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That was the year that was...

Well, that's 2020 over with and I think it's fair to say that it wasn't the best I've ever had.

Her Majesty the Queen once famously had an "annus horribilis"  To quote Nev from the BBC programme The Call Centre, the past twelve months have been an "annus anus"  - I've had an arsehole of a year!   From the diagnosis of the first cancer in November, we staggered from shock to shock - we'd come to terms with one piece of bad news only to be hit with another blow.  

This time I want to write a bit about David's illness and some of the dramas that resulted.  Perhaps I should warn people of a nervous disposition to look away now!

In the week before Christmas, a colonoscopy revealed that David's large intestine was very close to becoming blocked.  David went into hospital for surgery on December 23.  He came through the four-hour operation well, and was discharged at the end of the week. 

The following day we were back at the hospital at the out-of-hours GP.  David's internal workings weren't.  

What seems to have happened is that his colon had been growing more and more constricted and allowing less and less - errr, matter to pass.  The stuff that was held up became more and more impacted as time went on and once the barrier to free movement was removed - well, there was a considerable backlog that wasn't in any hurry to go anywhere.

I was ordered out at 10 pm on the night he came home to buy laxatives.  

They didn't help.  A call to 111 resulted in an appointment with the out-of-hours GP, who prescribed suppositories and an appropriate laxative.  I breathed a sigh of relief, confident that  the problem would soon be resolved.


At 5 a.m. I woke to find David draped in a dramatic attitude over the edge of the bed, groaning theatrically and demanding that I call 999 for an ambulance.  I pointed out that it was only for emergencies, and he responded that it was an emergency.  I didn't think that they'd send an ambulance for a case of constipation, so I drove hime to A & E.

Because he'd only recently been discharged, we got through the various layers of A & E relatively quickly - he was tested, x-rayed and eventually seen by doctor and surgeon who decided that an enema would clear the blockage and get David's digestive system up and running.

The enema was duly administered and I suspect the experience was the nearest a man will get to the sensation of childbirth.  Did I mention that David didn't manage pain well?  A hell of a lot of noise and seven bedpans later, we were sent home.


I'd rather optimistically assumed that the problem was solved.  I've  been wrong before.

The next few days were miserable.  David spent his time staggering to and from the loo, alternating with sessions on a jerry-rigged commode.  He wasn't sleeping well and he really was very uncomfortable.  There wasn't a great deal that medical science could offer, other than carry on with the suppositories and wait.  

In the end, the problem resolved itself quite suddenly.  I'd been out to collect his prescription and bought chips from the chip shop I passed on the way home.  When I got in he was much relieved, the issue having resolved while I was out.  I left cleaning the bathroom until after I'd finished my chips.

And then we finally celebrated Christmas 2019, with the hope that 2020 would be better.

As I said, I've been wrong before.

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