Wednesday, 22 April 2015


I haven't been blogging much recently. Laid up with a bad back I've been feeling pretty sorry for myself. The problem with not being able to move and feeling sorry for yourself is that you're confined to bed and endless news channels showing death and destruction and it forces you to realise how lucky you really are. I can't move to turn the TV over and then I feel sorry for myself again. It's a moral and physical dilemma I wasn't prepared for.

The drugs! Well what a disappointment they've turned out to be. Co codamol is supposed to make you feel like you've had five pints but I must have been prescribed the non alcoholic version though they have made my tongue swell so I cant talk, which is like I've had ten pints so I suppose I shouldn't complain. Tramadol next. Tramadol is an opiate and I was expecting hippy-dippy trips and no pain in my bed. Well I must have the constitution of Keith Richards because it isn't all over now and they did nothing and my bad back wouldn't fade away. 

A few trips to the doctors later has found me in the possession of a trapped femoral nerve. It's not as exciting as it sounds but a lot more painful. I can walk without pain for about a hundred yards but the moment I stop then the pain arrives, a deep throbbing neural nightmare of nagging nerves. Other alliteration is available. Am I to be confined to a life of non-stop movement? A sort of Forrest Gump, refugee existence that sees me hobbling across the world too frightened to stop? Well, no, I've been prescribed some physio and later a scan, but your mind wanders when you're laid up.

A mate contacted me and was sympathising with my plight. In fact we share similar conditions. He told me that they can operate, releasing the trapped nerve. Free The Femoral One! I'll get the placards made and join the waiting list.

My one year old dog has been my constant companion through this when the kids have been at school and my wife has been working. He can't fetch me a cuppa or even turn the TV over but he has a genuine affection for me that might actually turn out to be pity. He is quite clever. He sits besides me on my bed and knows my left leg is numb from the knee down so he gently licks it. This has its drawbacks as I awoke last Monday afternoon with Bobby humping the affected area and I didn't feel a thing. A trip to the snippy vets for Bob when I'm better!

I'm not complaining. As I said, plenty of people in this world are worse off, and most of them pop up on my TV in my bedroom as I try to convince myself I'm never going to not hobble again. Thanks for reading the ramblings of a sick man. If you enjoyed it then it's all down to my talent, if you hated it then I blame the drugs!

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