Ramblings
On another cold-cloudy day Jackie drove me to Southampton General Hospital to begin my next round of BCG vaccine instillation. This went smoothly, but the after effects are more than somewhat inconducive to concentration.
I did manage to finish reading Juliet Barker’s ‘The Brontës’, but maintaining focus may take a day or two for a review.
This evening we dined on Bird’s Eye battered cod; oven chips, baked beans, and garden peas, with which I drank more of the Malbec.
We woke this morning to a layer of frost.
I wrapped up well and wandered around the garden.
This afternoon, having deiced the car windows, Jackie drove me to Southampton General Hospital for my cystoscopy undertaken to check the result of my BCG instillations. The procedure was performed efficiently and in a friendly manner; the result was given to me immediately – it demonstrated that the tumour has not returned. The after effects are minimal. A next round of vaccine instillation will begin in three months time.
Later, we dined on Mr Pink’s excellent fish and chips with pickled onions and gherkins.
This morning I underwent the postponed third session of my BCG vaccine installation series at Southampton General Hospital. The procedure was carried out on time with the usual smooth, efficient, friendly, informative, and humorous care by Anna Cornwall.
The anticipated painfully irritating after effects to be expected for 48 hours produced the usual difficulty in concentrating on anything else, so here is a review I made earlier:
This is the third story in the Crime Club Choice of Agatha Christie’s tales entitled “The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding”.
Once again we have the perspicacious Poirot unravelling the alleged facts in a case of Inspector Miller’s and coming to a different conclusion.
With the spare precision of her character description reflecting that of her main protagonist, Christie matches his skill – or is it the other way round? “His eyes swept over Lily Margrave in a quick comprehensive survey, taking in the details of her neat black suit, the touch of white at her throat and the smart little black hat. He saw the elegance of her, the pretty face with its slightly pointed chin, and the dark blue, long-lashed eyes. Insensibly his attitude changed; he was interested now, not so much in the case as in the girl sitting opposite him.” Naturally he was not the only man attracted by her, thus providing an element of a the intrigue.
In complete control of her characters’ dialogue, Christie guides the conversation with such as “His eyes invited her to go on.” She pays attention to tone, as in “The disparagement of her tone, though vague, was evident, and Poirot beat a tactful retreat.” The manner of speech is also relevant, for example ” “Yes, yes, quite so,” said Mr. Mayhew without enthusiasm.”
Dame Agatha catches the note of the Belgian’s spoken English with accuracy and humour, as in “She is anxious that no one should disturb the sleeping dogs.” and “one would hardly think a young man of that type would have the – how do you say it – the bowels to commit such a crime.” On the other hand he can use idioms to good advantage: ‘See a pin and pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck.”
The detective’s own obsessive nature is indicated by such as “Poirot’s right hand strayed out and straightened one or two of the objects lying on the table near him.” This quotation also suggests the author’s love of alliteration as does “quick comprehensive survey” above.
The well-crafted story is told with humour and meticulous detail connecting or refuting all elements as appropriate in order to establish the truth.
This evening we dined on flavoursome baked gammon; boiled new potatoes; piquant cauliflower and leek cheese; tender cabbage and leek; crunchy carrots; I also decided that one small glass of Collin-Bourisset Morgon 2022 could not irritate my bladder any more than today’s procedure has done, so I drank one.
We were very fortunate at Southampton General Hospital this morning because my BCG vaccine procedure began on time and 20 minutes later I was ready to go home, This meant that we were on our way out of the building when an ear-bursting bellow vied with piercing higher tones from the tannoy system instructing everyone to clear the building by the nearest available exit. It seemed that the whole world then walked slowly towards the main doorways. No-one panicked which was a good thing. By the time we had walked to our car, those who still had appointments or work inside, continued to mill about outside. I had warned others approaching that they could expect an evacuation. We recognised many of them as we escaped by car.
It is interesting that I had forgotten the acute discomfort I experienced for the first 48 hours after the first session; I was soon reminded after we returned home. Never mind, I know it will pass.
I spent much of the afternoon reading the first of the three tragedies in the Folio Society’s collection by Federico García Lorca.
The frontispiece above is clearly a portrait of the author himself and that on the front board probably Yerma. This tragic figure struggles with her longing for a child to whom she talks while caressing her empty womb and wishes for passion from her cold husband while trying to suppress her own. She lives in a society where a woman doesn’t count as one unless she has children. Identifying with this belief she engages in fertility rites to help her conceive, yet clings to her honour.
García questions this through the voices of his largely female cast, including gossiping washerwomen; young girls; a sorceress and her acolytes; and the silence of her husband’s shrivelled sisters.
We have music and dance, and the poetic language one would expect from the writer that García is. “The rain smoothes the stones by falling on them, and then the weeds grow – people say they are useless – ….but there they are, I can see them moving their yellow flowers in the wind.” “Have you ever held a live bird in your hand? ….Well [pregnancy is] like that; only in your blood.”
