How to under-estimate .....Part II

Along came the cheerful nurse. Yep, a nurse who seemed genuinely cheerful and unburdened by the job, pay and conditions they work under.

She was young.

She must have been new.

So she walked me down to the ........hmmmm.......reception area seems strong, but basically the place where you wait before being taken into the theatre. By this time I had a tag attached, presumably telling them who I was and what I was having done. I didn't look at it. By this time I was shaking in my sock-less trainers as it finally dawned on me I was about to have an operation whilst awake.

Then came the walk into the theatre. It seems an odd name really. Why not garage? Or workshop? Then you realise that there is a lead actor (the surgeon) , a supporting actor (the other surgeon) supporting cast (the nurses and anaesthetist) and then the audience (you, the patient). Of course a lot of the time the audience is asleep which presumably guarantees there'll be no calls of 'Encore!'. It also means there'll be no heckling, which must be a plus point for the 'cast'. Mind you it would be a peculiar audience /patient to shout at the surgeon 'Oi, its rubbish mate' or 'Get another job' wouldn't it.

So I was one of those who would be a proper audience, awake, alert, aware but not actually able to see what was going on. Just as well really, the thought of seeing my stomach opened up holds about as much appeal as seeing Anne Widdecombe in a see through negligee wearing stockings and suspenders.

I apologise now for planting that last image in your minds.

Anyway, as I laid down on the bed, I took the deep breaths I was convinced would help me through something I had now upgraded from a doddle to an ordeal. Dr Evil started the 'act' with some barked orders at the nurses. A greeting for me, in much the same way as the villain in a Bond film greets 007.

"Good Morning Mr Bond, we meet again" .........yep just like "Good Morning Mr Jack...we meet again' . And this villain would have knives and cutters and needles and all sorts of weapons of evil with which to maim and injure me with.

Yes...I know he was a doctor there to help me, but at this point I was starting to reel mentally. Why does the mind do this? Even as I stared up at the smiling nurses the image of Laurence Olivier standing over Dustin Hoffman in the Marathon Man famous chilling scene sprang to the forefront of my thoughts.

At first it seemed chaotic, the team not knowing where anything was, the surgeon barking orders at them. It was like the first 5 minutes of any Chelsea match. Trust me, they appeared like strangers.The needles went into the back of the hand after some 'encouragement' , my torso painted with iodine and then the words "You'll feel the needles entering as I administer the local, sorry but this will hurt."

He was so right. But being the macho, bravado ridden type I decided I'd had worse so this was merely greeted by a nod and some tightening of the knuckles as I gripped the side of the bed even harder. It would pale against what was to come. The next words I remember other than the Colour Sergeant Major barkings of Dr Evil. Then I saw the smoke.

Yep, smoke.

Smoke from me.

From my flesh.

And what did Dr Evil say? Only this ...." I'm cutting in now and using something to stop the bleeding as I do it. You'll see some smoke and steam rising and you might smell something like barbecue pork chop. That's you that is"

And that's where the decline started. After this I could feel the tugging, pulling and the odd minor twinge. Nothing bad, but still the psyche works in funny ways and every horror movie involving the slicing open of the captive victim was now in the mind. Then the first of the pain. Something was snipped or cut and the pain reverberated through every nerve ending in my body. I have never felt anything like this before and I hope I never do again. The reaction from me was a sudden rigidity which must have looked to the 'team' like instantaneous rigor mortis. Dr Evil asked if that hurt and through near tears I muttered a muffled "Yes".

"No points for bravery" he said "You have to tell me if it hurts so we can administer more local"

So in went more. 10 minutes later, the same happened again. Within minutes of that I felt the sweat pour, the breathing labour and the pulse treble in speed. I was going to pass out. Weedily, I managed to speak the words " I think I'm going to pass out" and within seconds a kindly nurse put the oxygen mask on. During all of this Dr Evil barked questions at his team.

"What is a hernia?", "What is the cause", "What is the alternative to surgery?" etc , and each of the team stumbled over an answer. Unsurprising really given the nature of his questioning. It seems he does it to keep everybody on their toes and to concentrate on the operation.

