Don't cry for me Argentina

Depending on your age this could be either by Madonna in the early nineties, or by Julie Covington in 1977. Tim Rice clearly tried to curry favour with this classic, as it turned out to be a bit of a korma korma korma chameleon hot hit, racing to the number 1 slot, quicker than you can say 'get on with it please...'

Argentina derives it's name from the latin for silver, ARGENTUM which was thought to be plentiful in the early Spanish explorer period.

Also thought to be plentiful is the profusion of silver that is currently being splashed about with gay abandon by my nurses....

Por Que? I hear you cry...

Silver is an antimicrobial agent, known to both the Ancient Greeks and Romans. It's use became widespread in the 18th and nineteenth centuries as medicine and wound care evolved.

Now pay attention, here's the science bit:

Silver ions are highly reactive and affect multiple sites within bacterial cells, ultimately causing cell death. They bind to bacterial cell membranes, causing disruption of the bacterial cell wall and cell leakage. Silver ions transported into the cell disrupt cell function by binding to proteins and interfering with energy production, enzyme function, and cell replication. Silver ions are active against a broad range of bacteria, fungi, and viruses

These days we have the luxury of silver dressings, topical creams, strips and of course good old spoons for placement in refined mouths. 

Meanwhile, my nurses, all aquiver at the thought of "new" dressings have embraced silver, just like Robin and his Merry men. With continual application hopefully this last remaining wound from January will heal, rather than endure for Eva Peron, and on......

A Different Corner

 A haunting melody from George Michael, wistfully bemoaning his fate after a failed relationship…..

Of course I grew up believing that this hit in 1986 was a dairy inspired wish list as he scored the supermarket yoghurt shelves…Which Mueller shall I acquire today? Strawberry or Tropicana....

For those poor souls unaware of the sublime delights of the hallowed Mueller Corner, hot sellers in Europe, the US and Asia. (Not actually hot sellers, as they would go off fairly quickly)...Picture a square pot of  creamy yoghurty goodness, with a separate invert-able corner full of fruity flavours. Ready to combine with a deft twist of the spoon. Who said you shouldn't play with your food?

In my world this week, it is  a different corner that needs a spot  of attention. From the graft op in January, three of the incisions have healed perfectly, leaving one sole remaining corner wound requiring dressing. Hold the mayo because this  corner needs  the playful touch of the district nurse as it continues to dawdle it's way to healing. I will just have to have more patience.

Hourglass

Warbled the excellent Squeeze in 1987 as they ran up the charts, took it to the bridge, threw it overboard, see if it can swim, back up to the shore…

Which does seem an odd way to treat a piece of precise horological equipment.

Their hourglass may indeed have ran out of sand, but here in the more southerly hemisphere, the opposite has happened, we have gained sand. Minutes, in fact, a whole 60 of them.

Yes the bi-annual daylight savings ruse is upon us once more, as hard working multi millionaire farmers are awarded with convenient sunlight at inconvenient (for the rest of us) hours.

Which means time critical goings on and happenings, need to be adjusted, or better still transitioned into the earlier daytime. Important occurrences such as feeding the cat in the morning, manipulating the few physical clocks left in the world and the taking of time sensitive drugs…

Which can all get a bit confusing when iPhone calendar alerts go off at the wrong hour, reminding one instead to give the dog his tablets, instead of yours.

Woof. A bit of a squeeze in here...

Whoops a Daisy.

It is not recorded what Viktor Bryukhanov,boss of the Chernobyl nuclear plant said once he heard that his reactor had exploded in 1986, but it is highly unlikely that the phrase “Whoops a daisy” was used. Similarly it was probably not used by Rear Admiral Tryon, Commander of the British Mediterranean Fleet when his ship HMS Victoria was rammed by his own naval escort in a dazzling display of pig headedness when he refused to order an avoiding action in case his British resolve was questioned.

So when I started to feel quite unwell about a week ago, “whoops’ was furthest from my mind. Oh no! Is my kidney rejecting after the bout of appendicitis? Has the new pancreas objected to being moved and prodded during the op? These thoughts grew as I felt worse, my appetite vanishing faster than Vladimir Putin’s international standing. It was only after 4 days of atrophy that I finally called the nurse, her tone showing her obvious concern.

 I dragged myself to the nearest clinic, and after a painful blood test went home to sleep. Later I learned that my symptoms were signs of a reaction between the general anaesthetic and my anti rejection drugs, which although potentially harmful, could be adjusted downwards. The alteration was made, and normality resumed quickly.

The odd thing is, that they had noticed this very same reaction after the transplant, and after the January vein graft, and had taken steps to minimise the after effects.

This time however they had not.  Whoops.