Blam and dast...

[Lost It]

Wow. It's been a while...

Time for an update I guess?

Well. I went in about a week later for my operation. Robotic surgery... I was there at 07:00am as requested, prepped up, said good bye to the wife and child and was wheeled in at 08:00, I was told a 5 hour operation at the most, I wouldn't remember any of it. Must confess I had a little wee this time, I wasn't at all ready for it. Definitely not as confident as last time, can't remember why...

The next thing I recall was waking up doing the old "looking down" at some people around a large grey plastic bag covered box. It was quite a vivid dream, I was sure I was looking at myself, but decided I must be imagioning it, all very lucid though, wierd as heck..

The next time I recall was waking up with a really pretty nurse on my right, and one at the bottom of the bed, and the one on the right saying "We aren't accepting him in this condition" then I faded out again. Then I woke up again because someone was pressing on my chest.. Then I woke up again and three nurses were taking all kinds of notes, looking at stuff, I immediately checked I didn't have a colestomy bag, the surgeon and I had agreed that this would be last resort surgery.

And I asked what time it was. "Oh, it's about 12:45, don't worry too much about that, we'll get you settled". So I asked if they had let my wife know "Oh I expect she will be asleep by now...." What? You mean it's 12:45 in the morning? And no-one has thought to contact my wife or daughter to let them know that I was out? "Well, no, you were in surgery for over 9 hours"... At that point I faded out again. So. No-one had bothered to speak to my family since I'd gone in for the op preparation at 08:00 that morning.

Add 9 hours to me going in to the theater, call it 18:00 and be generous, and for 6 hours after that they were trying to wake me, or get me fit enough to move to the critical care ward... I know the NHS is free, I know it's a priviledge not a right, but I would have thought they could have taken the time to at least make a phone call? Any way I insisted they call at once, the poor girl thought I'd died and daren't call in case she was right. But my daughter had called many times and they wouldn't give her a straight answer, just "Call back in an houur and we will tell you then".
So I guess I almost didn't make it.

They came straight over, I obviously wasn't able to look at what my appearance was like but... I had a bag "plumbed" into my trunk draining blood, I had tubes in both arms, I had a catheter obviously, I had blood going in and an injector too I guess, I was a bit woozy. My daughter took one look at me and passed out, of course I tried to catch her and almost fell out the cot...

And it got worse from that point... But I need to stop for a while, it's bothering me.

[NotAllThere]

Glad to know you're alive!

Add 9 hours to me going in to the theater, call it 18:00 and be generous, and for 6 hours after that they were trying to wake me, or get me fit enough to move to the critical care ward... I know the NHS is free, I know it's a priviledge not a right, but I would have thought they could have taken the time to at least make a phone call?

Not much comfort, but when I had major surgery in Switzerland, it took twice as long as expected, and my wife couldn't get a straight answer from the hospital there either. In the end she went to the hospital and wouldn't leave until she knew what was happening. Health care in CH is all via insurance, so I was even paying for some of it. (The first couple of thousand).

Apart from the hospital shenanigans, how are you now?

[Lost It]

The farce continues...

Well, I found out later than I had gone into VF whilst on the table and had 2.5 litres of fluids. So they put me on Beta blockers...

I don't know how many of you are familiar with bowel cancer operations, but basically what happens is that your whole digestive system ceases to work for a few days. So you can in theory eat and drink all you want, but it will get to your stomach, start the digestion process and that's as far as it goes. So all you are given is liquids.

Well, I have a catheter, so they gave me liquids by mouth. That's all. By the start of day three I was struggling to swallow, that night the pretty nurse I saw on my first night when waking up took interest in me, she could see I was struggling to take on fluid, struggling even to not cough when I laid back so decided that I should have a nose drain installed to empty my stomach. Poor girl got covered in the contents of my gut because as soon as the tube got to the back of my throat, the "gag reflex" took over and I emptied over 1400cc of grot from my stomach. Now as a patient, trying to get out of there you naturally do what they ask, so I was drinking every time they told me too...

Anyway I felt much better after that, they also told me that if I was in pain, I should use the injector to deal with it. I was in a lot of pain, and even though the injector has a "safety over ride" to stop you injecting more than every 10 minutes, I kept on pressing that button, I was really hurting... Apparently it's something called Fentanyl that is allegedly 40 times stronger than morphine... Well the rest of that night I had a "trip" that was worse than I could ever have imagined. I would be talking to people and they would dissolve in front of my eyes, my vision would be in slow motion and juddery and I recall reaching for a cup and my hand going straight through it in real time, I was convinced the nurses were creeping up on me to stab me, I distinctly recall fighting off someone trying to strangle me with a cord... Apparently this isn't normal, but I did know that I wanted the blasted thing taken out of my arm the next day, I don't think I've ever been scared that much even when I was hanging off the side of a building one time it wasn't that bad... They were worried they would struggle to manage the pain, I told them I never wanted to use it again..