Even the scene directions are telling (Pause. The silence intensifies and without any outward indication one is aware of the struggle between the two) or (The second sister appears and goes over to the doorway, where she stands like a statue in the last light of the evening)
Sue Bradbury, the translator, provides a knowledgeable and well written introduction to the writer and his work.
Presenting Peter Pendrey’s Lino-cuts as they lie on the page offers examples of the poet’s writing.
Wood pigeons are heavy, ungainly, birds more like barrage balloons than delicate creatures who could manage to feed on the crab apples I see beyond my window as they cling precariously to the bending branches and tear at the fruit, dropping as much as they consume. Today they faced the afternoon gloom and allowed rain to drip from their plumage.
This evening we enjoyed further portions of Hrodle Chinese Take Away fare with which I drank one glass of La Macha viña San Juan Merlot, Syrah, Tempranillo 2023.
Yesterday afternoon Jackie photographed a snails’ snuggery in a plant pot she unearthed. This contained 52 specimens.
On this still, warm, morning when we prepared the car for another trip to the Efford Recycling Centre, a T-shirt beneath a normal shirt was at least one layer too much. All was quiet, save for the grating rasp of the returning magpies.
We thought that the Hagley Hybrid, the first of these two clematises, had suffered the fate of a witch burnt at the stake during an early summer hot spell, but after a severe haircut it has risen once more.
A number of fuchsias, such as Mrs Popple, white Hawksmoor, and Garden News continue to thrive;
the Weeping Birch Bed features one of the several Delta’s Sarah.
Jackie has tried to plant nerines before without success. The first in this gallery, named Lipstick seems to enjoy this position beside the patio. Obviously the cosmetic sharing its name is more delicate than that favoured by Hot Lips salvia.
Some of the many roses still flowering are the peach climber, pink Compassion, red Super Elfin, pale pinks Penny Lane and New Dawn, yellow Summer Time, and mauve Alan Titchmarsh.
Hanging baskets and other pots contain begonias, antirrhinums, lobelia and violas underplanted with daffs.
Dahlias are in their element.
At the recycling centre we left five bags of green refuse and various wood and plastic items with no more useful life, and returned with a fine bevelled mirror to reflect light in the garden and provide a target for birds pecking their reflected enemies.
The lunchtime news on BBC featured a hospital carrying out medical procedures at weekends in order to keep down waiting times. The Hospital was Southampton General; the team Urology; the specialism Bladder Cancer. How about that?
This evening we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare.
A sudden scary hail-like clattering seemingly about to pierce our bathroom window panes with a virulent volley at 7.10 a.m. this morning ensured that I was fully awake enough to investigate further.
A violent storm had lifted the patio parasol and, leaving the base behind, threaded it through the arms of a chair ripping the canvas top. Three minutes later all was still and silent. Jackie had righted the pot of chrysanthemums on the table before I produced my camera. Later we unthreaded the parasol pole and returned it to the base.
Fortunately the rain kept away while, returning with two reconstituted stone plinths, we transported another fifteen bags of garden refuse to Efford Recycling Centre.
The postman had delivered an admissions letter with a schedule of dates for my BCG vaccination installation procedures, beginning on Wednesday in two days time. This will mean six once weekly trips to Southampton General Hospital and some unpleasant side affects.
I had hoped to put my feet up this afternoon in preparation for some more chopping and bagging up of pruning from the section along the West Bed fence which Martin hadn’t had time for at the end of his recent visit.
Since I will probably be out of garden action for the next two months I
decided to carry out this task today and take a rest tomorrow. It needed five spent compost bags.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome shepherd’s pie; sliced fried potatoes; firm cauliflower, carrots, and Brussel’s sprouts, with which I drank Patrick Chodot cru du Beaujolais 2023.
Now that the fierce winds have eased off the day was warm enough for T-shirts and bees; although the autumn crocuses have taken a battering Rosa Siluetta Lavender, grateful for the rain, continues its rapid climb up the Weeping Birch trunk.
Jackie was able to clear the Cordyline leaves, brambles, and stinging nettles from behind the Australian tree this morning and leave them for me to bag up this afternoon,
along with a few clippings in a trug.
I filled five and a half bags then swept up the debris.
After drafting this I received a most helpful call from Natalie, one of the nurses in the Southampton General Hospital urology department. She was very friendly and clear in her explanation of the reason for, the procedure, the follow up and the after effects of the BCG vaccine installation, confirming that I would be sent a letter with relevant dates. Interestingly she had the results of my recent blood test which she told me was normal, and that the symptoms I have been continuing post-procedure are quite usual, clarifying why.
This evening we dined on spicy peri-peri chicken (milder than last time); Jackie’s colourful savoury rice; carrots, cauliflower, spinach, and broccoli, with which I drank more of the Cabernet Sauvignon.