After 55 minutes he closed me up. 55 of the longest minutes of my life. Despite the nice nurses talking to me the sense of relief was massive. The tugging, the pulling, the tension and the flashing blades were all over. They took me down to post op, the nice Nurse chatted away to me, laughing at how Dr Evil made her feel, and that even if he asked the names of her kids she'd freeze up. Little Sis greeted me and after Hello, her first words were "You look like you've had a bit of a shock".

She was so, so very right. Some tea, toast and a visit to the loo confirming bladder function and I was off home. Feeling like I'd had my guts removed and replaced with a medicine ball with spikes on the outside.

2 weeks later and I'm able to walk and nothing else. No driving, no lifting, no cycling and no swimming. Dr Finlay and his Casebook, my GP, checked today and said it was looking good despite the continuing pain. Apparently age slows the recovery down and a 100cm cut is similar to what women get on a Cesarean, and its often 6 weeks for full recovery.

And there was me thinking the op would be 15 minutes, I'd be home in an hour and back at work in 2 days.

That's the art of under-estimation, executed with skill of the highest order.

Later, GJ

*PS - in hindsight Dr Evil was more like Dr Efficient. Maybe Dr Blase. Or Dr Routine. I'm sure that he's done a good job and maybe we should expect these people to be like they are. After all, there's nothing wrong with being arrogant if you're right.

How to under estimate ........

I've never been good at guesswork, or estimating. Hence my aversion to gambling, not on morality grounds but merely on grounds of my own utter fuckwittery when it comes to guessing scores, or winners or losers come to that. And ultimately, no matter what others say, gambling is guesswork!

So, about 18 months ago I went to see the doctor about something trivial....so trivial I can't remember what it was.

However he spotted a lump just below my belly button. Immediately worried he sent me to the hospital suspecting a hernia and of course worrying that this could lead to complications if it twisted and got strangulated. He actually referred me to his 'good friend' who for reasons of anonymity we'll dub Dr Evil.

In fact he ticked all of the Holby City stereotypical consultant boxes. Brash, yes. Arrogant, yes. Confident, yes. Blase, yes. Contemptuous of patient, yes. Subject matter expert, of course. Able to feign interest in patient, absolutely. Strangely likeable, weirdly yes. Anyway he said it was umbilical and therefore no threat and besides they don't like doing them in adults because of the reasonable recurrence rate and the chance of infection. Apparently the belly button is an unhygienic area full of germs and bacteria. Think of nthat the next time you engage in a bit of oral foreplay with your partners cute navel. Apparently its a warm hive of filth and disease carrying mega bugs.

As the year went by and I lost some weight it didn't get any better and after cycling or swimming it was arguably worse, and when ot protruded it bloody hurt which can't be right. So I went back. This time he said that as it hadn't settled down it would be a good thing to repair it. He also stated that this was routine and so a local anaesthetic would be sufficient.

So, a couple of Tuesdays ago I went for the op. I'd been MRSA tested in July and all was Ok there and the appointment letter simply stated it would be done under a local and that I was to keep to an ordinary light diet. Fine by me. On the morning of the op I was a tad subdued based on an underlying morbid fear of hospitals and the premature death of 2 friends in 2 years both with 'routine' ailments. So, wearing some 'comfort' clothing of tracksuit bottoms and footie shirt off we trekked. W|e arrived nice and early and so were the second to check in. As we waited I noticed everyone turning up had a bag with them, mostly supermarket carrier bags but the odd sports bag as well. My first thought was that I was in some sort of Chav Central and that these people were off to the local shops right after their treatment. Then this happened.....

