Okay, where did I finish up yesterday – “As I lay down I saw a pretty little nurse approaching deftly juggling with... yup, you guessed it, two tennis balls.”
And thus the procedure I’d been assured had been consigned to the big bin of bad procedures many years before, began.
These balls were firmly wrapped against my lower back and then I was lowered to the horizontal position on the rock-hard couch thus, by the cunning positioning of the tennis balls, my kidlys were squeezed out as flat as pancakes. As I was already in some considerable pain, my threshold not being all that high in the first place, this, let me yell you, was agonizing and the only solace was being surrounded by four pretty young ladies, dressed-up as nurses, who were gently calming me by the simple expedient of caressing my fevered brow, shoulders, arms and lower legs. I repeat, lower legs.
It was then I glanced to my side and saw a guy approaching with wot looked like a clear five litre can of white emulsion. As he drew closer I observed a needle protruding from the bottom of the can and that he was carrying it, not by a handle, but by a plunger. I quickly realised what this was for and my mind descended into a very deep, dark, lonely pit.
The needle, as best I remember as I wasn’t taking notes at the time, was inserted into the back of my hand and the doctor who was driving the emulsion pump then said, “Okay, here we go so hold on real tight, hold real still and, by the way, this isn’t going to be very nice at all.”
I kept quiet as ‘Thank you’ didn’t seem to be an appropriate response. Thus I descended yet further into that dark place.
Every sinew of my body was by now tighter than an overtightened bow string and singing silently in pain. I say silently, but it’s quite possible the local dogs heard me. In fact I’m sure that if, at that time, someone had dropped so much as a cotton-bud on me, my body would’ve shattered into a million bits.
What seemed like one year, two months, three weeks, four days and six hours later I heard a voice-off saying, “That is it. It is over. Well done you.” Again, replying, ‘Thank you’ didn’t seem to fit so I offered up a very weak smile. I have no recollection of when the actual X-rays were taken.
I opened my eyes in time to see my four gentle guardian angels smile at me and then float away, like the soft morning mist from the tranquil Bay of Care, leaving just the one young lady eager to retrieve her tennis balls.
A little later the doctor confirmed the presence of a pesky kidley stone and informed me that the next day I’d be fired off to Singapore to be cured by the leading urologist in the whole of SEA. He further said a car would be here directly so I could spend the night in an hotel rather than on a trolley in a cupboard.
The hotel, the name of which I don’t remember, was a stunner and it was such a shame I was in no shape to enjoy one moment of it as the only way I’d found to ease the pain somewhat was to stand in the shower with hot-hot water hammering my left kidley area. Of sleep, I was getting little to none.
Next AM I was taken to the airport, whisked through the formalities and shortly thereafter arrived in Singapore where, once again, I was escorted off the aircraft, silently eased through that passport control stuff and was dropped off at another cracking hotel and informed I’d be collected early doors the next day to go see the leading urologist in the whole of SEA.
You want episode three? See you tomorrow then.
Quote; Joey Bishop
“My doctor is wonderful. Once, in 1955, when I couldn't afford an operation, he touched up the X-rays.”
Jerry Vale.
“Whiskey is by far the most popular of all remedies that won't cure a cold.”
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