Genuine NHS Dentist?

 

Genuine NHS Dentist

 

I’m just wondering if there is such a thing, in Harrogate, as a Dentist offering a real service for NHS clients.

 

Having been with my current practice since the 1990’s the situation is that I had a routine inspection on 11 July this year when the dentist found I needed three fillings, in some cases repairs to previously filled teeth. The earliest appointment they could offer was 11 October. Exactly three months on from the examination. Two months after this appointment was made I received a phone call, from the dental practice, informing me that, as the dentist would be away ar the time my appointment was due, it would have to be rearranged for 10 December (five months after the inspection).

 

In the meantime I have experienced shards of enamel breaking from both front and back of one of the teeth that required attention. The practice who are supposedly proffering a dental service for me, at present , are North Park Dental Practice.

A transformative event

 

Just wish I could find a pre-emptive strategy for these sudden onset bouts of painful exhaustion, it’s not as if I can lay the blame on over exertion. I’d had a quite lazy restful day today, apart from an unduly early morning waking, from my fitful slumbers, as the hound expressed an urgent need to utilize the garden! I was able to get back into bed within ten minutes but, it seemed like an eternity before I was able to resume my slumbers. When I did finally emerge from the duvet realm there seemed little option other than a very restful day.

 

Around 18.30 hours, a painful tiredness enveloped me; it’s almost impossible to determine which came first, the weary tiredness or the pains in upper limbs and feet. A not unfamiliar gnawing discomfort from the armpits served to induce feelings of nausea and a few shouted expletives caught the snoozing hound quite unawares, although he did quite quickly proffer me his paw and snuggled up closer to me. The discomfort dissipated, of its own volition(?) as I listened to Sibelius ‘The Wood Nymph’, at the opening of tonight’s Prom broadcast on BBC4 before I was fully awakened by the vocal dexterity of soprano Anu Komsi in a newly commissioned piece, from Laura Poe, ‘Laulut maaseudulta’.  The soprano’s performance reminded me of the excitement I felt when I first discovered Cathy Berberian’s vocal gymnastics in the 1960s. A transformative moment.

Wreckage & relief

This is a post I hastily scribbled down, primarily for my own benefit, several days ago. Having just stumbled across it again I thought it was maybe worth sharing 

            Wreckage & Relief 

 Where to begin, where should I have started in trying to understand my current drought of both emotional and physical stamina. The easy bit is accepting that we are psychosomatic beings, it’s pretty obvious that when one is physically, and not infrequently painfully, well below par it inevitably has an impact upon one’s emotional/mental sense of wellbeing.

 I’ve returned to a pattern of restless discomfited nights far outweighing any restful ones. I am fortunate that my combination of amitriptyline and tramadol about an hour before bedtime, (the efficaciousness of which has been reverse demonstrated on those occasions when I have omitted this cocktail, either accidentally or purposefully), still serves to keep full-blown restless legs at bay.

 Discomfort in armpits, elbows, wrists, feet and knees seem to come and go in quite random fashion both nocturnally and diurnally. On another level, reading has become difficult (once again in random fashion) as I seem to lose concentration after just a few lines and futilely return to the beginning. Emotionally, tears are erupting with very minor prompts such as hearing of the death of one time friends and comrades, even though I’ve not been in contact with them for some time. Listening to music, frequently makes me think of, not too far distant, times when I’d have been enjoying the same music or song with my beloved Helen, who of necessity has had to reside in a nursing home since January of last year, following a few years of severe physical and mental health problems. Those recalls are invariably of a bittersweet nature, and I find myself having to reach for the box of tissues.

 Much of what I’m experiencing is reminiscent of when I succumbed to moderate ME, back in the noughties, which led to my premature retirement from any formal wage-labour! 

 The attempt to write down my current physical/emotional state of being has somehow driven the darkest clouds a little bit further away. 

 Malcolm Evison 08/03/24

Advent Reflections - Golgotha Days

This year I spent considerable time on Advent readings and meditations, for some reason I've always found time for Lent studies but have somewhat overlooked approprate studies for the Advent season. What with having spent most of the past year alone, my beloved OH having been in Nursing Home care since January 2023, and an even more disheartening situation in the 'Holy Land'these studies didnot come easy but somehow, my seasonal reflections became a poem which I am now sharing with you:

.

