn on a tap!  That'll do it..."  And then...and then....nothing happened, again!  "Oh nurse!  It aint happening.", I declared.

"Right then.  We'll have to see how much fluid you have in your bladder by using the ultrasound.", explained the patient nurse.  Finally, the reason I thought I was originally at the clinic, was actually happening.  Yay, I was going to get some cold jelly on my belly!

After my ultrasound, which I can confirm indicates I'm not pregnant, some nurses had a deliberation about my situation.  It turned out that a consultant was going to be seeing another outpatient and if I could stay around, he would find time to see me.  I agreed and I waited for the consultant on a seat temptingly close to the toilets.  While I waited, you guessed it, I had to go to the toilet twice in about ten minutes.  Darn it!

The consultant was a very pleasant gentleman and he understood my 'bashful bladder' problem.  While he explained what was going to be scheduled next, I had this incredible urge to go for another leak.  Sitting there, smiling through gritted teeth, I listened to what was proposed.

They wanted me to have an MRI scan and a prostate biopsy.  I would be informed of my appointments within about two weeks.  On Friday, February 8th, I received a phone call from the secretary of my urologist.  And just like that, I now have to go for an MRI scan on Tuesday morning, February 12th and a prostate biopsy on the afternoon of February 14th.  Me thinks it's going to be one Valentine's Day I will not soon forget.

Then, oh yes, then, on the morning of February 15th, I have to go for a medical assessment.  This would be a medical assessment done by a private 'healthcare' company working on behalf of the British government at a huge expense to the British tax payer.  The agenda is to claim a significant proportion of those too sick to work, the vulnerable, those with mental health issues, are deemed fit to work and their disability benefits stopped.  Oh the evil irony.  Still, I can always remain standing during my assessment.  "Sorry 'health professional', cannot sit down, I've a right pain in my ass!"

Yet, no matter what they try, I will not let them destroy my spirit, my passion to eliminate such injustice being imposed on so many desperate souls.  And the NHS, the National Health Service, our treasured universal healthcare?  They have treated me with respect, understanding and dignity.  Something the immoral British government could learn from.

The photo of my eye.  It has seen enough tears shed.  Yet, the photo of my eye also has a vision of a kinder, caring, more compassionate world.  My friend, my vision has been inspired by you.

From Leek To No Leak.

On Wednesday, January Twenty Third, I had an another outpatients appointment at the University Hospital of North Staffordshire in Stoke on Trent.

I was sent a letter informing me that I had to go to the Department of Anaesthetics.  There was a map included, but the map gave no indication of the building I was supposed to go to.  First of all, I was somewhat puzzled as to why I was going to that department and second of all, I reckoned it would be a darned good idea to find out where I was actually going to.

So, I phoned the hospital and asked why I was going to that department and where the department actually was.  The lady I spoke to didn't have a clue why I was going there, but luckily, she did tell me the location.  With limited information and thinking it must be an ultrasound test, I headed off.  And before you ask, I'm reasonably confident I'm not pregnant and if I was, I wouldn't want to know the sex of the baby.

From Leek, Staffordshire to the hospital is about a twelve mile drive westwards.  Upon my arrival, much to my surprise, I found the correct building.  Inside the building, I was directed to the Central Treatment Suite.  In the first reception area was an old dude sitting there.  He asked me if I was the ambulance driver that was going to take him home.  I told him I wasn't an ambulance driver and I'd had enough trouble remembering which side of the road to drive on.  He muttered something about, "I know what you mean...bloody drivers these days!"

The receptionist in the first area told me to go over and push a green button.  Upon pushing the green button, the receptionist in the actual waiting room, let me in.  I showed her my appointment letter and she asked me to take a seat.  And no, I'm not that pedantic.  I didn't walk out with a seat.

I looked around and observed there were a lot of really old dudes.  Suddenly, I felt real young.  I also realised it was pretty darn warm in the waiting room.  I noticed that a lot of the old dudes were getting cups of water from a drinks machine.  I thought, "How nice of the hospital to supply water to cool down the old dudes."

I sat there for about fifteen minutes.  "Mr. Perrick!?", yelled out a nurse with a very strong Northern Irish accent.  "Ah, do you mean, Mr. Pennick?", I responded.  "That's what I said, Mr. Perrick!"  Anyway, I'm figuring this nurse is gonna' rub some jelly on my belly or whatever.  "Mr. Perrick."  At this point I give up correcting my name.  "Mr. Perrick, your urologist has asked us to get you to do an urinary flow test. Please go to the drinks machine and have some cups of water.  We'll see how you're doing in half an hour."

Then it all became clear. Old dudes drinking cups of water.  If only I'd known beforehand.  So, off I went to the drinks machine and topped myself up.  One cup of water became twenty cups of water.  "Are you ready, Mr. Perrick?"  "I'll give it my best shot",  I replied.  I was led to a room and told to go urinate into this weird sink that had monitoring lights to the side of it.  I then remembered that I don't 'POD'.  Which is, 'Piddle On Demand'.  Twenty cups of water were having none of it.  I tried and I tried.  Nothing.  The nurse knocked on the door and asked me how it was going.  Well, it aint going, nurse.

