Further Adventures in the NHS - continued

I was called into the Consultant’s office. She asked me what had happened, so I explained again: that I had been singing in a rehearsal on a Saturday morning, and after standing for about 30 minutes my left leg gave way and I fell to the floor. My leg was numb and had no strength. I demonstrated in her office how I had managed to regain my chair, pick up my score and continue singing. In German. (I did not demonstrate the singing.) And this had happened twice, 5 weeks apart.

The ultrasound tests and the ECG had shown no problems. She showed me the results of the MRI scan of my brain. No light areas, or anything that would indicate a problem. However, she would still not rule out the possibility that I had had a TIA!

Now desperately in need of retail therapy, I caught the bus into town. A visit to Schuh in Orchard Square and a nice pair of canvas shoes later sees me sitting outside the Eagle on Eccy Road sipping a pint of something cold waiting for pork pie and pickle. On a plank because Eccy Road.


The follow-up letter came some days later. My appointment is Friday August 9th, leading me to assume there was nothing seriously wrong. If there had been, they’d have had me back in sharpish.

I also have an appointment for an MRI scan on my spine, which is where the problem is.

Then I got a letter telling me to go to the Northern General Hospital to have a 72 hour ECG fitted. I left plenty of time, as parking at NGH is...well you know if you’ve tried it! I enjoyed (?) a brisk walk in 25ºC to the Chesterman Wing from Car Park B. The nice young man who called my name in the waiting room raised his eyebrows to see me stand up so promptly. He introduced himself as Dimitri, and shaved my chest (as you do). While attaching the electrodes he made small-talk by asking me what I did. I told him I played the concertina (which I explained was like a small accordion [I know!]), and bassoon. “Is that like a sitar?” he asked.

So that was yesterday. I have a heart monitor. It smells faintly of patchouli, which I haven’t worn since, ooh, 1976. One of the electrodes came off during the night. I stuck it back on. And I can’t have a shower because it isn’t waterproof, so by Friday, if all I smell of is patchouli, then I’ll be lucky and so will you!

I have to return it on Friday morning at 8:45. Deep joy. Eventually I expect to find out why it was decided to fit the monitor, and what results it showed.


All this has undoubtedly cost the NHS a great deal of money. Some people will criticise me for going along with what might prove to be unnecessary medical procedures, saying patients are waiting on trolleys, not getting the treatment they need, wards are overcrowded, hospital staff are overworked. All these things are true.

But I’m grateful that we continue to have a National Health Service that is free at the point of delivery. Long may it continue, but I very much fear for the future.

Toodle-oo.

Further adventures in the NHS

I’m wearing a heart monitor.

As I wrote last time, I fell over again during a Saturday morning rehearsal. Afterwards a nice lady came and spoke to me. She told me she was a doctor, and offered me a sweet tea. I declined, but agreed to a mug of black coffee and a Kit Kat. I told her that I thought the fall resulted from my sciatic nerve becoming trapped due to a prolapsed disc, and I asked her if she agreed. She said that if the brain doesn’t get a message back from a nerve, it decides there’s nothing much doing in that department and switches it off. My interpretation was highly probable.  As I had promised, I made an appointment to see my GP.

Monday afternoon, and I saw one of the doctors at Falkland House. I described what had happened, that I had not lost consciousness, and that my sciatic nerve was probably to blame. He agreed. When I got home, one of the other doctors phoned me. “The worst case,” he said, “is that you had a TIA, a mini stroke. I’ve referred you the neurology team at the Hallamshire.”

The very next Thursday, off I toddled to the Royal Hallamshire Hospital, complete with book of Opera Choruses (got to get the words for the chorus of Brindisi learnt), pen, iPad, and Guardian bought from WH Smiths for the crossword. The no. 6 bus goes there, but my appointment was 9:20 am, so I had to pay! Ultrasound scan of arteries in neck, check. ECG, check.

Then MRI scan. Emptied pockets, removed glasses (“Just like Manchester airport,” I quipped. Tumbleweed.) I was fitted with earplugs, headphones, and a helmet which held a periscope-type mirror through which, lying on my back, I could see the nursing staff diving for cover as I slid head first into the bowels of the machine.

BABABABABABABABABABA.

I was trying to turn the incessant rhythm into something more bearable: BAbabaBABABAbababaBABAbaBABAbaBAbaba, when a voice came through the headphones: “Can you keep your head still please?”. I contented myself with conducting it with one hand: 3/4, 4/4, 3/4, 5/4.

BOBOBOBOBOBOTTLEBOTTLEBOTTLEBOTTLE

I emerged, glad that was over, trying to think of a witty comment about the crap music. Didn’t bother.

Belongings restored, off to another waiting room, where I made significant headway into the Guardian Cryptic while I awaited the Consultant’s verdict on my health.

For which you will have to wait until the next instalment.

And you still don’t know why I’m wearing a heart monitor.

Pip pip.

Adventures in the NHS

On the 18th of May, I fell down during a rehearsal for Brahms' German Requiem. This was unusual. Except the same thing happened on 29th June.

Sheffield Music Academy  invited experienced choral singers to join them for their end of year concert which would include Brahms' German Requiem. As this is a work that means a great deal to me, I volunteered straight away. Rehearsals were on Saturdays from 8:30-9:30 am at Birkdale School.  I attended the first rehearsal, but the following week we were all asked to stand up. After about 20 or 30 minutes I found myself lying on the floor. Trying to get up, I had no strength or feeling in my left leg. I pulled myself onto a chair, picked up my score, and continued singing, whilst making reassuring signals to everybody.

After the rehearsal several people came up to me to make sure I was OK. I reassured them that I had not lost consciousness, had no chest pains, and could move all my limbs. I was pretty sure that the cause was sciatica as I have a prolapsed disc, and sometimes the sciatic nerve gets trapped causing numbness. I assured everyone that it had never happened before, and if it happened again I would definitely see my GP. Long story short, it did and I did.