Then, OMG the signs of infection raised their head. My belly (I'm not entirely athletic, weigh 13 stone, 5'7" so have a bit of a gut) got so big that I couldn't "fit" in the hospital gown. I was trying to wear boxers and could barely get them past the top of my leg, apparently it was "just fluid, and it will go away in a day or so".

Only supposed to be in critical care for 2 -3 days, I was already way past that. Now I'm still on liquid only, my gut is still "stalled" and they won't let you leave the critical ward until you have a motion. So I'm gradually getting bigger, I can't walk, my legs are getting fatter, in fact even the joint around my ankles was getting so fat that I wouldn't have been able to walk anyway...

By day 5, I was going to sleep feeling relatively ok, waking up to find I had an oxygen line in place, feeling like I didn't want to wake up... one morning I woke up and I had a 12 lead thing on me, all this time no-one thought to tell me I was in a bad way, I kind of figured it out for myself...
So late on day 6, I saw a different guy in purples, a different surgeon I guess, took one look at me, looked at my chart, asked me what I was eating, told him I was still on fluids and he, well, erupted. Started shouting at the nurses, get me on a glucose drip, why hasn't anyone bothered to pass on the state of me to the surgery team, who was in charge, get me in for a CT scan immediately, it actually felt quite like someone gave a damn...

2 hours later some dumb french nurse who apparently thinks she knows everything starts telling me "I must drink a litre of fluid before I can go for a scan". My nose drip isn't connected by this point, my brother and sister in law are visiting, I tell her "Look, I'm full again, if I drink any more I will puke". I still haven't been to the loo, not from want of trying...

She says "Well you must else you can't have the CT scan". One sip later I'm throwing up all over the bed... My brother was not at all impressed, my sister in law, who, you guessed it, is a retired paediatric nurse... Went a bit battulip if I'm honest.

So, I had the nose drip refitted, went down for my scan, told the crew what had happened and they said "It's ok, we can adapt, the fluid is only to fill any voids and the dye will tell them what they want to see". Cue the injector not working... So I'm laid on my back, with my arms over my head getting sprayed by this dye stuff because it's not going into my arm... Really stings when it gets in your eyes.

[Lost It]

part dux.

Anyway, about an hour or so later, might have been longer, my days by this point have gone into a blur... People come and see me, but I'm not fully aware if I'm honest... I am visited by another young guy in purples, who tells me that the scan has indicated there's a bit of an infection under the operation stitching, so lays me on the bed, exposes my gut, pulls a scalpel out and starts cutting the stitches, sticks a socking great syringe in and pulls about 50cc of gunge out, then notices I'm practically squeezing the bed frame into a shape resembling my fingers, says "Are you ok?". I say "A bit of pain relief would have been nice..." He looks at my drips, finally realises I don't have the Fentanyl thing and goes white, he's full of apologies, I'm just happy he has pulled a load of yellow puss out of my gut... Because I figure at last I stand a chance of walking out... Goes and fetches something in a syringe, bangs it in my arm, I go all dreamy...

That night I sleep. Properly. Like a dead man apparently, still wake up with an oxygen line clipped onto my nose, that stuff really gives you a sore throat...

And a really posh lady comes around, just after breakfast with a very pretty and nice female surgeon type lady in purples with really lovely cold hands, even apologises for her hands being cold, I'm loving it because it's making my belly not hurt as much. Apparently the surgeon I saw yesterday had looked at the CT scan that morning, and there's a breach in the joint where the cancerous section was removed that is leaking the contents of my small intestine into my gut. They don't think it's serious enough to need another op, so they will wait and see if it heals itself.
Hence the swelling, hence the infection, hence me feeling like I do, so the pretty surgeon person attaches a drainage bag to the hole left by the previous hacking the day before to let this stuff drain out, and they put me on some anti biotics that are administered by drip.. Problem is, by now I've had so many drips put in, and I'm so dehydrated that they are struggling to get a line in, they are actually falling out... Eventually she manages to get into a vein and the stuff starts to flow. Immediately I start to feel better, there's so much stuff coming out of my gut they are changing "Mini me" every hour or so... Horrible yellow coloured gunge is coming out, then they tell me I can have what I want to eat, to try and get my gut to function, I ask for Ice cream naturally. And Jelly.

