On Legs and Fine Words.

When I went to the doctor with my leg problem about four months ago, he took the pulse at groin and ankle and told me: ‘You’re not getting proper blood flow through your leg. The arteries are probably silted up.’ He referred me to hospital for further tests.

The doctor at the hospital took the pulse at groin and ankle using a little sonic device. He told me: ‘The blood isn’t flowing properly through your leg. The arteries are probably silted up.’ He referred me for an ultrasound scan.

Today I went for the ultrasound scan. ‘Have you heard the term “furred up arteries” asked the radiographer? The blood isn’t flowing properly through your leg.’

Erm, I think I’m getting the message here.

She said she’d refer the case to the consultant and the next step will probably be an angiogram before deciding on treatment. The case goes on, and the term ‘step’ seems oddly ironic in the circumstances.

And do you know, I had to get up at 6.15 this morning to make my early appointment. That’s about four hours earlier than I usually get up because I don’t go to bed until around 2.30. And to make matters worse the sun was shining. Why is that a problem, you might ask? Because the drive to Derby is unerringly eastward in direction, and the sun is low at that time of day and at this time of year. By the time I got to the hospital I had a stiff neck from trying to keep my eyes above the level of the visor so I could see where I was going. You’d think they’d know that, wouldn’t you, and not call people for early appointments if they’re coming from the west? Wanting the world to be perfect isn’t too much to ask, is it?

*  *  *

So I did what I always do when I’ve been released from the clutches of the Royal Derby Hospital – called in at Ashbourne on the way back for a cup of decent coffee in Costa by way of celebration.

The manager was on the counter today. The last time I saw her she was looking a little wan and largely deficient of make-up. She explained that she wasn’t feeling well because she’d had an infection in her leg and was waiting for the antibiotics to take full effect. Today she looked a lot better.

‘I see you’ve got your eyes on today,’ I said.

‘Ah, you noticed.’

‘Of course; I notice everything. But do you still have your gangrenous appendage?’

‘It’s getting better.’

‘Congratulations.’

And that, dear reader, is an object lesson in how to woo the ladies even when you look like Quasimodo with a hangover and the blood isn’t flowing properly through your own appendage.