The Grumpy Old Men’s Society were meeting as usual on a Saturday evening in the taproom of the Green Dragon Inn in the isolated village of Bearthwaite which was locally pronounced Burrthet. Sasha Vetrov, the unofficial chairman of the group, was an ex KGB officer from Siberia and a retired mathematician who had lived locally for years. Sasha was preparing to tell a tale which along with drinking and playing dominoes were the reasons the group existed. The inn was known throughout the county for the Saturday evening story telling and there was the usual crowd of locals, tourists, and men from other parts of the county, many of who had travelled considerable distances to be there, in attendance.

Pete the landlord announced, “Okay, let’s have a bit of hush. Off you go, Sasha.”

“Despite having been retired a year the alarm still goes off at six. I cursed and asked myself, ‘Where’s that bloody second button from the right gone to?’ Eventually, I hit the clock in the right place and peace was restored. A few minutes later I got up, brewed up and woke up, in that order.

“I had coffee, insulin and a double handful of pills for my first breakfast, and therein lies a tale. Bilateral carpel tunnel means I’ve got knackered hands that can’t grip small things, so blister packs of tablets are a nightmare. Years ago, I got sick to the back teeth of breaking tablets out of brittle blister packs still in a cocoon of plastic. I couldn’t get them out so I’d throw them into the fire and start again. It wasn’t my fault I used twice as many tablets as I needed. I wanted the tablets not the plastic; although I must have eaten so many thousands of tablet sized pieces of plastic or aluminium that I’m surprised I haven’t triggered Crohn’s disease or something worse which would’ve cost the tax payer even more.

“I’m a good citizen really, honest, and I try to do my bit for the National Health’s budget, but when I explained to the pharmacist what happened? I’ll tell you what happened, they gave me tablets in bottles. It’s a damned good job my grandchildren visit at weekends because I can’t open those bloody childproof plastic tops, so the six year olds open them for me, and I have the heat out of the tops. For you city dwellers with gas central heating that means I used them as mini logs in the solid fuel stove in the kitchen that heats the house and provides hot water.

“I really don’t mind getting old, but I swear I rattle when shaken due to the pills, and getting clapped out is a bore.

“But enough rambling and back to that morning, I was up at ten past six, I was walking badly, my right hip was hurting, but there’re things that had to be done. The cats are now completely out of control, all six want feeding and all want feeding right meow. That’s Parky Puss, Psyco Cat, Mammy Sal, The Marmalade Murderer, Special Needs and Thug. My cats’ names are dynamic and evolve with their behaviour. I fed the cats and dealt with their litter trays before cleaning out, laying and lighting the living room fire. Unlike the kitchen stove it doesn’t run 24/7. By then my legs had warmed up, and I was walking better. I suppose at least some of the pills must work. I mowed some grass for Elle to feed to the pigs and I checked their water was okay.

“Eventually it was time for my second breakfast, home raised and cured bacon, with our own tomatoes, grilled, with scraped, burnt toast. I eat a lot of burnt toast. It’s my fault, I have a short attention span, more coffee, purrfect. The Marmalade Murderer was sharpening his claws on my left leg to remind me they wanted their share. I always do too much bacon because the cats like it too, which serves the pig right for biting me once, it’s never done it since. I do a bit of writing, so I revised Olaf using notes I’d made in the middle of the night when I got up due to the vagaries of a superannuated bladder.

~o~O~o~

“I took the truck to the garage for MOT and service. The courtesy car tank was empty, it must have been running on the fumes, nothing ever changes. I got back home and worked on the extension. I’m building a new workshop on the end of the house because the one I currently use is too damned cold in winter and the new one will be heated. I started knocking out the apex of the gable end of pussy palace. Don’t ask! I cleared the rubble, and dressed off some blocks for re-use.

“I made lunch: potato salad and Coöp turkey slices. The home grown jersey royals, left over from dinner last night, with finely diced raw onion, mayonnaise, horseradish, salt and excessive amounts of ground black pepper were delicious. The turkey was dry and a taste free zone. I should have known better, it said free of E numbers, but it was reduced, in price I mean as well as in flavour.

~o~O~o~

“After lunch I was back to carrying blocks down a ladder from the demolition. Mid-afternoon Elle returned from shopping with cream cakes to go with the coffee. She asked me how it was going, and aching I remarked ‘This cramp in my neck to the left of my throat keeps coming back. It’s a pain in the arse!’

“Elle, who was still working as a nurse then, said, ‘I hope you’re joking!’