They bring me a knife and fork, two pots of jelly and one of ice cream. Honestly, I am NOT making this up...

I must have really pissed someone off I'm thinking by this point...

That night, I fall to sleep and my guts are making all the right noises... I wake up at about 03:00. I have to go. I really have to go.The light above my bed isn't working and they have put the side rails up, my buzzer isn't answered, so I think "If I don't get out there is going to be a major disruption in my bed very soon" and manage to get the rail down, I remove my heart monitor thing which sets the machine bleeping... then I find they have wrapped some kind of balloon thing around my legs that squeezes every so often, I can't figure out how to remove it so just pull the pipes out, I get my leg out of bed, then the other one, then discover I have two drips, fed from both sides of the bed.....So I lean across and pull the empty bag off one stand and put it on the one on "my side" of the bed, then I discover the cable for the leg pump thing is wrapped around the drip stand, so I physically lift the drip stand over it, that was a close thing, think "Right. I can go to the loo" get about 3 foot and the blasted nose feed Oxygen line almost rips my nose off... At this point the night nurse turns up and says "Do you need help getting back into bed?" I tell her to get out of my way before I drop my guts all over the floor, make it to the loo, and then discover that yes, again I have drips in both arms... How do you drop your kecks? Not at all easy. Then the challenge is how to wipe your arse with a drip in the back of each hand...

10 minutes later the nurse realises I haven't come back, I'm literally wrapped up in drips, stands, heart monitor cables, these legging things flapping around on my legs, trying to clean myself up, and she, bless her, pulls everything off and gives me a good clean top to bottom, it felt bloody marvelous... I must have looked like an Egg on legs... But I knew I was getting out. She even changed "Mini me" for me as well. I was somewhat peturbed, it has to be said, to notice that what had come out of my backside was the same colour and texture as the stuff draining out of my gut...

A few hours later I'm eating ice cream, soup, a few spuds, drinking tea, I'm moving, the lady surgeon with the cold hands has been to see me again and cooled my belly down again, she says the swelling is going down (I know, I can see my feet now) and has a chat with my wife and brother and his wife, turns out my sister in law and her have a mutual friend...

After 9 days in critical acre, they release me to the general ward, who didn't know I was coming, and I was lucky enough to bag a window bed. However the ward was in a disgusting state. The loos had bed pans full of stuff on the floor, one of them was there for two days, the cleaners? Well I saw one of them wipe down my table, then the one next to me, then the window sill, then the bed rail with the same cloth without either rinsing it out or putting any kind of preparation on it. I asked my wife to bring in some anti bac wipes... I even had a leak on my "mini me" in the loo whilst having a strip wash, told one of the nurses that the contents were all over the floor in the loo by the mirror, still there next day...

I did have a few lighter moments, when my "mini me" leaked, I asked for a new one. A very pretty Romanian (I think) girl came to put me a new one on, sat me on the bed, pulled the curtains around, then knelt in front of me between my legs whilst she peeled the old one off and "installed" the new one. I'm thinking "Don't. You. Dare." and she looks up, smiles at me and pats me on the knee as she leaves... Talk about embarrassed, but at least it was working...

Anyway. I got another infection not surprisingly. This time I reacted really badly to the antibiotic so they had to stop prescribing using it and find another one, so another drip...

Eventually they tell me if my blood test comes back ok, I can leave. I call my wife, tell her the news and she drops the phone on the floor... Eventually my mate (who has called to see how I am) picks the phone up to see who it is. She's in a ball crying, she didn't think I was coming out. They come for me, and I am walking out so fast they can't keep pace with me...

Don't get me wrong, there were some exceptional staff on duty there, obviously care, clearly doing their best, but there are also a few smart arses who don't have any bedside manner at all... I honestly think that having them work 12 hour + shifts on the ward for 4 days is ludicrous if they expect levels of care to be maintained, even I struggle with that level of stress for more than a few weeks.

[Lost It]

And then home...

This is going to be a "running report" based on the notes I took, because I write everything down...

Imagine I'm now home and I have had this horrible stuff leaking all over, I used to be a First aid trainer in one of my past lives, teaching the Army, the Coastguard, Airline staff, so pretty much high level stuff but because of the nature of the wound I was using a mirror to "treat" myself. The local nurse came once, then told me I had to book the surgery nurses, they told me they couldn't see me for a week (because apparently the bags should last a week?) but it was leaking grott everywhere, down my legs, all over the shop.

