I had another joyous hospital outpatient appointment yesterday. As you may know, I attend various clinics for a variety of different ailments. Friday’s visit was to the orthopaedic department, to discover how well or poorly my broken bones have been healing.

Luckily, the number of x rays taken were considerably less than my previous visit. While the radiographers were keen to take images of my left arm, which remains in a sling, my other arm and right leg managed to dodge having their photo taken.

The decision to avoid paying attention to my right arm and leg is a positive one. It means that the doctors are no longer concerned about these particular limbs, as they are healing well. Either that, or they’re so beyond repair, that medics consider them a write off.

I had the usual battle with the x ray plates (see my blog post from December, to read about past run-ins with these horrible things). I am puzzled by the reason to force a plate behind my back, in order to capture an image of my arm.

After the generally smooth visit to the x ray team, I was returned to the Fracture Clinic waiting room – although not before I had to explain to a member of staff that I did not need to be taken to a ward. Claire and I battled hard to get me discharged home in November, and now the hospital want to make me an inpatient again! No fecking way!

My x ray images showed some interesting results

After arriving back in the clinic, I didn’t have to wait long before meeting a doctor. Having reviewed the latest image of my left arm, he was able to bring me good news. My left arm is making good progress and is recovering well from the complex break I suffered two months earlier.

The bone has not begun to rebuild itself to a safe level. It was therefore suggested that I remove my left arm from the sling, which will allow me to move my arm more freely, allowing my arm to perform the necessary bits to recover further. What a clever arm!

The doctor finished his consultation just before 10.50am. I know this, because Claire had sent a message using WhatsApp at 10.51am. It wasn’t long after this, that we were told that patient transport had been booked to take us home.

Things were going well. I had made it to the appointment with no problems. The x rays were taken with very little stress to me. The results of the x rays were positive and now my wife and I would be taken home. We just had to wait for the ambulance to turn.

We waited…

and waited…

We waited some more…

and a bit more…

You get the idea.

At around one o’clock – over two hours since the doctor had finished with me – we were starting to get a little frustrated about the delay.

Showing patience, we persisted with the wait. As we approached the three hour mark, it was time to take action. I jumped off the hospital bed and into my wheelchair.

By ‘jumped’, I, of course, mean got Claire to help me onto my feet, before gingerly hobbling a few steps to the wheelchair. Not one hop, skip or jump took place. Don’t worry – my disability benefits, which your taxes fund, are justified!

Now that I was in my chair, it was time to execute our plan. It was simple. Claire would push me home. It was just a pity that we hadn’t done this three hours earlier!

Claire wheeled me to the clinic reception, where we planned to tell whoever was there, “thanks, but no thanks”, and that we would be making our own way home.

A friendly lady behind the desk informed us that transport will arrive very soon and that we should stay, as a packed lunch had been prepared for the two of us.

We agreed to stay in the unit a little longer, having been enticed by the promise of something that apparently doesn’t exist. No, not a driver willing to take me home, but a free lunch. Surprisingly, despite what we have always been told, there is such a thing!

As we continued to wait for our ride home, the packed lunches were opened and devoured. We were both very hungry, having not eaten since breakfast – unless you count the miniature packets of Love Hearts and Parma Violets we shared. Never mind giving away your last Rolo – splitting a tube of Love Hearts with your other half, is the mere definition of romance.

Unfortunately, not all of the lunch could be eaten, considering that one of the sandwiches was tuna fish and the other chicken mayonnaise. 18 months ago, I would have made short work of the latter, but not since becoming a tree-hugging veggie.

On hindsight, it was probably a good thing that I did not have a sandwich to eat, otherwise I would have probably choked on a bit of chicken beak in shock… from out of nowhere, the hospital transport turned up!

After being pushed through the hospital and into the ambulance, I was given the choice of transferring to a trolley, or remaining in my wheelchair.

Considering that we only live around the corner from the hospital, I thought staying where I was would be the best option. I didn’t fancy wasting any further time, by moving onto the trolley.

The last time that I was placed on an ambulance trolley, my arms, legs and torso were strapped down to such an extent, that I felt like a raging rabies victim.

Presumably, this cautious approach was to prevent me from falling onto the vehicle floor, and not to because the paramedics had watched Silence of the Lambs too many times…

The ambulance ride home went with very few hiccups. I managed to avoid falling off the trolley or eating any paramedic livers.

The paramedics even wheeled me off the ambulance and up the garden path, safely delivering me home – unlike Hermes couriers who, during the hospital appointment, threw my parcel over the back gate.