I was taken out of the 'piddle room' and told to go back to the waiting room and drink some more cups of water.  "Drink some more and jump about a bit", another nurse told me.  Ten cups later and after a bit of hopping around, I was taken back to the 'piddle room'.  Now I had thirty cups of water churning inside me.  And yep, still nothing.

At this point I was taken back to reception and another appointment has been made for me for February Sixth.  I have to do it all over again.  You guessed it, as soon as I left the clinic, I headed straight to the public toilets and yes ah yes....

I got back in my car, right in the middle of "rush hour".  Why do we call it rush hour?  No rush at all.  Just a long line of vehicles seemingly going nowhere.  The only 'rush' I got was, to my horror, the other twenty eight cups or so of water, were begging to get out.  There I was stuck in traffic and my guts were busting.  I thought I was going to wet the seat.  I held back knowing that my car was going in for servicing the next morning.  Can imagine the mechanic wondering what the strange smell was.  By the time I got back home, I was in agony.  Back in Leek to take a leak.

Now I should hopefully be ready for the next time at the hospital.  I shall avoid going to the toilet before leaving my home.  Knowing my luck, I will sit patiently waiting my turn at the Central Treatment Suite, note the old dudes drinking cups of water and promptly pee my pants!  

New Year's 'Wee've'.

This posting has nothing to do with the 'wee folks'.  Three weeks ago, I had an appointment with the nurse at my local health centre to have a blood test.  We established I did indeed have blood and it was red.

Two weeks ago, I had an appointment with my doctor at the local health centre in regards to my blood test results.  He told me my blood test results indicated some slight concern.  Then he put on the rubber glove, that would be the surgical type and not, thankfully, the type you use when doing the dishes.  Not exactly comfortable with my doctor prodding my posterior, I tried to 'crack' a joke.  "Hey doc, if your career as a doctor doesn't work out, you can always go work for Customs!"

"Okay Gary, to air on the side of caution, I shall arrange for you to see a urologist."  Two days after seeing the doctor, I got a letter from the University Hospital of North Staffordshire.  And on the letter it stated that I had an appointment with a urologist on December 31, 2012.  Yes indeed, a meeting with a urologist on New Year's Eve.  Now that really took the p**s!

"Should old acquaintance 'wee' forgot..."  Actually, I was never asked to bring a sample in one of those little tubes, which can also be called 'vile', I mean, vial.  Besides, if I had to bring a 'wee' tube of fluid, knowing my luck, I wouldn't of closed it tightly and well.....Now then, where were wee?  So there I was on New Year's 'Wee've' morning driving to the hospital.

Upon my arrival, I noted that the building I had to go to was named, the "Main Building."  The Main Building didn't seem like a hospital.  More like an airport terminal.  I even had to go to a computer check-in kiosk, which issued me with a ticket that informed me which clinic room to proceed to.  In the waiting room of the clinic, was a display screen which indicated the number of the patient who was to go to the next section of the clinic.  So I waited for my patient number that was on the ticket.  Finally, after nearly waiting an hour longer than my scheduled time, my number came up on the screen and a voice informed me to, " please go to Subwait 3."

At Subwait 3, I waited a further fifteen minutes to see the urologist.  While waiting there, I realised I had to fart really bad, but squeezed my butt cheeks really tight and managed to keep it in.  I then started thinking about the urologist maybe wanting to probe me and what if the fart escaped while he had the surgical glove on....

"Good morning, Gary.  Urine trouble?"   "Gosh, I hope not!  Wonder what I've supposed to have done?"  Okay, I made that up.

Anyway, after having a discussion with the urologist, he asked me if it was okay to inspect my bum.  Trying to desperately forget about the trapped fart, I tried my 'joke' distraction technique with the urologist.  "I reckon if this career doesn't work out for you, you can always get a job with Customs!", I stated.  "I've never heard that one before.  That's funny!", he responded.  And no, I didn't fart.....

I was then taken away by a nurse to go and give a wee sample in one of those vials.  "Go in there and when you have finished filling the vial, place the vial in the little open cupboard on the wall", said the nurse.  After finally accomplishing the mission at hand, I placed the vial in the cupboard which looked remarkably like one of those "dumbwaiters", which is a small elevator to convey food or drinks from one floor to the other.  I shuddered to think that my vial might be mistaken as part of a drinks display.

From there, yes I know, by my standards, this is a long posting, from there I had to go for yet another blood test.  I went to the blood test clinic and took a number.  "Number 79", called out the nurse.  "Can I have an extra portion of fries with that please?", I responded, cause basically I'm an idiot.

I now await the results of all the tests and I will also be receiving a letter from the hospital to go back for an ultrasound.  If I turn out to be pregnant, you can be my agent.

On a serious note, if you have health concerns and put it off due to feeling embarrassed, please don't let that stop you.  I wasn't exactly thrilled with baring all, but I know it's best to get things checked out before they could potentially get worse.

May you have a peaceful, positive New Year.