I started feeling manky about three o’clock yesterday afternoon. Light headed, shivery, excessively fatigued. I couldn’t work out what was wrong. I’ve just come to the end of a course of antibiotics to combat a chest infection, so it couldn’t be anything to do with that.
Time passed and at half past six I finally rang the doctor’s out-of-hours service, and they asked me to come down and see them at the local hospital. We left our house at a quarter to eight. We wouldn’t come back until quarter to one in the morning. And because I felt so rough, I couldn’t drive so we had to poppy up for Brockenhurst Taxis both ways (total cost, £15.00). It was not my first choice, I prefer to drive myself, but it was safer and the driver was very sympathetic.
In between times, the out-of-hours GP sent me to A & E where, after hanging around for an hour with the sick, lame, lazy, and drunk, I underwent assessments with the triage nurse, an A & E nurse, and a junior doctor. He ordered a full set of bloods, a couple of paracetamol to get my temperature down, and a set of chest X rays.
And the upshot of all this is another chest infection. An absolutely humongous infection which, if I hadn’t spoken to the medics, would probably have floored me by this morning.
As it is, I’m on a second course of antibiotics: Clarithromycin 500mg, twice a day, and Amoxicillin 500mg three times a day.
One of the most extraordinary things to come out of the entire fiasco is the state of my lungs. I’m a heavy smoker, I already suffer with COPD, and I would have expected the X rays to show some serious deterioration. They didn’t. For someone as clapped out as me, they’re in reasonable fettle. Not good, but not as bad as I would have expected.
So there you have it. Another fun-packed night in the Robinson household. My thanks, as always, go to the dedicated NHS staff who have to put up with pains in the arse like me.