Nurse Ratched: Grocerjack?
GJ: Yes, that'd be me.
Nurse Ratched: Oh. Haven't you got a bag?
GJ: Errr...no...why?
NR: So you have no dressing gown?
GJ: Errr....no...why...do I need one?
NR: Well what do you expect to wear to the theatre?
GJ: Theatre? I was expecting a quick procedure in a bed in a clinic.
NR: (Laughing)....you do know what you're having done?
GJ: A hernia op.
NR: Exactly, an operation. You should have read the letter which would have told you to bring a few bits.
GJ: (hands over letter which stated NONE of the stuff she had mentioned)...
NR: So you'll need a sick note then.
GJ: Huh? I'm going back to work on Thursday, so no thanks.
NR: (Laughing harder)...ooh no, its a MINIMUM of 2 weeks recovery and up to 6 weeks depending on age and fitness etc.
GJ: (gulps)...what?
NR: So you'd also better warn your partner you'll be about 2 hours in post op and about an hour in theatre...
GJ (the sound of a large penny dropping)...so this is a proper operation then?
NR: Oh yes. Oh yes indeed.

If she'd cackled at this point it wouldn't have been amiss in the midst of the day surgery ward reminiscent of every mental hospital drama you've ever seen. Spartan beds in a room of spartan walls, with grumpy nurses growling at patients and mad looking and sounding porters chatting away about the most inane bollocks in the world.

To me and you, a completely alien and intimidating environment. To them, just another day in the office.

Anyway, I had to undress...completely and wear a gown and another one backwards to ensure no-one saw my arse. Yep, how very dignified.

NR: When did you last eat?
GJ: Last night
NR:..and drink?
GJ: A glass of orange juice this morning.
NR: Oh dear, You're not supposed to have anything other than water before an operation...
GJ: What? It's only a local anaesthetic!
NR: What? A local? For something like this? Blimey, you're brave
GJ: (gulping) .......am I?

Anyway, convinced at this point that certain death was looming because they'd leave a blade inside me, or my cholesterol laden blood would clot instantly on the arteries and veins exposed, I sat listening to Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here album whilst waiting for Dr Evil to show up. Typically, as I listened to the title track, he arrived. He barked a few things at me about nmy holiday without listening to the answer. Then made me sign the disclaimer form. Then he looked at me and said

DE: Oh, you've opted for a local then?
GJ: Opted? I wasn't given the choice.
DE: Oh well never mind, too,late too change it now. You're first on the list. See you in 15 minutes......

And off he strode. The word 'shit' just kept coming back to me..................

to be continued..........

Later, GJ

Cashsploitation

Unbelievable.

Amongst all the ads from shark dressed men (sic) begging for our old gold was another one for a company doing 'pay day' loans. The idea presumably is that if you need what we used to call a sub until payday they will lend you the dosh and then you pay them back on payday.

Yep, I used to sub off my first employer, maybe a tenner here or a fiver there......I was taking home £25 a week back then. But he never charged me extra for this and it wasn't something I used that often.

Anyway, Quickquid as they're called, are now advertising on TV, during the bleak landscape of daytime TV, presumably aiming at the unemployed, low paid, debt stricken amongst us. Sounds innocent enough until you read the not-so-small print on the advert that shows the equivalent APR. That would be the one that had me and Little Sis pondering if a decimal point was missing from the displayed figure. A good hard stare unveiled the fact that no, we weren't hallucinating. Nor was it a misprint, Nor has the TV pixellated the picture causing distortion. Nope, the figure was there, large as life on the screen.

An APR of .........2356%. Yep, check that, but I can assure you it is no misprint.

2356%.

Unbe-fucking-lievable.

Jesus would weep if he were alive. I recall the halcyon days of Thats Life which used to regularly expose loan sharking like this. It used to be considered a bad thing once upon a time....but now........hey let's advertise on TV! I'm sure its all above board and legal.I'm sure the ads are legal and honest. On that basis I look forward to ads for the BNP, Al-Qaeeda, Opus Dei, or for Dignitas (had enough of life, fancy a trip to the mountains of Switzerland?). Maybe you could sell your gold to pay for the trip to Dignitas, you stupid debt ridden old person....go on......leave all your finance and health problems behind...... Blimey, the convergence of these could be a big business opportunity.

As for Quickquid, I'm sure you'll never have windows broken on non-payment. I'm sure there won't be thugs at the door threatening your various limbs with some sort of impact injury. Nope, but you can bet there'll be tons of phone calls, letters and knocks on the door as they try to get their cash back with interst of course. These days the pressure is psychological rather than physical. Letters contain veiled threats, phone calls come at 7 in the morning or 10 at night. Its much more subtle these days but equally invasive and equally pressurising.