“I replied, ‘No, why? What does it mean?’

“Elle’s staccato words came out one at a time, ‘Heart. Give. Me. Your. Wrist.’ I did as I was telt. ‘I can’t feel a pulse!’

“I asked, ‘Does that mean I’m dead?’

“ ‘Shut up. This isn’t funny. I’ll get my watch and check it again.’ Elle went inside and returned with her upside down watch and after a minute or so said, ‘Not strong, thready, over a hundred and missing beats. Have you any pain?’

“It was hard, but I resisted the temptation to say ‘Only you,’ because I knew she’d hit me, and replied, ‘No, I’m fine.’

“Elle said, ‘I’m ringing the doctor, who will want to see you now.’ Elle is on first name terms with all the local quacks and I give up. I knew she’ll get an immediate appointment. ‘Get in the car.’ But I don’t give in that easily.

“ ‘I’m not going anywhere without clean knickers. The bastard might send me to the infirmary.’

“ ‘No he won’t.’ She sees the look on my face and says, ‘Anyway, you’re filthy, full of dust.’

“ ‘That’s no excuse for not having clean knickers, Granny wouldn’t have approved.’

“Elle gave in, ‘I’ll put clean clothes on the bed and be in the car.’

“I gave in, ‘Okay.’ No-one in their right mind crosses Elle which seeing as I’d been falling out with her regularly for forty-odd years probably tells you more about me than her.

~o~O~o~

“Fifteen minutes later I was being seen by my GP, a decent bloke who I get on with most of the time, probably my fault not his, and Elle was telling him the tale. He can’t help being young, mind you age is relative, so somebody out there doubtless considers him ancient. He asked me all the expected questions about chest pains and my diabetic stability. ‘How are your sugar levels?’

“ ‘Fine.’

“ ‘How often do you check them?’

“Nobody is important enough to me to lie to. ‘About twice a year when I have the HbA1c blood test, only I forget to come in for the test some times.’

“ ‘That’s what what I like, total honesty.’

“Elle chipped in, ‘That’s only because I’m here.’ I had expected Elle to say, ‘He’s cantankerous, but what you see is what you get.’ She usually does, but maybe she’d got something on her mind; still you can’t win them all.

“My pulse and blood pressure were okay by then, but he said there was still the odd missing beat. I was still laughing and joking; what’s the option when you’re ten years older than the age three grandparents died at and fifteen older than your mother when she died and they all died of heart problems, mostly angina. Don’t bother telling me you don’t die from angina. I already know, but it’s easer to say than acute myocardial infarction.

“I telt him that I’m older than they lived to be, and he remarked ‘Let’s try to keep it that way.’ Dry.

“I objected, ‘I know I have to die sometime but I haven’t had today’s whisky ration yet.’

“He laught, checked my blood sugar history on his computer and says, ‘God alone knows how you’re that stable.’

“I telt him, ‘That’s not what she says.’

“ ‘Yeah well, insanity doesn’t shew up on the blood test.’

“Like I said, he’s okay. I get on with him.

“He’s actually a good doc as pill rollers and baby catchers go, and he insisted, ‘We’ll do an ECG. The ECG machines are in the small examination rooms.’

“I shrugged my shoulders and said, ‘Okay. You can come too, after all this is all your fault. You brought me here.’ The last remark was addressed to Elle.

“What a performance. Ten sticky pads to get connected up to an ECG. There were only five with the machine and the doc told me the district nurse was using the other examination room, where the pads are kept, for that day’s gynae clinic. We wait till he can get them and eventually I’m hooked up, to be told, ‘The leads are numbered for doctors; we don’t do many of these, usually the nurses do them.’

“I said, ‘As a retired mathematician I like the numbers, but were I a quack I think I would prefer labels telling me where to put them.’

“ ‘Yeah me too. However, we work with what we have.’ Two minutes later. ‘Well, you’re not having a heart attack, but if any of the symptoms return get back to me, it could be angina.’

“Angina. Brilliant! All the family’s favourite killer.

“The snide ferret then remarked, ‘It’s good for you you don’t have hairy legs. There’ll not be much pain getting the pads off. I could let you take the pads off your chest yourself but I have to have some pleasure out of the job.’

“ ‘Bastard.’

“He calmly replied, ‘I know,’ as he rived the pads off my chest taking hairs and three layers of skin off.

“Elle handed me my shirt, and as I put it on I said, ‘I’ll get back to my demolition and barrow then.’

