she was concerned that the underlying infection wasn't responding to treatment (and it had been a pretty strong dose). So Yesterday was just one of those days. I had to go and see my GP yesterday to check on an infected sebaceous cyst for which I had been prescribed antibiotics last week. I fully expected her to say that it is well on the mend, now get off to work. While the inflammation had subsidedwhe wrote a letter and sends me off to A&E at Romford's new Queen's hospital.
I got there at a bit after 10am. At around 12-15, I was finally seen, the doctor did not like the look of what she saw so decided to send me to see a specialist at another hospital, King George V at Goodmayes. Several hours later, the specialist takes a look and takes that sharp intake of breath you usually see when a plumber realises that the size of his bill is only slightly less than the term fees for Eton. I thought he would take a lancet and give the cyst a squeeze - oh no! It's an operation under general anaesthetic for me.
I'm booked into a surgical ward, I am given an ECG and more BP and Heart rate tests, I am questioned by the anaestheist who checks, inter alia, that my teeth are okay and I am able to open my mouth wide open, I sign the consent form.
Just as I am fitted out in DVT stockings and, have my arse hanging out of the hospital gown, and am resigned to a short stay in hospital the consultant pays a visit, takes another look at the cyst and decides to put me on more and stronger antibiotics (Three different ones!) and says I can go.
It's 9pm by then and I hadn't eaten since the the previous day and had nothing to drink since my morning coffee. Needless to say I'm ravenous and spitting feathers. The only vending machine available offered coke at £1 a 500ml bottle. I don't like Coke very much but I was thirsty enough to drink slurry. Twice that vending machine took my money and twice it offered me nothing. I think my expletives were heard in Belgrade....