Proffering Thanks

 The abominable abdominals, that have taunted and haunted my bodily frame since Saturday evening, have settled down to their more familiar state of dis-ease.  Concurrently, a combination of paracetamol, tramadol, and Piper's empathetic behaviour, helped me through a couple of bouts of nausea-inducing, expletive producing, painful discomfort in the upper limbs and armpits. For this relief I proffer thanks. Gratitude makes one feel better, something I far too frequently forget!

PIPER

Poppy Day Dilemmas

 As both a Christian and a Socialist, I always have problems with the celebration of militarism otherwise known as Poppy Day. Whether or not I would have had sufficient strength of character to stand by my pacifist principles in extreme circumstances is something that used to cause me considerable concern but, there are also other issues involved.

Much soul searching was involved, even when I had attempted to renounce my Xtian faith and, subsequently joined a revolutionary socialist organization. Don't get me wrong, I was already a socialist when I became a Christian, and failed to see the apparent necessity of taking on the petty bourgeois pretensions & morality that seemed to be the norm for evangelicals those days and saw communism, in an idealistic sense, as being far more compatible with Christianity than capitalism.

I moved freely between and amongst various groupings of the left, dismayed by much of the ideological bickering; I did manage however to retain friendships, in spite of (doctrinal) difficulties with members of factional groupings other than the one for which I settled.Too many of my comrades seemed to revel in the prospect of a good rumble, one could almost sense them salivating at the prospect of a bloody uprising. I consoled myself with the thought that bloodshed, like class warfare, is generally instigated by the capitalist ruling class and therefore resistance to their unjust power structures, which could only be maintained by the use of force, became a moral imperative.

But what of turning the other cheek; to be honest that may be the only option when confronted with the combined might of military and police, should the true wealth creators, the working class, attempt to fight for a truly just and democratic society where real equality of opportunity for everyone in a society focussed on care for one's neighbour. Bear in mind that I use neighbour in the broadest sense, that of the parable of the good Samaritan not the cynicism of "charity begins at home". To turn the other cheek is an expression of disdain for the values of those who rule by force. I did decide,however, that if I was able to shake off the shackles of my religious faith I would be happy to take up arms in the cause of a workers revolution. At the same time I recognized that there was no way I could take up arms for Queen and country, the capitalist cause. A complex dilemma indeed; the message and life of Jesus had so firmly grasped me that I still felt guilty at my readiness. albeit hypothetical, to take up arms for a revolutionary cause.

I fully appreciate the preparedness of young people, often from socially deprived areas of the nation, to join the armed forces in order to learn a trade and earn a living. Since the politically wilful destruction of our industrial base other job opportunities are greatly restricted. Nor do I doubt that many military personnel are serving in support of deeply held principles, whether understandably honourable or misguided is here irrelevant. For me a major scandal of the Poppy Appeal is that the welfare of those who have served their nation, and it's capitalist cause, should be dependent in any way upon charitable donations. It is the responsibility of the state that recruits, employs and puts the lives of these young men at risk,for whatever ideological motivation, to look after them.

I regret the loss of life of civilians and military personnel equally; I abhor the slaughter of innocents on the imperialist whim of any ruling elite. Should there come a Remembrance Day with no uniformed military personnel or insignia on display, at Cenotaphs and commemorative church services, I would no longer see the commemorations as show of support for militarism but, rather an acknowledgement of the futility of war.

 

***************************

 

This post originally appeared on 10 November 2010

The Fear of Loneliness

Where to begin, where do these words go as I fling them out into the great unknown. Where am I coming from; my anxiety has now veered close to the territory of a fully fledged reactive depression. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not fully swamped by the dreary bland emptiness of depression, nor have I fully entered into despair,  more an air of despondency, accompanied by the return of random tear flow (my posts ‘A FruitfulMisery’  and the penultimate paragraph of ‘An Overshadowing of Events’ will put this into context).