“ ‘I suggest you take it easy for the rest of the day.’

“Knowing Elle would give me a hard time if I don’t comply I just said ‘Okay.’

“On the way home Elle gave me a bollocking for calling him a quack, funny thing is she wasn’t in the least bothered by me calling him a bastard. There’s no understanding the woman at all.

“We got home at half three and the day was burnt toast as far as the gable end was concerned. Somehow my cold coffee and cream cake didn’t taste as I’d expected.

~o~O~o~

“The Marmalade Murderer, aka Boots, returned, from yet another expedition of wholesale slaughter. Boots is my wee red cat who thinks I’m his under-employed white servant, and he is a cat with a mission: death. If it moves it has to die. He’s broadly ecumenical in his predation, mice, rats, voles, moles, weasels, stoats, lizards, swallows, owls, bats, pheasants, pigeons, rabbits, lots of rabbits, and a general selection of birds of various species. You could say he’s a gourmand. He had a yeast infection in his ears at the time and needed ear drops, fifty quid’s worth of ear drops. I got to hold him, and Elle put the drops in. He’s only a wee cat, but he's a cantankerous bugger, and I could see bone at the bottom of one of the holes in the back of my right hand. Elle says he's my cat for sure. There were only four more days of drops, twice a day, to go. Ah well I considered, it’s only pain; if you can feel the pain at least you know you’re not dead yet. Who needs an ECG?

~o~O~o~

“I did a bit of demolition cleaning up, grass mowing, paperwork, jarred up the pickled red cabbage I was making, decanted six gallons of red wine and a gallon of whisky, and started up another six gallons of red. That batch of red was experimental, made with Lidl red grape juice on the lees of the previous batch. I’d had to calculate the sugar required. Actually it was guesstimation, not calculation, but it was interesting.

~o~O~o~

“How on earth I ever found the time to work I’ll never know, but it was all just another ordinary day in the retired life of yours truly, but there must be a tale to tell or a song to sing there somewhere, so I’ll type this up on the laptop in bed when drinking a well deserved very large single malt whisky, which I’ll keep topping up before I finish the glass, so I can truthfully tell Elle when she asks that I’ve only had the one.

“Old age isn’t all bad you know.

~o~O~o~

“Now I’m not quite as bring on death, it’ll be a laugh, as I try to make out, and I must admit to a little perplexity as to my GP’s thoughts that it could be angina. How would I know? When should I do something about it? At what point should I have GTN available. I have to say I’m bothered by the medical usage of the initialism GTN. Glyceryl-trinitate to the medical and nursing professions is TNG to me: trinitro-glycerine, an unstable high explosive with vaso-dilation properties. I grilled Elle on what she thought, and all I got was ‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask your GP.’ Bloody helpful that.

“Now, I’m not that bothered about death you understand because I know I have to do it, but I’m a bit of a procrastinator, it’s just the way I am. Never put off doing till tomorrow what you can put off doing till the day after is the way I have lived since I first discovered time, when waiting for lunch as a hungry two year old. But eventually I had to agree with Elle and I went do see my GP. I had been looking forward to at least a squabble if not a confrontation, but I think I hadn’t realised how well he knew me. He’s been my GP for god alone knows how long. All he said was, ‘The sensible solution is that I write you up for GTN now. Do you know how to use it?’

“I admitted I had no idea, but said doubtless Elle would know, and he said, ‘Better if you know. If you get breathless. Stop, and sit down for a rest. If you are still breathless after three minutes, spray the GTN under your tongue twice. If it is no better after two minutes ring 999 for an ambulance and tell them you are having a heart attack. I’m going to refer you to the cardiac unit and they will probably want to put you on a treadmill to evaluate your heart function. That can be inconclusive, in which case they may want to perform an angiogram to find out conclusively what condition your heart and arteries are in.’

“I said ‘Okay,’ thinking, a treadmill, great! I’ll be sweating like a knackered pig looking like a pillock in front of young female nurses. If only I were twenty, no make that forty, years younger

“When I told Elle what he’d said her response was classic Elle, ‘The hell with the two minutes. If it’s not better almost instantly we ring for an ambulance, but the first responders will be here in minutes.’

“ ‘Yes, Dear.’

“I didn’t bother to ask what the hell a first responder was. After all a heart attack is like everything else in life, you either survive it or you don’t. If you do, great. If you don’t you won’t give a toss.