And equally vile.

Of course, just like the gold sharks, these modern day loan sharks are targetting the most vulnerable and gullible in society. These are people at their most desperate and weakest, and yet apparently they are legally targetted without any apparent protection other than the woefully inadequate Consumer Credit Act. Its all within the law of course, but this must be stretching the law spirit or boundaries of the law in some way.

It's a disgrace, and as a society we sit back in our non interfering spineless way and allow all this crap to go on. Is it any wonder the Poles are all going home? Is it any wonder more and more retired people are leaving these shores. Its a bit early for the 'hell in a handcart' speech yet, but with an election looming and the choice being between a 'dying on its arse' Labour Party and the camoflaged New Tory party amounting to nothing more than a blue rinse Daily Mail reader wearing a blonde wig, heavy make up and using Botox, flaunting enhanced tits at the Great British Public. Underneath its still a big fat rich bastard who cares about no-one but himself.

It is damned hard to see a bright future, or a society where the immoral exploitation of the poorest is no longer allowed and encouraged through the medium of TV.

Later GJ

Footnote - I have no problem with what Dignitas do, in fact I support the choice of people to use their services if proven to be terminally ill. But I would oppose them being able to advertise on daytime TV........can you imagine how that would be received in retirement homes?

Cash for gold?

I'm in the throes of recovering from a hernia operation which has meant I've been immobile for a couple of weeks. This has meant I've been able to sample the delights of daytime TV. Using the word 'delights' loosely of course. Still, it also gave me the chance to catch up on all the stuff I've got on the V+ box. More of which is to follow.......

One thing that has struck me is the plethora of adverts that are being shown asking us to sell them our gold. That's right, apparently we can swap our 'unwanted' gold for heaps of lovely cash. Cue an endless stream of actors playing ordinary folk giving testimonials as to how great the service was and how good the feel of cash is.....one of them even got enough cash for an 'away game in Europe'. As I type this on comes an advert showing a tiny handful of gold jewelery in one hand, and a wad of notes in the other and a voice over extolling the virtues of using the cash for a trip abroad.

Is it just me or does this appear to be a final sign that the recession is biting hard? These sort of adverts seem to me to prey on the more vulnerable and desperate in society. I mean it will be the most desperate and vulnerable people who will respond to this. A field day for burglars one imagines as well, after all whats to stop this being nothing more than legalised fencing. You break in, or con someone out of their jewelery, go home, send it off and webuyanygold.com or whoever hands you a wad of cash, whilst conveniently melting down the swag to turn into nice bullion bars or reshaped trinkets. I just have to sit and wonder how this is being legally advertised.

I'd say its money for old rope, but in these cases it's money for old bling.

Later, GJ

Sick and tired....

Sick of politicians at all levels

Sick of indecision

Sick of celebrity culture

Sick of big business

Sick of banks and bankers

Sick of rampant ungoverned Capitalism

Sick of retrospective apologies for things we had nothing to do with

Sick of the wolves at the door sensing blood and growing in size

Sick of the law that crushes honest people and rewards the rich and ruthless

Sick of insurance companies using loopholes to avoid moral duty

Sick of utility companies jacking up prices

Sick of statistics used to define policies that affect our lives

Sick of studies used to smother us in a blanket of fear

Sick of a society where everyone tries to avoid accountability

Sick of blame culture

Sick of fear culture

Sick of the buck passing mentality that has invaded every aspect of our lives

Sick of technology that fails to deliver

Sick of being overlooked

Sick of living under veiled threats of job security

Sick of a future painted in shades of dark grey and black

Sick of being hounded.

Sick of being the victim


It's time to revisit the plan and change this life.

Later, GJ

Lazy bastard

That'd be me then.