I am so fortunate in having such a large number of DVDs and CDs to watch and listen to, as well as a modest vinyl album collection, to enjoy or be distracted by. I am also blessed with a large selection of books to browse (my stamina levels only allow for a quite limited period of serious reading) to inform and/or entertain myself but, unfortunately these compensate very little for the amount of time I spend overwhelmed by a sense of ‘aloneness’ -  loneliness not solitude.

My beloved OH, has had her operation (last Wednesday) and seems to be making good progress, according to reports from my step-daughters who have been visiting her at the LGI. It seems she will shortly be discharged from the hospital, but then the long recuperation means she will be spending the first part of this process with her elder daughter in a more appropriate environment than home with me. That’s where my sense of uselessness and failure kicks in.

A Walking Talking Aching Conundrum

Confusion mounts but, is it the result of tiredness or of excruciating pain, does it stem from extreme exhaustion or intense nauseating discomfort. The evidence is difficult to decipher, in fact the evidence posits itself as the dilemma! Quite frequently the sundry pain and discomforts, especially those in the limbs, seemed to attack just at the point when a temporary exhaustion sets in but, on closer observation I have realised that the exhaustion, or a sudden loss of stamina, follows from my struggling with both aching discomfort as well as more acute pain.

There seems to be an obvious correlation between pain and tiredness but, it also tends to be a classic chicken or egg type dilemma. Recently, what I seem to have been experiencing is an excruciating (pain of) tiredness which may precede or follow bouts of the following kind. The experience, rather than pain, is as if, feet, legs, arms don’t belong to the torso but produce a kind of nauseating discomfort/dis-ease! For longer than I care to remember, my reaction to a randomly occurring hollow ache in the armpits has been one of nausea.

The armpit discomfort, at times, seemed to ease when I discarded my fleece or cardigan, donning a poncho in their place. At other times, an almost contradictory process brought temporary alleviation of the symptoms, namely donning a shoulder support which seated itself firmly in the armpit. So, a freeing up of pressure or applying additional pressure to the aching area, at different times provided relief from the same symptom.

A sudden onset acute pain, in feet, knees, wrists and/or elbows may occur during the day, immediately diminishing my concentration on whatever minor task I’ve been involved in. These symptoms may also occur as I lie in bed at night although, at those times restless legs become the major problem. A combination of low dose amitriptyline (30mg) with 50 or 100 mg of tramadol seems to prevent the restless legs kicking in but, I have no desire to become reliant on the tramadol dosage. In the case of joint pain, a combination of applying elastic supports to the affected points preceded by a generous smearing with ibuprofen gel, gradually diminishes the more acute discomfort.

By this point, you may well think that I’m a physical wreck and, I’d be tempted to agree with you. I still feel blessed that I have access to lots of good music on vinyl, CDs, and airwaves, and movies on DVD, which enable me to enjoy life, pushing the chronic aches and pains away from their dominance of my mindset. It’s strange how a sudden sharp sound, a pan lid falling, a door slammed shut etc. can produce a chest crushing bodily response, I am still able to take musical climaxes in my stride.

An Overshadowing of Events

I’ve never really been one for planning; taking things as they come, with opportunities galore for spontaneity and improvisation, is more my favoured route. Sadly, things in the real world seem to be in conflict with my ideal and, planning becomes necessary when it comes to grocery provisions, especially so for festive celebrations. It is my good fortune that ma belle OH is the grocery shopper, especially so since I’ve found it difficult to cope with the sensory overload from any store other than the, now almost extinct species, corner shop.

As Christmas Day approached I got into the, unfavoured but necessary, routine of pre-preparing certain food items before the big day itself. I enjoy cooking the main meals but, tend to get a little stressed by these special occasions. At least there were no great numbers to prepare for, our elder daughter staying with us through Christmas Eve evening until Boxing Day late afternoon whilst the younger sibling was coming over at about 2.00pm, on the day itself, together with our grandson, following his mid-day nap.