~o~O~o~

“I got my appointment to see the consultant cardiologist in three weeks time. Elle said, ‘It was lucky to get in so quickly,’ which didn’t make me feel fortunate at all. I couldn’t help it, I was thinking, what has my GP told him that I don’t know. Am I getting an early appointment because they think I won’t live long enough for later one? I knew I was being irrational and unreasonable, but to be honest I didn’t care how I appeared to be behaving to anyone, even Elle, and I said so. Elle said, ‘But you never have cared, you’re behaving perfectly normally.’ Sometimes I hate Elle.

~o~O~o~

“The appointment with the consultant was an NHS(1) disaster to start with and then it went seriously down hill. Elle had worked the night before, and, as I knew she would, she insisted she went too. The appointment was for two o’clock and because that’s the way she is Elle had had no sleep and was tired. We were on time, and managed to park the truck on the hospital car park. We were directed to the cardiology unit by the front reception.

“A big fat lass, women of that build that I like I usually think of and describe as attractively womanly, took my appointment letter off me, gave it a cursory glance before handing it back and tersely told us to take a seat and she would let someone know I was there. I am a patient man, sometimes, but by three o’clock every one who had been there when we arrived had been seen and long gone along with twenty or more others. I told Elle I was going for a coffee, and she said she would get it for me in case I was called. I told her I had to get it myself because my backside and legs needed the walk as they were completely numb from the wonderful plastic chair I had been sitting on for over an hour. I went for my coffee and returned at about quarter past three and finished the coffee sitting on the same chair as before.

“At half past three Elle was looking decidedly dangerous, and tired too, which makes her unpredictably dangerous. It’s why I married her, it’s the ultimate in extreme sport. I waited for her to reach boiling point and at twenty eight minutes to four, I know, I looked at the clock, she stood up and said, ‘This is ridiculous. I am going to find someone to give me an explanation.’ Poor someone.

“A nurse in a dark blue uniform went by. In arctic tones, Elle asked, ‘Excuse me. My husband’s appointment is for two and we were here at ten to two. He handed his appointment letter to someone on reception and we were told to take a seat and that the appropriate person would be told we were here. My husband has insulin treated diabetes and needs to eat soon. It is now well gone half three. Every one here when we arrived and many others too have been seen and gone. I would like an explanation please, or at least to see someone who can give me one.’

“The woman, who I could see had taken in Elle’s dark blue uniform, was equally polite, but her tone was warm not glacial. She was helpful too. ‘I am not on duty here, but I’ll do my best to help. May I see the letter please.’ I gave her the letter and she said, ‘You are not in the right place. You should be round the corner at the consultants clinic which is where I am on duty. If you come with me I’ll try to sort everything out for you.’ I could see Elle’s hackles going down at the woman’s pleasant and helpful manner. Pity really, Elle is something to see when under full sail at storm force ten, especially when she’s fighting my corner.

“We went no more than a matter of ten yards, round a corner, then another few yards and were invited to take a seat. The nurse went away and after a few minutes returned, ‘I’ve explained what has happened to Doctor Smith, and even though his clinic has finished he’ll see you in a few minutes after he has finished writing up his notes. Can I get you a coffee and something to eat? Do you need to check your blood sugar level?’

“What a difference twenty yards makes. Elle was almost human again. We had a coffee, and I some biscuits, and Elle told me the big fat lass had been taking a personal phone call when I went for a walk and coffee. I asked how did she know and she replied sourly, ‘I doubt if she habitually says to work colleagues “‘I’ll call at Sainsbury’s on the way home, Darling.’” ’

“I was weighed and measured for height, I wasn’t surprised my height was the same but that my weight was too did surprise me. I really must ask someone one day why they wanted groin swabs, then again perhaps not. All the staff at the consultants clinic were pleasant and helpful, and I had no reason to wish them ill, but just to be on the safe side I told them Elle had worked the previous night shift, had had no sleep and for some strange reason was concerned about my health. They already knew her cage had been rattled by the big fat lass, and they probably suspected what I knew, a complaint would be going in.

“Doctor Smith apologised and said, ‘I believe you have had a difficult time getting to see me. I have read your GP’s letter, but would you like to tell me your views on the matter?’

“I explained my family history and my concerns, and that although I had not smoked for over thirty years I had been a heavy smoker.

“ ‘You tick all the boxes for an at risk patient. Before I decide whether medication, or surgery is indicated I wish to know exactly what the situation is. The only sure way is for you to have an angiogram which I shall schedule for as soon as possible. I shall be doing the procedure myself. Is there anything you wish to know or ask?’

