Ah, well, now, wasn’t that all very pleasant, eh? A few alco-pops to celebrate a year with my sweetheart, yes, an anniversary in other words, and, ooh, I feel a bit sick all of a sudden, and, oh, heck, I seem to be spewing black blood down the pan. Hmmm. Not so good after all. Well, hmmm, uh, I guess, well, I know, I’ll just pretend that didn’t happen



and maybe all will be ok. Well, actually, no, I ought to tell someone.

So, when my sweetheart had got back from town that morning, I let it slip. Big mistake. Before I know where I am,

there’s a doctor doing some bedside vigil, blood pressure performance. My blood pressure was fine. Well, to be

honest, I felt kind of glad that I’d let people know, cos, well, it could have been serious.

Well, he was concerned, and wanted me to get to the hospital straight away, and, though I didn’t really want to, I was driven there, where, due to it being an emergency, I saw a nurse in a room adjacent to the waiting room who took my blood pressure, which was fine. Due to the urgency of there having been blood in my vomit, I was told to go to the waiting room, where I would be seen to immediately.

Three hours later, my name was called and I was given a bed in the A and E department, where they took my blood

pressure. It was still fine. I was told to wait, as due to there having been blood in my vomit, I would have to stay in for the night, so my condition could be monitored, so, another three hours later, due to the urgency of my case, I was put

into a wheelchair and wheeled to the Emergency Medical Unit, where I was to have my bed for the night.

Once there, because of the emergency that had happened 10 hours ago, they felt it imperative to take my blood

pressure, but, phew! against all odds, it seemed fine. That was a close one.

I don’t like needles, and, because I have quite small veins, the extraction of blood can be a quite lengthy process, but, when the doctor came to see me an hour or so later, she sent me to tourniquet hell, but seven attempts later, a droplet was ceremoniously, and carefully, allowed to dribble down a test tube, where it would be sent for analysis. As I said, I don’t like needles, so I was kind of done in when she came to take my blood pressure, but even the recent trauma of a needle, allowed her to proclaim proudly, that all was fine. That’s ok, then.

You may remember that I had been sick several epochs earlier. I tend to feel a bit thirsty after a drink the night before, but due to the askew frantic nature of the day, I hadn’t had a drink of water, but, thank the lord, I was now allowed one.

I had spewed last night’s tea up earlier, but hadn’t been allowed to eat anything. I was a tad thirsty and mightily ravenous, but, I ended the day, with a sip of water and Ronnie Corbett’s autobiography, where, for such a little fellow, his chapters seemed unnaturally fixated on what he eats at certain golfing functions.

I tried to get some sleep, but, regrettably, there was a bloke in his 90s in the next bed, named George, from Geordieland (I’m not even going there, don’t worry), in a lot of pain, so, I was kept awake that night, by him shouting: “Let me die! Let me die! Let me die!" Whatever he said, he repeated three times, so, sometimes it was the “let me die" one, but

this was augmented with “Get me to heaven x3", “Hell will do x3", or, in a complete turnaround, after morphine, again, repeated three times, the less pressing: “Aaah, that’s heaven." (Well, he’d got his wish, then.)

Breakfast was served the next morning at seven. I was shattered, very hungry, so was relieved to have two slices of toast, and a cup of tea. After that, my blood pressure was taken (yes, it was fine), and I was told that, later that day, I

would have a tube go down into my stomach, to see what the cause may have been. Jesus H! All I wanted was to go home, and get some rest. I felt fine.

Well, throughout this, my sweetheart was great. She’d come over the evening before, with the kids, and stayed til

10:30, and through the tedium of the next day, she was, once again, there as soon as she could be, so we faced the boredom together. We bought a chess set, did some crosswords, and waited. Then a nurse told me that I would be allowed to go home, and come back, as an out-patient, to have the stomach scan. This was fantastic news. All I had to do was hang around for the ward doctor to just check up on me, then I could go. By 2:30, that afternoon, he still hadn’t seen me, and Tracy had to go, to get the kids from school.

Typically, he saw me soon after she had left, where, despite what the nurse had said, I was told I would have to, after all, stay another night, as I might have to wait ages for the scan, were I an out-patient. Jesus Christ, this was getting

absurd. Never mind, I agreed to all he said, and, carried on reading Ronnie. At least the chapters were becoming less painful to read, due to my being allowed food.

I was all mentally prepared, my hatches battened down for another stint, when, yet another nurse came over to my bed, told me it wasn’t serious after all, and I could, after all, get the hell out. Well, for god’s sake, I could have told them all that, over a day before, but there we are, I was given some antacid pills, told to go and see my GP when I got home, and that was that. I had felt fine the whole time I was there, and all I came away with was some jumped up Andrews Liver Salts.

My blood pressure was fine

throughout...