Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix

Of course the phoenix orders Lobster Thermidore followed by a flaming plum pudding .

Except this metaphorical phoenix would be a classic phoenix and perform all the expected phoenixy things.

Like bursting into flame at the end of its life and then being born again from the ashes

In my world however, for phoenix read angioplasty.

After the abrupt ending during my vein surgery last week, I mistakenly assumed that my operation would simply be rescheduled. In my naïve appraisal of the facts, the angioplasty would be rebooked as a vein graft procedure. Those of you more medically aware, especially in surgical operations of the groin and vein, will no doubt be irritatingly shouting at the computer “femoral-femoral surgical revascularisation”, but then I'm certainly not the sort who would google a specific medical term just to impress.

Naturally when the letter arrived from the place where a lot of doctors and nurses work together with an admin and support base, or "hospital", then I was expecting to see a new surgery date. After all I had already been examined, poked, probed, scanned, and cardio tested by the vascular team already.

However as if by magic the letter had vanished and been replaced by one referring me to a vascular consultant. Just simply that; no op or pre op, just a full stop. Back to the very first chapter.

The whole angioplasty trick had ceased, and like a magnificently plumed phoenix it had combusted and without so much as a hey presto, vanished.

I shall wait patiently for an operation to rise again from the ashes, Phoenix's orders.

Bravo...Great Performance...Disappointing...Boo!

                                        

I felt a bit of a Muppet last week at the hospital.

The day dawned early, and I avoided any breakfast as instructed in the appointment letter. Having swallowed my morning medications dry, I was left with a bitter taste, which was nothing compared to what was to come.

The hospital wing resembled an airport, with queues of expectant folk with overnight bags, shopping and cafeteria food, all seated in differing waiting areas, with their minds slavishly following the small TV monitors housed at an untouchable angle.

I joined the huddle, as if in line for a jet to Fiji or Malaga…….

My destination, however, involved nakedness, a hospital gown plus a lot of peering and prodding at my groin, as I was wheeled into the theatre. 

Soon I was woozy from the anaesthetic, drifting until I was aware of a medical exclamation and a sudden conclave huddled around me.

Looking at his monitor the surgeon checked with his colleague, who checked the screen. Then they checked Wikipedia. (Actually they probably didn't)

In hindsight I suspect they were checking the date of the MRI scans, which showed the extent of my fossilisation  in January. Then I was sufficiently calcified to warrant surgery. However since that Jurassic period times have changed, and my femoral artery is now so filled with hard chalk, that my bone resembles that of a triceratops.

Looming over me. The surgeon took off his mask and said that the calcium  had now completely blocked the top of my artery, and so a stent was not possible. Instead a bypass would have to be grafted on, to allow the cardiac juices to flow. Due to the jolly old immune system, it had to be a deceased donor graft, and not plastic. These veins are “harvested” at the same time that organs are retrieved, and amazingly they can stay active and fresh for about a week!

I was whisked out of the theatre, and back to the ward to recover from my invasive but ultimately unsuccessful procedure. Following an enforced stay I eventually went home to recover.

It looks like I had chalked up yet another medical milestone. Indeed I was yet again on a transplant list, waiting for the call.

Lets hope I don’t have to wait in vain.

Friends

Back in the day Shalamar served us up a whole plateful of disco jollies, and in 1982 released the Friends album. This was a real piece of vinyl, or cassette, not some mirrored scratched CD or the ethereal intangible digital download. I myself made friends with the cassette, and it happily went with me on my travels with my Walkman. Not that I had an actual Walkman, mind you. Being rather unfashionable until at least 1983, I opted for a cheaper Dixons nowhere near equivalent. Off I bopped into the sunset with my fellow schoolfriends dreaming of the real thing.....

Press FF 30 years and both friends and music can be virtual. With a wealth  of shared experiences that thread people together. Instant messaging and chat options, horrifyingly now considered the norm, stretch out conversations to days, even weeks, all prompted by the red flag of excitement that appears and demands an instant response. Like an aggressive child, this notification (in red, to enhance it’s importance)stamps it’s feet and cries out to be attended to NOW, lest the beast grows angry.

I recently encountered a new phenomenon, the strange experience of being “unfriended”. I didn’t notice at first, not being very good with numbers. You should see me wielding a 4 about, makes a terrible mess.

After a while I realised someone was missing, but failed to recall who it was. Who might I have offended? Who would take exception to my odd humour?

I wracked my mind, and literally spent 7 minutes reasoning with myself and the FB friend list.

Finally I found them, or rather did not find them, for they were absent. This was most peculiar, as their partner was online as usual, posting, liking, and commenting on my recent posts.

My mind considered the correct social networking etiquette. What was the right response to this apparent effrontery? Should I send a message to my erstwhile friend, or perhaps post on their partners timeline? That might be worse and upset them both, I reasoned. What a dilemma.....

                                                                     ?

 Eventually a message was sent, but no notification bounced back. The minutes turned to hours, then later that day, the next day, and into infinity and beyond, but it seemed that the end of the tape had been reached.

But then a message appeared, just like a cassette on auto reverse…and there it is!  All the paranoia and conspiracy theories were unfounded. My friend (and yes they are a tangible entity, and we have spent many nights wassailing and carousing in the past) had deleted their FB account due to a suspected hacking. What a relief, it wasn't me......

Unhindered by doubt, our virtual lives continue apace, mutually  liking and commenting, posting cat pictures with a witty refrain.

Has this anything to do with my impending surgery this week? No. However I might consider “friending” the surgical team, and “liking” my leg so that I can get constant updates of the procedure through facebook.