“I was seriously taken aback at the possibility of heart surgery. We chatted for a few minutes as he explained what the procedure involved and he asked me not to leave till the nurses had finished with me. The nurses told us they had finished with me, but usually they did the weight, height and swabs after Doctor Smith had seen a patient which would have been why he’d said what he did.

“That Elle had trouble on the way out finding out how to complain and who to send the complaint to boded ill for somebody or maybe some bodies. Still, the chips from the Chinese fish and chip shop near the hospital were extremely good.

~o~O~o~

“The procedure letter was a revelation. After explaining that the procedure would pass the tube into your heart via the wrist it then gave instructions to shave the pubic hair off both sides of the groin. Just in case you didn’t understand, there was a pair of diagrams of naked persons, one with breasts and a rather discrete cleft and the other with equally discrete penis and testicles, they were helpfully labelled female and male, and each label was with the correct diagram. I did wonder how many people were treated who needed that level of help, and suspected that the few who did in all probability couldn’t read anyway, so it wouldn’t have mattered if the labels were with the wrong diagram. The diagrams had circles around the groin areas and a picture of a razor and arrows indicating where to shave. It was a puzzle why I needed to shave my pubic hair for a procedure involving my wrist, but never mind.

~o~O~o~

“My appointment was for half past seven in the morning. I couldn’t eat for twelve hours before but I could drink as long as it had no milk in it. I drink single malt and black coffee, in roughly equal proportions, so I was okay there. I was not supposed to drive home after the procedure, so Elle went to drive me home, which was a bit unfortunate as she had had to work the night-shift the night before. This combination of Elle’s night shifts and my hospital appointments was getting to be a habit. She was knackered and I was pissed off by the whole business, but we set off for the hospital at seven.

“Unknown to either of us there was a strike of ancillary staff, including anaesthetists’ staff that day. Negotiating the pickets, I’d have been quite happy to mow them down the way I was feeling and I suspect it was obvious to them. At the main gates to the hospital, I drove past the fleeing pickets accompanied by their abuse to the hospital car park. Under appropriate circumstances I just love upsetting folk. I mind my own business and had no intention of trying to prevent them striking, but I demand the same respect which under those circumstances means only an idiot stands in front of a vehicle I'm driving. Needless to say we didn’t have the change required for the car park ticket machines; but Elle is a mistress at dealing with folk and she said, ‘Let’s go and talk to the man in the car park kiosk.’

“We did and she explained the situation and asked for change. We could see he took in her dark blue nurses frock indicating a senior nurse. He smiled and asked her, ‘Have you got a pound coin?’

“ ‘Yes.’

“ ‘Get a one pound ticket and that will be fine. You’re in the red truck?’

“ ‘Yes.’

“ ‘I’ll tell my mate who takes over at twelve and you’ll be fine.’

“Now Elle is not one to leave anything to chance, so she said, ‘I worked last night and I didn’t get the chance to eat my chocolate bar, here,’ she dived into her handbag, ‘you have it then it won’t be wasted.’

“The car park man smiled and said, ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’ Elle asked him how to get to cardiology and and he gave her detailed instructions which were much better than the ones on the letter I had received, but then he told us he’d shew us the way and escorted us the quick way via security card operated doors to the heart centre.

“On handing in my letter, I was introduced to Sharon who said she was my nurse. Sharon who was possibly twenty, took us to my bed. Elle and I looked on in amusement as the curtains were drawn from one side to the other as like a child’s knock down toy they closed at one side to open at the other. Eventually Sharon managed to work out where the missing curtain had gone and in the dubious privacy of flimsy curtains which blew to leave a three foot gap every time a door opened, and the ward had a lot of doors, I had the opportunity to wear my NHS unisex paper knickers. I’m not sure who they were designed for, but even I, at near seventy than sixty, fell out of one side. I was seriously glad that I had not been given a pair to wear when I was younger and capable of being embarrassed by the thought of any woman still breathing.

“I do have an exaggerated sense of the ridiculous and after a young woman of certainly no more than forty-five had helped me to fasten my paper hospital gown at the back Elle on seeing the look on my face waited till she'd gone and said, ‘Stop it. I already need a wee.’

“Sharon had asked me what I preferred to be called; she was a little perplexed when I replied, ‘Anything you like as long as it is not before five am.’

