An eventful time in lockdown

Much has happened in the interval since my last post, and I must make amends by relating some of the new events in our lives. 

On Monday, I had a private follow up appointment with the dermatologist, a smart, young, dark haired, Russian emigree called Dr Alexandroff, who trained in Moscow, speaks with a low rumbling accent, and now has a Harley Street practice. Though normally spurning private medicine in support of our NHS, I must admit their management and treatment regimes since the Covid restrictions have been extremely non-existant. I haven't seen the dermatologist, the oncologist, or the renal surgeon for well over a year; instead, they arrange telephone appointments and basically just ask, "how are you?" 

Because my rash is so wide spread and the itching so horrific, I grew tired of the NHS guy giving vague telephone advice without looking at the rash. It was reaching the point where I woke several times each night, scratching and bleeding in my sleep, and lying restless trying not to scratch each time I woke. So Ann in desparation phoned Dr Alexandroff and got a new appointment within the week. He no longer sees patients at Newmarket or the Nuffield Hospital in Cambridge due to Covid restrictions, but was able to see me at a Herbal Medicine centre where he can take rooms. He prescribed a new and stronger spray, and it does seem to be having some effect.

Ann has had gradual worsening of vision since her cataract operation. The optician diagnosed a thin film forming, which can sometimes occur following surgery, and refered her for urgent treatment, as she can only see through one eye and will be blind if it goes completely. On Wednesday, we therefore went to an eye clinic in Ipswich. It too was a private clinic, but they are undertaking NHS work under contract. It was all very efficient, and they used laser beams to punch holes in the film and allow her to regain some sight. We now wait for it to settle and hopefully restore some good vision.

Then on Friday, I had to go to the dentist for an extraction. This is a sorry story, and mostly my own fault. Six months ago at a checkup, I was declared healthy, dental-wise at least. But this time, Mr Singh discovered a large cavity in a lower molar that had developed just in that time. It tracked below the gum line, and he decided the tooth was beyond saving. I had been prescribed a new steroid inhaler six months ago, and was supposed to use a spacer and rinse my mouth after each use, but I didn't! Now I read that steroid inhalers are responsible for dental caries and loss of dentition when sprayed directly in the mouth! I hadn't even had tooth ache, but I paid for my stupidity with a painful and very expensive extraction that needed a specialist to get the bits of root out, and the gum is still very painful, like a retrospective toothache. Because Ann cannot drive with her poor eye sight, Edwin kindly volunteered to take me over.

Yesterday, Edwin phoned to say he'd just had the police knocking on his door. He lives on the second floor of a block of flats in Cambrdige, and the police had a report that the woman on the landing opposite their flat hadn't been seen for a while. Edwin and Andre hadn't seen her either, so the police proceded to break the door down and force an entry. She was an elderly lady who had been receiving radiotherapy at Addenbrooks for some form of cancer. She had no one to ferry her, so used to take a taxi for her treatments. Unfortunately, the police found her dead, so there was a big commotion on the landing as the doctor and ambulance were called. There is no lift to the flats, so the ambulance men couldn't get their trolley there and she had to be carried down. The boys were very upset by it, not having realised how very ill she was.

The Pigeon Trader

The distractions of the week have not stopped my painting; it is still hugely enjoyable, and I find when I'm sploshing paint freely on canvas I forget everything else, even the toothache. It is very therapeutic, and I can't recommend it enough. My latest picture  was inspired by a report of the racing pigeon trade in China, where it is a popular pastime and top birds change hands for large fees. The trader looked so coarse with has fat hands, broken teeth and dangling cigarette, compared to the serene beauty of the prize pigeon I had to set it down on canvas.