I used all the absorbent dressings I had in stock, then called my old RNLI med, he brought a load around and has been dealing with it.

Doesn't smell particularly bad, I know my body has a lot of repairing to do to itself.

Went to Hospital after a week. Blood tests then to see the nurse to "check" the dressing. She threw the bag idea into touch, looked at the "top" axe wound and said it's healing nicely but still spitting a bit of gloop out (white blood cells I guess), then looked at the lower "Axe wound".

She got what I can only describe as a huge Q tip out, and started probing it. Very uncomfy. It's approx 3cm wide and 6 cm deep. It's a hole, slightly oval. She said "This needs packing" and started filling it with Sorbsan, then put a dressing over it. Didn't check my BP, didn't check my temp either..

Told me I had to have the dressing cleaned and changed every day, so I needed to see the District team at my GP. It's on the way home so we called in.

Told them what was required, they said "Oh we can't get you in until next week" so I very strongly suggested that they tell my GP I needed to see him NOW as the hospital was very firm on this. Net result of me throwing a paddy was I as back in the next day. More blood tests to make sure there's nothing underlying, I know my body pretty well, so the odd sweat and feeling rammy is par for the course, it's just going to take a while.

I won't be rushing back into work that's for certain, my old company have already released me from my contract. Didn't take them long...

After the communication issue with the district nurses I had the nurse from the hospital call me to see if I had managed to sort the visits. Well, I had, and I started going in every day to see the same nurse who has been taking care of the dressings. And then the weekend came along, bank holiday at that, so they arranged for a district nurse to come to my home but couldn't give me a time (which was OK, I'm not going anywhere anyway) and a lovely lady came on Saturday, sat down and discussed everything that had gone off, dealt with my wound, told me it was 2cm by 3 cm after just 4 days of treatment. Same one on Sunday, she brought me some more dressings, different one on Monday who sat and had a cool drink with us, and back into the surgery Tuesday.
The Friday before the holiday weekend I had a doctor from the hospital call, he says I'm making "too many platelets" and need to take 75mg of Aspirin to thin it down a bit, white cells are fine, red too, just too many of them? So now I have to have more blood tests to check the level of platelets?

And then the surgery nurse said that she was getting a little concerned that the "hole" is healing too quickly. Over the top, not from the bottom. So she really packed the hole out (not sure if it's tickling or hurting now, strangely enough) to try and get the bottom to fill so there's no hole under the top layer of repair. Risk of infection?

And she moved me to two days between dressing changes, which is good news.

And then... Another infection... Might have been the first one making a comeback, who knows...

before I got too suicidal...

Turns out I reacted very badly to the antibiotics. In fact there was a big list of "Contact your doctor if" things and I have three of them. But they didn't show until I was well into the middle of the treatment. So: Diarrhoea, Yellowing of the skin, Skin rashes all during the same 24 hour period.

The rash itches like a beeitch, so I am taking Tramadol so I can't feel anything rather than trying to control the scratching, as a protocol it might not be the right thing but I do need to sleep.

I'm still having dressings changed every two days, I am at least walking on the beach now, I still have friends coming to see me on a regular basis to try and keep me sane, I'm definitely getting a sense of humour failure now. I really cannot understand how people can live with day time TV either, so I've been hammering Utube a bit if I'm honest. How do people manage without having something to do during the day? Like a Job? OK there's lots I could do but I'm not physically able at the moment. Depressing if you let it get that way.

I have lost 8kg since the day I went into the hospital, but the GP isn't too worried about that as long as it's not falling off me, bearing in mind what I've had done recently he didn't think it was anything to worry about. Something to pay attention to later maybe.

Downsides are that the doc is running out of antibiotics now. Can't have Penicillin, or Clarithromycin, don't know what is left if this infection doesn't go away. But yes I still have it, but on the plus side the "hole" in my gut has healed, just the one that was leaking puss is left to fix itself.

I'm wasn't at all well.... I didn't think, at the moment, that I would be fit for work for quite a while. My "warchest" of rainy day savings is taking a hit as well. But we managed on that front for a while. Maybe I'll have to rethink what I do for a living and become a "consultant" or something?

It felt like one step forward, three strides back sometimes, but it's just another hiccup in life's great tapestry.