“Elle spoils everything, and said, ‘He’s playing with you. Call him Sasha. If he doesn’t like you he’ll say so, and insist on being called Dr. Vetrov. If he really doesn’t like you he’ll insist on Professor Vetrov. If he hates you he’ll insist on Academician Vetrov which is what I call him when we’re having a row. Is that your natural hair colour? I need a chat with you after this.’

“Sharon said, ‘I’ll call you whatever you like. Are you a GP or do you work here?’

“I said, ‘Sharon, Elle is under stress and tired. She’s just worked a night shift. I’m a retired mathematician not a medic. Sasha is fine, and before you ask it’s a man’s name where I come from, but I’d be obliged if you find time to talk hair or she’ll give me a hard time later.’

“Sharon smiled, ‘I’m not good after a night shift either. Would you like a coffee? I’ll find the time to talk hair for a few minutes.’

“ ‘Good lass, I appreciate it. I’d like a black coffee please with no sugar. Elle drinks it white without sugar.’ Sharon smiled again and returned with the coffees. It’s no wonder the ancillary staff were on strike. I be on strike if I had to drink that stuff every day. It was obvious they were trying to cut down hospital waiting lists by poisoning patients, but at least it was wet. The detergent taste was a puzzle though, still it gave me something to think about, maybe by putting it in with the coffee the cups don’t need washing and can just be rinsed before being reused?

“Now I know that life is what you make of it and opportunities should be firmly seized with both hands, but after Sharon had gone there really was no need for Elle to play with the high tech bed controls. I told her to bugger off and find a loo before she killed me.

“The bloke in the bed to my right in the corner was wheeled away; he looked okay, so I didn’t think he was on his way to the morgue. The old man who was wheeled in to take his place was a character and and a half, if not two. He was, we subsequently discovered, seventy eight and extremely deaf. He too was in for an angiogram and was accompanied by his son who looked to be in his late fifties. Everything was on go slow due to the strike, and I was told it would probably be about eleven before I was taken for my angiogram.

“Elle had found a loo and managed to buy an Express newspaper with a cryptic crossword. It passed the time. Elle does cryptics regularly, she’s very good at them. I don’t understand them the way she does because I can’t be bothered with them, but my vocabulary is larger than hers so I often get asked things like, ‘Is there such a word as whatever?’ She’d filled in all bar two clues and I knew that a word that Elle had put in wasn’t correct, and what the other two were, but with Elle tired and already irate I wasn’t going to bring her wrath down upon my head, so I held my peace.

“Some bloke in his fifties was going round talking to folk in the beds, eventually he came to us. I didn’t like him because I didn’t want to talk to him and I considered it to be presumptuous to just sit down. He said he’d had the procedure last year and was a ward visitor. Presumably he couldn’t get on the list to visit psychos in prisons, so he inflicted himself on day patients. Elle asked him if he was any good at cryptic crosswords and he said he was an expert. At that point I wasn’t sure whether he was an illiterate taking the Mick or just an arrogant bastard.

“She passed him the paper over and he said he thought the word I thought incorrect should be what I had thought it to be, but he didn’t know the answers to the missing two which ran across it. I’ll let you decide, illiterate or arrogant? He gave her the paper back and chatted to her for a few minutes before leaving.

“ ‘Even by your standards you were damned bad mannered to him,’ Elle telt me.

“ ‘If I hadn’t been you’d have had to put up with him for another twenty minutes. Pass me the paper, Elle.’ I altered the crossword and filled in the other two remaining clues.

“ ‘You are infuriating. You knew those three all the time didn’t you?’

“ ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

“It was still not nine o’clock, and my attention span for the next month was exhausted. Elle was re-reading the paper in an effort to stay awake. I don’t read papers. I prefer to make my own lies up which I describe as creating the new truth, after all I am a writer, sort of. Sharon was back to check my blood sugar level, it was low but acceptable for me. She was worried and went for some glucose tablets and a sandwich, unspecified. The two slices of last week’s white bread were so thin I could read Elle’s paper through them and they had edges as sharp and hard as a Japanese throwing blade. I assumed there was a trace of some kind of spread on the bread somewhere and that the lack of evidence as to its presence was due to my eyesight. See, I can do kind. As to the thin curled up layer of off white stuff in the middle, which would have done Aladdin’s slippers proud, it would doubtless have been a criminal offence to refer to it as cheese.

