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.