And then a few weeks later... Well: I took to my bicycle, it took me almost two days to get all the cables free enough so I could select all 18 gears (why does a pushbike need 18 gears?) I was walking with wifey but she walks so slowly that I didn't feel I was getting what I needed from it, she wanted us to turn back after about a mile, maybe that's her limit? Riding the bike up and down the coastal path at least gets me out of the house, I managed a 6 mile run up and down the front of Hayling today, it doesn't work too well on my gut but it must be helping me tone up my muscles? Because I spent the next one and a half hours on and off the bog again... And I cannot do this every day because, well, 5 out of 7 days on average I just can't get out of the house. Using more bog rolls than the Queen Mary...

A few of my friends keep on coming to visit me, they always manage to lift me up mentally when they do come, can't knock that. I still sleep a lot.

I had a rather "pleasant" form from the DSS whatever they call themselves these days, "Work Capability Assessment". I have a good friend with lots of experience with this form and he has advised me accordingly, has to be worst case (and that at the moment is not being able to be more than about 6m from a loo, and visiting said appliance every 15-20 minutes. Even then it's been close once or twice) apparently it's on points scoring... Well. I can't fill in the "Chemo" section because I have to be completely clear of any infection before they decide if I need it, as I'm allergic to all the usual antibiotics now apparently.

I've been told I can't be put at risk with this, and even though my wound dressing is now every three days, I still have to go in to the surgery for it though I believe I can change the dressing myself... They are putting a Silver patch on it, it was granulating and it was cauterised last week, not so much granulation now. But they want me to continue visiting in case the breach throws another curve ball at me, I'm presuming it's now sealed?

I have another CT scan soon to confirm this. All this has gone on this form.... The other maladies I have as well have been put on the WCA, there's a huge list, all the drugs, if you read what he's put on there you'd think I was practically unable to do anything. But on a bad day, that's correct...

What do I do all day? Well, a good friend from the motor bike club has brought me 13 books in the Patrick O'Brian series that started with "Master and Commander" and I'm going through them at the rate of about one every two and a half days... I've reached level 10 on many of the "World of Tanks" British tanks, and got bored with that, I watch a lot of Utube stuff, and had my daughter fill in the "Work Capability Assessment" form.

Had my daughter "transcribe" the whole of my condition, word for word off my Hospital Release form onto the WCA form today because with the amount of pain relief tabs I'm taking I keep losing track of what I'm doing, no doubt why I finished up so far down the coast yesterday, which I have paid for big time today... Best question has to be No 10: "Staying conscious when awake". Either you are "conscious" as far as the Glasgow Coma scale defines it, or you are not, as the Glasgow Coma Scale describes it. That's how my head works. What idiot thought these titles up?

But yes, definitely worst case. In fact when I check read it, even I felt sorry for myself....

[Lost It]

Now the DWP has it's fun with me...

OK. So we go for a "Work capability assessment" interview.

Basically this is the biggest piece of sick legislation these bastards in government have ever come up with.

If you don't turn up, they stop your benefits for none attendance (it's £62 a week FCS) but if you do turn up you must be fit for work so... They stop your benefits.

So I'm in this room with this so called "Medical Professional" after a nightmare journey where I had to change clothes once on the way, and almost whilst I was there. Have this assesment, the guy (who basically only writes down what the government tells him to write down) makes lots of sympathetic noises then a few weeks later you get a letter saying "You are fit for work. If you wish to appeal, yadi yadi yadda." You already know what the outcome will be, it's all designed to get you to give up and either commit suicide or go back to work.

Well, as it happened I got some consulting work that I could do more or less from home, only one visit needed, so I didn't bother appealing. Only a few days a week, sometimes only one but enough to get us off the breadline. Seems my rep has survived if nothing else.

6 weeks later I had a phone call from some herbert at the DWP wanting to know why I hadn't appealed. I wondered if they thought I had taken a long walk out to sea at low tide or something. So I said "Well, you told me I was fit for work so I went back to work.". Stunned, and I mean total silence on the phone at that point. The next bit is from memory, and might be slightly embellished, it's my story...

"But there's no way you can work anywhere in your condition, you are too much at risk, I'm looking at your notes and if you get another infection at your stage it might well be fatal". "Yes... But you said I was fit for work despite what everyone else that knows me said, my oncology team, my GP, my Gastro Enterologist and dietician they know nothing apparently. You're so called "Medical Professional" said I was fit so I've started back at work. I guess if I do get an infection and die, he will be able to discuss with the coroner how he came to that decision despite all the evidence to the contrary"?