“Elle told Sharon, ‘He won’t hypo out of sheer cantankerousness now.’ I thanked Sharon for the sandwich. I’m sure British Rail caters must have the sandwich making franchise at the hospital, and I had no intention of putting it anywhere near my mouth. Fortunately Sharon had to leave, and I was able to throw the shuriken sandwich at a seagull. I’ve always hated gulls. Had I managed to kill it doubtless the others would eat their late companion along with the sandwich. Rubbish tip fed seagull would no doubt be less dangerous to eat than the sandwich.

“A woman came to see me, she introduced her self as Doctor Someone or other who would be involved in the procedure, and she asked if I’d shaved my groin. I said yes, but I asked why was it necessary. She explained the preferred procedure passed the angiogram tube into the heart via the wrist, but in some people it was not possible so the groin was the site used. Ah, all becomes clear, as mud. After examining my wrists she said they were fine and they would use my left wrist.

“ ‘I’m left handed, can you not use the right one?’

“Doctor Someone or other was a little irritated by that, but obviously not with me, and asked, ‘Has no one asked you whether you are left handed because they should have done. It means we need to turn some of the equipment around so we always do all the left handers together. As far as I’m aware there is only you, but perhaps no one has been asked. I’ll have it checked.’

“ ‘No one asked me, and it wasn’t on the form I filled in.’

“She smiled and before leaving said, ‘I’ll have someone tell you at what time we think you’ll have the procedure when we know how many left and right handers we have.’

“I asked Elle, who’s left handed too, what she thought happened if one had hairy wrists, or one were left groined, but she wasn’t playing. She shrugged and went back to the Express. I was so bored by then I accepted another coffee from Sharon, and as I drank it I wondered what embalming fluid tasted like.

“The old guy in the corner had a similar visit, but from a Portuguese doctor. The doctor was a quietly spoken young man whose English was not good. It was obvious the old guy hadn’t heard him never mind understood him. ‘He’s very deaf,’ the son explained. The doctor explained the arteries in his wrists were narrow and they would be using his groin and asked if his groin had been shaved. My sight is poor these days, but my hearing is still better than the average ten year old.

“The old guy meanwhile was shouting in the way the deaf often do, ‘Eh? What did he say?’ The doctor repeated himself, not raising his voice at all, saying he would send a nurse to make sure all was in order for the procedure. ‘Eh? What did he say?’

“This happened once more and the son said, ‘I’ll explain it to him.’

“The old guy was clearly upset ‘Eh? What did he say?’

“The son, a much harassed man eventually managed to calm his dad and explained. A nurse came and drew the curtains. She left five minutes later, opening the curtains. The old guy was sitting on the edge of his bed agitated.

“ ‘You’ll be fine,’ I said to him. ‘Have you come far?’

“ ‘Chancy Tor,’ he shouted. ‘You know it?’

“ ‘Aye. I used to live at Seagrove. I went for physio at Stent Hill years ago.’

“ ‘What with Doctor Death? That’s what they called him you know.’ The son looked resigned as his dad shouted, ‘John, he knows Doctor Death. Where do you live now?’

“ ‘Bearthwaite. We have a holding and keep pigs.

“Elle, I and the old guy talked pigs, pig killing, bacon curing, other things we did on our holding and farming generally for the next hour which calmed him down and relieved his son immensely. The old man had worked the land, and I knew about working with horses from when I was a boy.

“Eventually I was taken away to what seemed to be a wide shallow cupboard with its entire front wall on sliding rollers. I was positioned on the table which occupied most of the cupboard with just enough space around it for the dozen or so technicians and doctors. The entire procedure was orchestrated by the consultant: Doctor Smith.

“As the cupboard door-wall closed the light disappeared and all was illuminated by the sickly green light of the various monitors. Doctor Smith when I first met him was dressed in a suit and he looked like a consultant. In the cupboard from hell he looked like an abattoir slaughterman in his overalls and white wellies. The hooded and cowled nightmare crew closed in on me, hooked me up to the monitors which were all over the ceiling and two walls.

“The ghoul on my right next to the sliding wall started messing about with my wrist and I was immediately overwhelmed by horrendous nausea, which subsequently lessened, but only a little. That was him slicing into the artery in my wrist and sliding the tube in which the angiogram equipment went down. The actual procedure itself I was unaware of. Maybe ten or twenty minutes later, it seemed like hours, Smith told me that my arteries and heart were in good condition and there was nothing to worry about. I was aware of the tube being removed, it hurt a bit but the nausea went. The door-wall slid away and daylight flooded in. I was wheel chaired back to the ward. Hell I was tired, but at least I was out of the tomb.

