New Prosthetic Hand

My new prosthetic hand

Is There a Dr House...in the House?

 Of all the professions in the world, that I would like to undertake least…it would have to be nursing. Simply put, I am not great around sick people. I have great empathy for sick people though, don't get me wrong, but as far as hands-on, "Whistle Why You Mop The Vomit..Tra, la, la, la, la la, la", I fail pretty miserably.

Blood, needles, bedpans, rectal thermometers - all of these things tend to throw me into a bit of a tailspin.

Worse still, are the "Get Well Soon" cards that every so often circulate around the office for some poor sod, who works in Accounts, whom you have never met, and are now supposed to write something extremely sensitive and profound for.

I am being handed fewer and fewer of these though, as I tend to get all flustered and end up writing something cringingly cheesy, like "Sorry about the failed boob implants I hope you recover and make a clean breast of it" or "Heard you had Irritable Bowel Syndrome..don't worry, it will all come out good, in the end."

So, given my terrible bedside manner, it would probably come as no surprise, that I do not like hospitals.

I don't like hospitals for many, many reasons. They are depressingly clean and sanitary, with always that one faint smell of something…not quite discernable, but in all liklihood, bodily fluids…of some sort

However, this week, the man of the manor had to have surgery. He had been complaining of not hearing as well as used to (this was never more obvious than when I asked him if he had ..fed the cat and he responded "Why would I eat bread and fat?").

Turns out, after a few pokes and prods, he needed a prosthetic inner ear. Just hearing the word "prosthetic", got all of the little interns into a bit of a froth They hovered about the machine that goes "Ping" muttering excitedly, "Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to ensure no man will confuse cat with fat…ever again. This man will be that man. Better than he was before. Better…stronger…faster."

So off into surgery he trotted. As they wheeled him out, I heard him asking the interns if there was any other prosthetic enhancements they may want to test out while he was there…..

As I sat waiting for his return, hopefully with things still intact, rather than enhanced, I thought about my last trip to hospital,.

Just over 12 months ago, my left leg started to feel, well, just a bit, odd. Nothing dramatic, just a tingling sensation from the knee down. I put it down to the fact that I had just started Yoga, and like most physical activities that I suck at, I figured I had just mixed up the "Prowling Panther On Acid" maneouvre with the "Squatting Peahen with Hemorhoids" position.

It gradually become more and more pronounced over the weeks, until I woke up and went to get out of bed one morning, and nearly fell on the floor. I had no sensation in my left leg at all!

Three doctors appointments, two spinal X-Rays, and a several puzzled and concerned "Hmmms and errs" later, I was whisked into hospital.

Well. This put a definite kink in my plans for the weekend. I had hoped, given the inconvenience of missing a rather indulgent and boozy lunch on the waterfront,  that I would be compensated at least by being attended to (and subsequently examined by) a hunky physician from "Grey's Anatomy"….even Zach Braff would have probably sufficed.

But no…

Sitting bare-arsed in a cold cubicle with no feeling in one leg , I had to pull a doctor straight out of a "Dr Seuss" edition. Let's call him, Dr Grinch, for now.

He pottered, and mumbled, hit my knee with various hammers and even came in armed with a bucket of ice (to which I cried "Not on the first date Mister!) to see why my leg was playing dead.

Finally, he pulled the curtain aside and said cheerily, "Well, it looks like MS now, doesn't it".

There are moments in your life when things do literally seem to come to a screeching and horrifying halt.

One, is when you are told that they are taking "West Wing" off the air.

The other, is being told, that you probably have a terminal illness.

Conveniently,  the MRI machine had an Out of Order sign hanging on it at that time, so I would just have to sit tight, and enjoy the hospital's hospitality for a few days until they could confirm this tid-bit of information.

I spent the next three days, waiting, wondering and compiling lists of things to do before I morphed into a complete vegetative state.

1. Rent and watch ALL of Twin Peaks

2. Have an $80.00 entrée of Wagyu beef…just to see what all the fuss is about

3.Write a long and very dirty love letter to Matthew McConnaghy

4. Buy disgustingly expensive and uncomfortable Dior heels

5. Write memoirs..and hope that Sandra Bullock will agree to play the lead in the TV movie

6. Tell my partner that he CAN...IF HE WISHES....watch "Big Brother"...(if he MUST)

7. Try to get my cats toilet trained

8. Cry a little

I even wrote a cheesy Get well card to myself with "Sorry about the Nerve disintegration thing, hope you are up and hopping around soon!"

The hospital staff finally managed to kick start the MRI machine, and after an hour of lying in a very cramped little space, with "Barry Manilow"being piped through my earphones,, and several hours of little electrodes pumping shocks through my lower torso, I was declared MS-Free!

Well…thanks guys!

As it turned out, I had a severely trapped nerve in my knee, which according to Doctor Brilliant "Can…err…sometimes mimic other..er….symptoms".

I packed my bags and limped out of the hospital faster than you can say is Dr House….in the house???"

I haven't seen Dr Grinch since, although I have since swapped Yoga for Tae Kwon Do, so I do hope to have the pleasure again sometime in the near future.

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The man of the manior is back at home now, with a few days of rest and recuperation ahead (I am filling in for Nurse Ratchett in the meantime).

He seems to be fine although he kept calling me "Dana" for the first few hours and asking if the Democrats won the election.

Hopefully he will be up and running (at 1000 kilometers an hour ala Steve Austin) soon enough, but am happy to let him sleep for now.

I put a Get Well card on his dresser for when he joins me back in the land of the living.

"Heard about your new prosthetic inner aural device…take it easy for now, and we'll play it by ear".