Friday, 28 March 2014

To the Max!

Move on


That’s what they want me to do – it’s been 18 months since St. Peter’s Accident and Emergency sent me home with a displaced, broken ankle. That’s where the break is out of alignment and you are at risk of losing your leg if the blood supply gets cut off.


‘The Ankle Rankle’


I’ve got a problem

and it’s really starting to rankle.

You see, I hurt my leg

in fact, I broke my ankle.


The problem was my mistake

Oh what would that be?

The ambulance took my break

to St. Peter’s A and E.


Because instead of trying

to fix it there and then.

Some idiot, what was he was doing?

Sent me home again.


You can mess up a finger

You can bugger up a wrist

but only a consultant at St. Peter’s

would think a break was a twist.


When I went back a week later, I needed two operations to put right their mistake. After the first one, where they realigned the break, I didn’t sleep all night, I was trying to get out of bed so that I could get to A and E to sort them out. Bad ankle, flappy gown and crutches – no problem.

The nurses had a job on their hands persuading me over the next 6 days that it would be better to make a complaint and do things the ‘right’ way.

They meant well but they were wrong.

If I’d managed to give the consultant at A and E a good seeing too (while on crutches and a little light headed post–op) that would have been that. And the police would have had quite a job processing me and getting me to court.

But now, after 18 months of doing things the right way, I haven’t got very far.

I’m more than a little annoyed.

Here’s how I got rid of some of the anger this week after I learnt that I’d exhausted the ‘right’ ways of complaining.

Tuesday morning I decided that it was time to take my Mum’s old carpet to the dump. This is the ragged old room-sized rug that was bigger than me, rolled up. I know, I rolled the thing up.

This is me (bad back, ankle, knees and various other body parts gone), with a walking stick and another pair of big bad boots.

I never said that any part of this was going to be clever.

I got the rug into my tiny car. It really was as big as I am, but cleverer.

I got to the dump.

These days, it’s a recycling centre. Everything is segregated. In the case of old carpets, that means dragging it up a steel staircase and then humping it over the lip of a giant skip, which is the size of a bus. I wasn’t doing so well.

Did I mention that I’m not well?

After quite a lot of huffing and puffing, I was halfway up the stairs when a passing Good Samaritan came forward to help.

We each took an end, me at the front and him down below at the back.

I was fine, but at the top of the stairs, my Good Samaritan began to look more than a little grey around the gills and started to wobble. I saw fear in his eyes.

Increasingly, as he slowly rocked backwards I was keeping him upright (just) by holding on to my end of the roll. Not good, I only just managed to stop him breaking his neck.

Back at the top and breathing again, we were standing on a platform at the top of the skip. We had to get the carpet over the edge, which was at head height. I thought he was going to have a heart attack – which is why I didn’t ask to take a photo for my Blog.

On the way back home, I stopped off and found a compilation CD of Gypsy and Balkan music for 99p.

All the traditional influences were there; Eastern European folk music, India, Arabia and also a distinct tang of Kletzmer too.

Plenty of Paprika in that Goulash.

An oppressed peoples having some good times.

Nothing like having an edge of danger in the mix.

It’s called life.

But this was also young music from 2006 so there was plenty of echo and mixes and even some Ska too.

Of course, the outrageous and innovative ‘Gogol Bordello’ were there as well with their ‘You Must Wear Purple’….fabulous.


I should explain that there’s always a risk with my back and with a logic unique to me, I decided that as I’d done my back in a fortnight before without any obvious sign of lasting neurological damage, I might as well take advantage of this brief window of opportunity to take it to the Max. I Maxed it.

Wednesday, Oh that hurts!

Hoover the house, change the beds, do the washing, get the meals

In the afternoon as my back hurt (funny that) but my legs were still OK, I took a walk from Staines to Penton Lock and back to think things out.

Looking at the wreckage from the floods all around and watching the wild water flowing through the weirs I put it all in perspective.

I may put up the photos, but they weren’t that exciting. If anyone is interested in fish conservation and weirs – post a comment and I’ll do it on the Blog.

At least I remembered why I started this Blog – I never had any faith that the system would work for me in the first place.

Should I give up? Should I let them get away with it?

Should I F@#K!

So lots more to do and not so much time left to do it in.

Time to take the gloves off.

Time to name names.

To the max!

Neil Harris

(a don’t stop till you drop production)


No comments:

Post a Comment