“When I was back on my bed, the old guy shouted, ‘What was it like?’ Much to Elle’s approval I lied through my teeth, by omission of course.

“ ‘I never felt the thing looking at my heart and arteries. He said I was in good shape.

“ ‘Well that’s good.’ He turned to his son, ‘He got a good report. He knows Doctor Death you know. He kills his own pigs too.’

“The only problem when the medics slit your wrist is when they’ve done they put a wrist band on you that exerts pressure on the cut. Then they pressurise the wrist band with compressed air. At regular intervals a nurse takes a measured amount of the air out of the wrist band with a graduated hypodermic syringe. Damned clever what? It would be for anyone who hasn’t got carpel tunnel problems. I spent the next two and a half hours with excruciating pins and needles in my right arm from the shoulder blade down to my finger tips. However, if they go in via your groin you get to wear a compressed air filled belt, I don’t even want to think about where you get the pins and needles from that. Maybe that’s why they take the groin swabs? Still my heart’s in good nick and I do know Doctor Death.

“Eventually the wrist strap was removed and the pain in my right arm left me, presumably to visit a more worthy recipient. We left the old guy with what reassurances we could, he still had to visit the crypt in the cupboard, and wished he and his son well. The old guy was still reassuring himself by telling his son ‘He got a good report. He knows Doctor Death you know. He kills his own pigs too.’

“I doubt if there was a soul on the cardiac unit that day who didn’t know that ‘I got a good report, I know Doctor Death and that I kill my own pigs too.’

“By the time we got out the car park was not only full, but littered with abandoned cars between the rows too. Hardly surprising really as the hospital staff pay for their spaces out of their salaries and those arriving to start work after ten can’t find a space, so they just abandon them anywhere with their season tickets visible and the car park franchise company can do nothing about it. I find anything that upsets any car park organisation amusing, parasites all. Elle took one look at the situation, she doesn’t do reverse and she doesn’t like driving my truck, and said, ‘I’ll never get it out. What do we do?’

“ ‘You get in the the passenger side and I’ll drive.’

“As we got in the truck Elle said, ‘You’re not supposed to drive. It might start your wound bleeding.’

“ ‘I know. I do lots of things I’m not supposed to, most of which I don’t trouble you with. If it makes you feel any better I promise I’ll only drive with my left hand. Now shut up, and let me concentrate on pushing that car out of my way. My left hand can do the gear lever and my knees the steering wheel.’

“Every now and again Elle does what I tell her. I just wish I could figure out how to make her do so a bit more often. Anyway I eased the truck up to the Volvo and gently pushed it three feet, and now able to do so, drove over a flower bed between two rows of cars as I left the car park. Piece of cake, although the Volvo driver would face the same situation I’d been in. I wondered if it would occur to him to push a vehicle out of his way. As I drove out through the gates onto the main road I was relieved to see the pickets had gone. It would have been difficult driving straight on the road at the speed I drove off it. Still, lucky pickets.

“As I drove us home, Elle started laughing and said, ‘You are mental, you know that don’t you?’

“ ‘I should. You and others aplenty keep telling me so.’

“ ‘You pushing that car and going over the flowers will be on CCTV you know?’

“ ‘One, I very carefully drove between the roses not over them, and two the hospital car park is not a public road and therefore not subject to highway regulations. In any case moving a car without damaging it is not an offence, nor can it be subject to an insurance claim, but I doubt if the Volvo driver will be aware his car has been moved, he’ll just assume the car on the other side has blocked him in, and frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn, cos ah’s gaan yam.’

“At which we both laughed. I knew Elle would appreciate both Brick Cutler’s words and those of Geordie Geoff. Brick Cutler is what I refer to the hero in Gone with the Wind as and Geordie Geoff was a thoroughly unsavoury character in a scurrilous, anti-establishment magazine I used to be given regularly in the days when I first met Elle.

“You didn’t seriously think I have ever paid for reading material did you?

“Yes. All in all not a bad day really, apart from that awful coffee I was given on the ward, but you get what you pay for so I suppose it was value for money. My only real regret was the Chinese was shut.

~o~O~o~

By this time the old man had an impressive line of glasses in front of him all of which had just appeared with out a word from him.

A man who was obviously a friend of his said, “ Comrad Sasha Vetrov, you are biggest bloody liar I have ever met, and though I don’t doubt that every word was literally true you surely do know how to spin a yarn. That was as good as the ones you tell about 'the old country', though I don't believe a word of those.”

1 NHS, National Health Service.