The last 24 hours has served as a health warning that all is still not right with my innards. I was up all of Wednesday/Thursday night with bad abdominal pains, and sat there wondering whether to call for an ambulance.
Margaret and I, the two Internet medical experts, are convinced that it is gallstones. The doctor (not my usual one) was not so convinced, and sent me home, saying if the pain returned to the severity of the night-time, to come back – or go straight to the clinic in Ganges. ( I had a blood test to check no infections, and a prescription for an ethnograph should I go to Ganges.) In the afternoon I was sick – three litres! – but what a relief, even though it reminded me vividly of those scenes in hospital in the weeks after my op.
Things have improved 24 hours later, but the fact is that I know that all has not been right since last year’s operation. My GP and the oncologist have both said I should wait for things to settle. I have a review visit with the surgeon scheduled for March, so I suppose I should hang on till then.
Two good things have come out of this episode. I have at last got round to putting the emergency numbers for ambulance and fire services by the phone and I have returned to my New Year resolution to eat less and more cautiously.