There will be a meeting at St Johns Hospital of the NHS Howden front – and they’ll be saying – ‘apart from the cancer in September, which goes without saying- what’ve the NHS ever done for Scud Broon’ ? – Oh, he had the heart attack which almost killed him in October – ‘OK, but apart from the cancer and the heart attack, what have the NHS ever done for Scud Broon’? – oh, they discovered that some time in his past he had a stroke and they’re giving him medication to reduce the risk of that happening again – ‘fine, but apart from fighting his cancer, saving his life after a heart attack and helping him to prevent another stroke – what have the NHS ever done for Scud Broon’? Oh, they’ve also discovered that his Vascular system is buggered and that Three of the Four arteries that supply the Blood to his Brain are totally blocked and are beyond medical intervention, but are monitoring the situation on a regular basis. ‘OK, but apart from fighting his cancer, saving his life after a heart attack, monitoring his vascular system, trying to prevent him having another stroke, or heart attack, making sure the dilation of his right pupil stays at a ‘non worrying’ level – what have the NHS ever done for Scud Broon ‘Oh on Saturday night he was pissed and ended up getting a double fracture in his ankle and Fibula which will have him on crutches and a ‘Moon Boot’ for the next Six weeks – just Five days before he starts the new bout of chemo therapy which will, ultimately, kill him or cure him. At which point, the John Cleese character would tell, whoever said the last bit to F–k off. That’s what happened on Saturday night – a double fracture in my ankle and leg, caused by jumping off the top of a fence that would’ve been a leap in sobriety, but when half cut turned out to be a long drop. I’d had a great night at Davy and Julies with Ann and Gill and Maisie and Molly, the Dugs- great hospitality, to die for food and drink and when I got home I realised I’d lost my key. I thought, ‘Bastard’ , I’ll have to walk the Twenty minutes back to Pumphy to Davy and Julies to get my spare key. Ten minutes up the road I got a bit lost and ended up between Pumphy and Craishill, in the woods almost. That’s when I came to the fence and climbed it, jumped off and landed badly. Fracturing an ankle bone and my Fibula is a bad enough landing, but when I got to Davy and Julies I realised that I’d landed on Dug shite or Fox shite [might even have been human, I don’t know] but whatever kind, it was shite and it was on ma troosers and I was pissed off. From that point on, from where I was, it should have taken Ten minutes to get to Pumphy. Add being half cut, a double fracture and a return of the cancer into the mix and it turned into a Forty Five minute walk. What an ordeal that was. Blood samples and a heart scan Tomorrow, then chemo on Thursday. I cannot underestimate the importance of the next Month of chemo – it is literally life or death for me. I’m staring down at the abyss, but I’ve still got a rope round my waist and as long as it holds firm I’m dodgin’ away and laughin’.
The Double Fracture Diaries -4,4,16
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