I'm at the point where work is very much heading towards the same sort of state it was when this blog first started. Maybe that'll inspire me to write more about the mundane, the gobbledygook, the corporarte bollocks and the mind numbing shite I put up with every day. Isn't it often the case that the best songs are writen from pain? Maybe the best articles are written from frustration, anger, incredulityand boredom. So, on that bright note I'll look again at the blog and whether it's something I can pursue with fresh eyes rather than just regurgitating more moans and groans about the inequities of life. I'm getting rather used to other Web 2.0 (yawn) phenomena like Twitter and Facebook so maybe there's some links there as well. Plus the idea of writing a book grows stronger each day....but then I look at the market and think that every one is doing the same...so why would anything I do be special enough to be successful? If you're not a 'celeb' then being successful in writing books, plays or screenplays seems an increasingly unlikely route to inner satisfaction that pays enough to live on.

Oh, and I have a new gadget, the HTC Magic or G2 Googlephone or something similar. It's changed the way I look at a mobile phone in much the same way as those with iphones probably think. Thats why I've included a picture. A review might follow.

If I can be arsed.

Later GJ

Not long now......

Another week passes and GJ is too busy to write.....still with the football season now over perhaps there'll be less Chelsea stuff to write about on the Chelseablog to which I frequently contribute.

Giving me more time here!

So, we head into week number whatever of MP's expenses and maybe it's just me, but it seems the story has been milked to death. If I didn't know better I'd even suggest that press had a vested interest in keeping it going in order to avoid any scandal in their own back yard being uncovered. I mean surely no hack has ever fiddled their expenses.....or been known to frequent toilets with a mate called Charlie....have they?

It also seems to me that despite the morality issues being spouted the continuous reporting is detracting from the scandal of worldwide global mismanagement on behalf of the banks and financial institutions which has contributed to a global recession which has lost people their jobs and houses. In terms of priorities it all appears a bit out of kilter. However it has spurred me into looking at alternatives to the current system and the current parties.

And I don't mean the BNP. In fact the best thing I've read this week is the article in last Sunday's Observer which was one of the best hatchet jobs I've ever seen on the BNP.


I've become quite enamoured by Nick Clegg and his Lib Dems, who slowly, quietly but surely do seem to be setting themselves up as a genuine alternative to Gordon Brown's crumbling alleged Labour government. The trouble is until we get some sort of Proportional Representation system they have no chance of influencing the government. The Tories looked quite hopeful under Cameron's youthful and vigourous re-branding, but I can't be doing with their entrenched Euro-scepticism and desire (from the grass roots) to remove us from the EU, which of course most sensible people know would result in the utter collapse of this countries economy. Why? Because quite simply as China and India continue to grow as economic powerhouses, with the US sure to also remain a major player, and Russia's resurgence due to it's plentiful supply of natural resources the only weay the Uk could compete with these , as with any of the other European countries, is through the united trading block that is the EU. We're just too small and insignificant to operate successfully on our own. Others point to Sweden or Switzerland as examples of countries who have done it on their own....but be real...their economies don't come close to ours, and the Swiss economy is utterly dependent on sharp banking practices and dubious funding. So, no Tories for me thanks.

The Greens under Caroline Bellamy have some great principles, a really liberating drugs policy but for me fall down on their reluctance to embrace nuclear power. The french have been huge nuclear operators for years now without any major incidents and the cheapest electricity in Europe. I'm afraid the Greens arguments against nuclear just don't add up for me. it's a shame because like all of the progressive parties, they also support PR or some form of alternative to the patronising 'first past the post' system we use in this the UK. A system which means that around 60% of all votes cast in general elections are useless. Is it any wonder turnouts are down and people are disengaging from politics?

So, I'll continue to scour for a party to vote for, fundamentally socialist, with the will to reform and modernise parliament and the constitution, to change the voting system and to transform the tax system. A party that will genuinely try and tackle crime with stiff sentences for knife and gun carriers, whilst reforming drugs policy into something workable that doesn't put the proceeds into organised crime and terrorism. A party that embraces multi-culturalism but also understands the need for reasonable immigration controls like Australia has done. A party that wants students to be educated without being landed with huge debts. A party that genuinely wants to revolutionise public transport with huge railway funding programmes, that uses the road tax for roads and encourages home working through new technologies. A progressive party that is prepared for press and media backlashes against change that is necessary to bring the UK into the 21st century.

Looks like a revamp for the Liberation manifesto!

Later, GJ