Now it has dawned on the Southampton General Hospital urology team that I have lacked information since my procedure six weeks ago, I am receiving a plethora of calls. In today’s I was given a date and time for a telephone appointment with a urologist. I informed the caller about Nick Lewis’s call yesterday. She did not know about this and we agreed that I no longer need the new one.
In the four days since our last dump trip Jackie has filled 13 more spent compost bags with green refuse which, along with an old ceramic cistern once used as a breeding ground for mosquitos and a broken plastic plant container, we transported to the Efford Recycling centre on a much colder day with a similar, though less severe, weather pattern to that of yesterday, and, as is our wont returned with two items with more recycling years ahead of them –
a stone container suitable as a plinth when upturned, and a metal potted plant stand.
I read more of ‘The People’s Act of Love’
By late afternoon the weather had settled down and we took a brief forest drive.
Cattle and a calf occupied the verge at Pilley,
ponies having moved to Bull Hill to forage among the browning bracken landscape.
It is always advisable when confronting tractors on our narrow lanes to pull over and wait for them to pass. They are always very appreciative.
A group of pheasants crossed St Leonard’s Road in front of us
and sought camouflage in the shade of the banked verge before vanishing through the hedge.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s colourful vegetable rice; tempura, and hot and spicy prawns, with which I drank Séguret Cötes du Rhöne Villages 2022 and the Culinary Queen drank Diet Coke
On a day in which continuous fierce swirling gusts of wind whipped sudden squally bouts of rain across the glistening garden, window panes, and paving stones occasionally bejewelled by sparkling sunshine bouncing light from neighbouring roof tiles, I attempted to follow up the lack of information from the urology department of Southampton General Hospital.
Once again the number I had been given for post procedure problems was not answering. On Tuesday I had been told that an appointment date for a telephone interview with the consultant who had carried out my procedure on 21st August would be forthcoming. Attempting to follow up on this today I was kept holding with no answer.
Coincidentally at lunchtime I received a call from Abbie at PALS who had followed up the issues about my discharge on 24th with four relevant departments securing apologies and advice about contacting security to obtain porterage. I took the opportunity to explain to her my current problems with obtaining any sort of response from the unit this week. She confirmed that there had been no telephone appointment date placed on the system and will follow this up for me. I won’t stop trying to secure an answer to the number which once again doesn’t seem to be staffed.
Eventually I telephoned the ward number where I was told by an administrator that the decision meeting usually takes eight weeks from the analysis and was given the consultant secretary telephone number. That was answered with a recorded message. I left one in response. My voice has gone up a few decibels.
I started reading ‘The People’s Act of Love’ by James Meek.
By mid-afternoon the rain had ceased and the sun seemed in the ascendancy, but the wind was still fierce enough to propel me round
the garden in my rather appropriate T-shirt.
The corner of the patio containing the revamped galvanised containers; the recycled blue topped table having replaced the wickerwork chair on the West Bed; and the decking all bear evidence of Jackie’s recent planting;
the aforementioned table can be seen at the edge of the first of these Brick Path pictures, while
the Gazebo Path and the area around the old well include the recently planted urn.
The last gallery of the Palm Bed, the Dragon Bed, the crinum lilies, and the stumpery all demonstrate tidied up areas.
Later I received a call from Nick Lewis, lead nurse in the urology department. The decision making meeting actually took place on Friday. It is confirmed that I now have no cancer in the bladder, but the BCG vaccine option will still go ahead in order to reduce the possibility of a recurrence. I will receive an appointment date within a couple of days.
This evening we dined on succulent roast breast of lamb; boiled new potatoes, crisp Yorkshire pudding; crunchy carrots; firm Brussels sprouts; meaty gravy, and mint sauce, with which I finished the garnacha.
What happened at Southampton General Hospital on Tuesday 25th was rather more than a biopsy, because a bladder cancer tumour was removed. The process was very smooth and didn’t last more than an hour. Care and attention during several hours recovery time involved a nurse beside my side full time monitoring progress. I was in fact kept in for two nights which was most apposite because a very painful blood clot developed and was dealt with immediately by attendant urologists. For the next two days care was irreproachable, given by teams of knowledgable professionals from all over the world. This made me realise that the NHS really could not function without its immigrants. Apart from the occasional difficulties with accents communication with me and with each other was very clear and patient.
It was, of course, very difficult to sleep in such a noisy environment when we were constantly woken for checks – but that is life in hospital.
The next stage is to be a discussion of the team with the pathologist to establish how far and how deep the tumour had extended and what else, if anything needs to be done. I will be given another appointment in 3-4 weeks.
Ian joined us this afternoon when we all continued a mixture of each doing our own things and enjoying convivial conversation.
This evening we all dined on Jackie’s wholesome cottage pie; very tasty Brussels sprouts; crunchy carrots; firm broccoli and cauliflower.