More silence, I almost started feeling sorry for them. Then he says "Look, what I'm going to have to do is discuss this with my case manager, the way the system works is that you are meant to question the decision so that we can start the 2nd stage of the process". Now I'm not at all sure that was meant to be said, I may have misheard but I don't think so... And I dearly wish I had been recording the conversation, but 20/20 hind sight is totally useless...

So there you have it. The system is designed to put as many obstacles as possible in the way. They take the stance that you are lying through your teeth and are trying to con them out of £62 a week apparently. They would be more than happy if anyone needing help just threw themselves off a bridge rather than bother them.

About an hour later I got another phone call... This one was to ask me who I'm working for "None of your business, I'm self employed" "Have they filled in a P something form?" "No idea, not usually, I invoice them and the company pays the invoice".

"Am I physically travelling to my place of work and does my GP approve of me travelling" I can see where this is going so.. "I use a private ambulance". I'm starting to enjoy this too much.. So I relent and tell tham I work from home, about a day a week. Not every week but it's more income than I get from the state anyway...

Then this guy says "Given your condition you should have been on the "Extended care" component anyway so we will pay the moneys owed, up to the date you started working again and we will let you know what the amount should be". Ok. Fine.

And on the same day my PIP statement comes through. Apparently, according to the data they got from my GP, Oncology crew, Gastro Enterologist I'm practically in a wheel chair so WHUMP here's your info on how to get a blue badge and WHUMP here's the lowest level of PIP for two years. I tried to cancel it, apparently I cannot... So I paid the tenner and got my blue badge. Funny really... No idea how I'm going to mount it on my Honda VFR...

And two weeks later, well, apparently there's a "scale" on this extended care thing, they want to know if you do any work, but they don't seem to be bothered what it is? Now my GP wasn't happy that I started doing stuff for myself, I was still having dressings changed at the time... But I've never been one for sitting down when I could be earning loot.

Then August came... And I had another CT scan. And they found lots of polyps.... And at the same time my right leg started to swell to almost double size, so I went to my GP, and she tells me I have something called Lymphodaema, basically because they took collectively over 30 lymph nodes out of the system and my body's lymphatic system that is left cannot clear all the waste fluids from my legs, only lots of excercise of amputation will fix it, it's never going to get better. And whilst I was visiting my new GP she had me fill a questionaire in, and her voice got really concerned when she read it. Apparently it's a standard form to discover your mental state. If you get 27 points you need to go on suicide watch, I scored 22 apparently. So she has prescribed me happy pils.

Now seriously, I don't fell depressed, but even though I don't feel it, apparently I am and it's something they need to treat. So she sent the data to the PIP people and I have another form to fill in. I'm clinicly depressed... And have a fat leg for life. And I've just (30th December) had another full CT scan to see if these polyps are anything to worry about. If it's more cancer I'm stage 4... I'll worry about that later.

Now. IPSE. I've been paying in for it feels like years, and they accepted my claim without question, the £2k payout got us over another month. No complaints whatsoever.

My Accountants (Used to be Dynamo, they were taken over I think?) kept my books up to date, didn't charge me a penny until I got back into earning. Absolutely no complaints there either. Stunned if I'm honest.

At the moment I'm still doing the odd day or so of remote consulting, to do this within the building industry is quite a trick... I won't ever earn what I used to, but count my blessings.

It's all about little hurdles this game. I managed to get out on my motorcycles 6 months after the operation. My GP and Gastro Enterologist told me I should sell them because I will never have the core strength needed to hold a bike up... Yah Boo Sucks to them.

I finally got the engine back into my 4 litre V8 Jaguar S type too. Took me three days but I did it, on my own...

Never give up.

[NotAllThere]

Feck.

I like your typo with Happy Pils. Isn't that just called "beer"?

[ladymuck]

Feckin Nora!

Absolutely fascinating read; I sincerely hope you beat this. Writing it all down is great, for many reasons, and I love your writing style - maybe turn it into a book and what you can earn from it?

[DoctorStrangelove]

Feck.

I like your typo with Happy Pils. Isn't that just called "beer"?

Feckin Nora!

Absolutely fascinating read; I sincerely hope you beat this. Writing it all down is great, for many reasons, and I love your writing style - maybe turn it into a book and what you can earn from it?

WTAS.

[Lost It]

Feck.

I like your typo with Happy Pils. Isn't that just called "beer"?

Wasn't deliberate... Sadly I can't ever have beer, wine, whisky, gin, although I'm allowed a bit of potato Vodka occasionally...