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.