The evening before Christmas Eve day I started experiencing very dramatic floaters in my right eye and, found myself stretching out to remove a soot covered cobweb from a corner of the loo. Of course neither the soot covering, nor the web itself, existed out there in the room but were rather hyper 3D-ised visions stemming from false retina readings. Shortly afterwards I started to have rather strident flashes of light appearing beside my right eye which I found quite disturbing. Christmas Eve morning, ma belle contacted my GPs surgery which arranged a call back from one of the doctors on duty that day.

A short while later, the ‘phone rang and ma belle OH passed the handset to me, at which point I was told about arrangements for the operation, with the sudden realization that this call was for my beloved. After months of waiting, they were now informing us that, all things going well, her aortic valve replacement would be taking place on 15 January. This news cast rather a shadow over subsequent proceedings as I am, to quite an extent, dependent upon Helen as my primary carer. At the same time, I gratefully acknowledge that the operation can give her a whole new quality of life, after several months recuperation from the cardiac surgery.

The next time the phone rang; a doctor from my local practice spoke to me and arranged for an appointment that afternoon. The doctor I saw gave my eyes a thorough examination and she put through a referral to the eye clinic at the District Hospital. A short while after arriving home, the phone rang once again; this time, the message was to inform me that an appointment with a doctor at the eye-clinic had been arranged for 10.00AM on Christmas Day. This was turning out to be an unusual Christmas Eve and Day, but having undergone a thorough examination at the hospital, I was back home in time to continue preparations for Christmas Dinner.

Ever since my wife’s cardiac surgery seemed quite imminent, last summer, I have once again succumbed to anxiety and depressive episodes, randomly tearful and unduly angry with people and events. When I saw a doctor about this experience in August, all she would suggest was CBT as she wanted me off all my medications, not adding something else. My anxiety intensified after that visit as the medications I am taking are for the heart, following a minor stroke, for long-term abdominal problems and for pain and restless leg control. As the operation date, for my beloved, is once again imminent, the anxieties have intensified so, yesterday afternoon, I saw a different doctor who is consulting with a pharmacist and the mental health team to see if there may be a suitable course of medication etc.

This afternoon I attended the opticians, for an overdue eye test, and have been referred to the cataract clinic with regard to my right eye. So, things are moving and I’m struggling on…

Woes and Wherefores

You put your left hand in, you pull your left hand out … that’s what it’s all about. Well that sounds easy enough, a simple exercise but, I’ve recently been made to think about just what, and how many, muscles are used in such a simple action. In fact, in all honesty I’ve been finding the “simple” act of sitting in a high-backed armchair has become much more of a technical exercise.

Last Wednesday morning I visited the Dermatology unit, at the District Hospital, for the excision of a rodent ulcer (basal cell carcinoma), an operation which went quite smoothly (with the help of a couple of extra shots of the local anaesthetic) taking about 35-40 minutes. The cauterizing and needlework seemed to take much longer than the actual excision but, it was nice to be assured that all harmful matter had been removed.

Unlike previous occasions, when I’ve undergone a similar procedure, the dressing had to be removed after only 24 hours, and certainly not as much as 48hrs, preferably following a shower as the dressing seemed to adhere like superglue. As it worked out, my beloved removed the dressing, not without difficulty but very carefully; the skin had reddened considerably in the areas of former adhesion and the pull of the stitches became much more apparent.

With the siting of the wound (quite central in middle to lower back) it’s pretty difficult for me to see to apply the twice daily application of Vaseline to the wound so, that’s another chore for ma belle. If only I could see, and manage, the wound myself there would be less of a shock as the substance is rubbed in to the wound. Even the touch of a friend can bring a shudder to the spine. One cannot help but be aware of the wound as I try to sit back comfortably in a chair, or on the sofa, and so I am consequently unable to properly relax.

On the fourth morning after the procedure, a modest blood flow from the wound, wetting my shirt, caused me undue alarm although, fortunately, the flow quickly reverted to a slight seepage. Each move I make in an attempt to be seated, in a relaxed and comfortable posture, feels as if the muscles in the back are trying to rip open the stitches.

The upside of the situation is that I’ve been inspired to work on a new poem ‘As If The Worlds Woe’ in an attempt to capture some of the unusual situation.