Everything seems to be being difficult at the moment. The revised bonfire date is January 1st, but the way things are going I don't know if we'll manage it. "Hazel" has been alongside a wall in Dukinfield over Christmas. This is where we take her to charge her batteries thanks to our friends Dixon & Smith, Motor Engineers. Though they go home at a decent time, they share the yard with another garage, run by a workoholic, so we can usually get in quite late in the evening. Surprisingly. they didn't work Christmas Eve, so we were locked out over Christmas.
Yesterday, 28th December, they were open, so we could complete the charging cycle. My plan was to do that, which would only take an hour or so, move "Hazel" back to the basin then take "Forget me Not" to the bonfire site and unload her cargo of brash. I rang Aaron and he agreed to help.
I'd woken up in the morning to hear radio reports of a tornado in Tameside the previous night. Social media pinpointed it to Stalybridge. with reports of damage on Knowl St. First job was to visit the boatyard to assess the situation.
It turned out to be not too bad. The whirlwind had redistributed various items and ripped one of the roofing tarpaulins on the outdoor workshop, but nothing that can't be fairly easily fixed.
When we got back to "Hazel" I had a nasty surprise. Because it was already well charged I hadn't put the solar battery on charge. Unfortunately I'd forgotten to switch off the fridge and, with hardly any sunlight, this had totally flattened it over the festive season. With all the rain and no power for the pumps I found that the back cabin was flooded. Once power came down the wires again I discovered that there was a problem with the pumps anyway.
Aaron went home and I set to work trying to trace the problem, kneeling in wet water most of the time. After a break to eat my butties and have a brew I noticed some discomfort in my lower body.
In 2019 I had treatment, including radiotherapy, for prostate cancer. Apparently about 5% of those who have radiotherapy in this area develop side effects, such as a stricture (blockage) in the plumbing, meaning that they can't pee the normal way. I was one of the lucky 5% and about 2 years ago I was fitted with a suprapubic catheter. That's a plastic tube that comes from my bladder out through my belly and down to a bag on my leg. It's really screwed up my career as a porn star, but it's better than the alternative, a slow and agonising death through retention leading to kidney failure.
I had a look and realised that there was no tube protuding from my belly. I thought it had broken off at the skin.
I quickly locked up, went back to the basin to stop "Forget me Not"s engine which was charging her batteries, and drove to the shop to collect Emuna. Collecting things from the house for a possible hospital incarceration, we got a taxi to Tameside General. The taxi driver said he was glad he was retiring soon as robots were going to take all the jobs. I helpfully suggested that they might do away with pensions! He knew who to blame for the world's ills, not the desperate refugees but the super rich who hoard their money in tax havens.
A&E Waiting time 4 hours. Emuna got a taxi back home as I'd forgotten my spare catheter. I've been to Tameside before for less serious problems and they never have the right size in stock.
By now the pain was getting bad. We've all experienced the feeling of urgently needing to go. It's hard to concentrate on anything except finding a place where you can empty your distended bladder. I had that but with no way out for the liquid that my kidneys were continuing to deliver unabated. My bladder stretched until it was fit to burst. I couldn't sit still but had to walk about.
Luckily the triage nurse recognised the seriousness of my predicament and put me to the front of the queue. Emuna arrived just before I was called in.
The nurse who did the initial inspection told me that the catheter had not broken but had come out. This shouldn't happen as there's a balloon inside to hold it in place. It must have deflated. A standard catheter change should be done in no more than 20 minutes, before the portal closes (sounds like a line from Dr Who!) I'd now been catheterless for over 2 hours.
A doctor came, had a look, and told me that they couldn't deal with it at Tameside and he'd get me blue lighted to Stepping Hill in Stockport. Fairly soon he came back to tell us that there was no ambulance available ( What a surprise ) so Emuna called a taxi. The nurse came back to give me a squirt of morphine in my mouth. It took the edge off the pain for the journey but soon wore off.
"Stepping Hill and step on it" I told the driver. It was rush hour and I was cursing every red light and tardy driver that got in our way. Eventually we got there and handed the letter that we'd been given to reception at A&E. They said go to the Surgical Assessment Unit (SAU). Where's that? We asked. They looked at each other. "I think it's down the glass corridor" said one. "Go to the main entrance and it's signposted from there" said another. The main entrance is pretty well blocked off by building work but I knew a way to it via a nearer entrance. From previous visits I also knew where the glass corridor was.
We reached the main entrance, Emuna fretting that I might be taking the wrong route. We looked for signs directing us to the SAU. There were signs for just about every department, but not a mention of SAU. We asked a nurse. Blank looks. We went down the glass corridor. We asked another person in uniform. More blank looks. A porter pulled a patient on a bed out of a lift. We asked him. "Take the lift to the second floor, turn right and it's first on the right".
We stumbled into the ward to be met by a very nice tall sister who, realising how much pain I was in, offered me some paracetamol. My mouth was dry by now but I was determined not to drink anything. I was starting to get a bit of lower back pain which made me concerned that it might already have backed up to my kidneys. There was only one place it could go and that was already full. As the sister went to get some water I swallowed the pills dry. Emuna drank the water.
The doctor had been waiting for me but it seemed an age before we were shown into a treatment room and a young bearded South Asian man appeared. It was now about 4 hours since the catheter came out. The young doctor soon realised that he needed back up, so he summoned a more experienced doctor, who also looked very young to me (but so do police officers). She directed him in the procedure. I had feared I would have to have surgery as the portal must be firmly closed by now. In fact he carefully inserted a very small size catheter, then took it out and put in a slightly larger one, and so on until he got to the proper size.
OH, THE RELIEF!!!!!
They brought us each a cup of coffee and we sat for a while. I suddenly felt wonderful. As we left I skipped out of the door shouting wayhey out, with Emuna following saying "Stop It"!
Emuna's poorly knees had now had enough and she could only walk slowly along the long hospital corridors. We called at the main entrance reception to ask for a local taxi number. There was nobody there. We carried on to another exit where we met a really helpful Afro-Caribbean nurse who was just coming into work. Rather than just give us a number, she rang the taxi firm for us and negotiated with them. Soon we were being whisked back home at a much greater speed than the outward journey.
Back home Emuna made a simple meal. Tiredness was creeping up on me so I went to bed and slept like young log. Emuna struggled to sleep and spent most of the night watching films on her laptop.
This morning Emuna wanted to go to the shop to tidy up what she'd left in the middle of (and make sure no-one sold her wheelchair). I drove her to the shop and then carried on down to the boats. I disconnected the charger from "Hazel"s now fully charged battery, but I was starting to feel uncomfortable in the general area that had received attention. I rang Aaron and he agreed to move the boat back to the basin for me.
My idea was to spend the day doing office work, but, in reality I read for a bit then wrote this. Emuna spent the afternoon snoozing in her reclining chair. I'm still pretty uncomfortable and hoping I don't get an infection. The bilge pumps can wait. I'll be back at work when I feel OK again.
Heroine of the night, my wonderful wife Emuna who stuck with me all the way through despite her knackered knees.