Raff’s World

I did think that by now I would be doing more stuff on the life and times of a Primary school teacher with a particular interest in ICT but my own preoocupation is still my medical condition. Not so much the original pain, or the operation or the subsequent recovery but the people who have provided lots of care, kindness and overwhelming consideration. One of these was Jesus.

I wak to school, and home again. The journey home usually takes a little longer but that’s fine. One night an old gentleman stopped and  asked, “How are you Mr Rafferty?”

Well I didn’t recocgnise him, and I can’t remember ever speaking to him before but from him, came this converstaion that  entranced me with compassion, emotion and thoughtfulness. As we parted he touched me on the arm and very gently said, “take care.” It was nothing but meant everything. I walked on with tears.

I thought for a moment I had met Jesus. It wasn’t. I met him again the next day and it was Phoebe’s grandad.

It was a close call. Taking off from Manchester airport  for Laura’s wedding five weeks and five days after the operation and three weeks and two days after 42 big meaty staples were taken out left little time for things that might have gone wrong to be put right. Everything however was fine and so was the wedding, in fact it was great.

A very careful examintion of this photograph should show that I (second from the right) am wearing a pair of brown shoes and very comfortable they were too.

Well, as well as the wedding in Paphos we had a “do” in Burscough with everyone wearing the same outfit as they had on the wedding day.

The previous week we had been out for a meal and I was going to wear my brown shoes as they would have gone quite nicely with my carefully chosen outfit. I couldn’t wear them because I couldn’t find them……but I was told by Mrs Raff that “you should have told me you couldn’t find them, I know where they will be.”

Well for the “do” – incidentally we could have hired a golf club for £850 or Burscough’s Stanley Institute for £35….we went to Burscough! – was the following week and the hire suit was put on but where were my brown shoes? Well Mrs Raff was wrong because she couldn’t find them, they can’t have been left in the hotel room and they couldn’t have fallen out of the suitcase on route. So if you see a lost pair of brown shoes (from ASDA by the way) let me know.

Everything about the wedding and the Burscough “do” was brilliant. Stephen and Luke were great and Laura has made an excellent choice with her new husband  Neil.

You don’t think when your kids are little that they will turn out so well. Well they have. Oh and Mrs Raff didn’t scrub up too badly either!

It wasn’t supposed to be this but during a walk round Costco today I  realised that it wasn’t Perfectly Clear.

Cast your mind back to THAT SATURDAY and the events that took place because at the time of writing  I completely forgot that  I had put the blame on Perfectly Clear. 

It had become a favourite drink of mine before the opereation and once I was allowed and encouraged to drink fluids Mrs R. brought in a couple of bottles.

I had thought that it was still water but in the early hours of Friday morning I knocked a bottle off my bedside table and then opened it. It was then I (and my bedsheets) found out it had a bit of a fizz!

During Saturday I was certain that the fizziness was the cause of me feeling yacky. Bowels being rejoined together having fizzy stuff inside it’s natural to think that the “pressure” was the problem….it wasn’t, but that’s what you think.

Anyway all of that had completly left my mind until I went to Costco this morning and walking passed the drinks section it was then I realised it wasn’t Perfetly Clear!

I had £2.

All but one of the tubes had been taken out. The morphine drip, The wound drip tube thingy. The tube out of the nose. The antibiotic tube drip.The saline drip was all that was left. It went everywhere with me. 

My £2 Adventure was something to look forward to from the day before. I had asked if I could go to the hospital shop and the answer was “yes”.  

My Sunday evening afternoon visitors were told of my exciting Monday adventures but I was only met with, “What are you going to wear?!!!!”

Mrs Rafferty was not pleased with the news that a T- shirt and a pair of boxies were the order of the day and at  Sunday evening visiting, a freshly ironed  pair of shorts arrived.

On Monday I waited. I wasn’t going to waste my Big Adventure by going too soon. So I did everything that day slowly. Watched TV for a bit. Read for a bit. Listened to the radio for a bit. Surfed the internet for a bit. Had a widgy bit of lunch (after distastrous Saturday I was back to soup) and finally, when everything had been done I got ready.

Slippers on. £2 in hand and out of the ward. The Big Adventure had to last as long as possible so, slowly out of the ward and slowly down to the far end of the (passing the morgue on the way!) corridor. Down in the lift to the ground floor and then back along the corridor to ……the SHOP! I was so excited. My drip trolley followed. People passed me wrapped against the cold – T shirts and shorts and slippers were not a good idea but ………………………

THE SHOP WAS RUBBISH! What can I do with a Ginster’s Pasty…or a few flowers or ….or a …..or a … IT WAS RUBBISH.

I spent £1.52 on a rubbishy quiz magazine and then walked back to the end of the ground floor corridor with my drip trolley. Got into the lift with my drip trolley. Walked to the other end of the 1st floor corridor with my drip trolley. Back into the ward with my drip trolley and with my drip trolley and 48p change got back into bed.

See what I mean!

I came close to killing him.

HE spent every single bit of Friday night, well Saturday morning really, muttering, fidgeting, turning the light on, turning the light off, going to the toilet, not going to the toilet, getting up, going back to bed….just about every single thing ………. I nearly killed HIM.

The only time HE was quiet was when the nurse turned up,

“Everything OK?”

“Yes Nurse”

NO IT WASN’T! (there is a word that goes before “wasn’t” but I can’t publicly use it!)

At half past three in the morning I, and my collection of tubes, went to the toilet. I wasn’t feeling briliant. Clammy and yacky but my temperature was ok and my blood pressure was fine. But I felt awful.

I went back to back to the longest night and, eventually, the 5.30 observations round arrived. Having spent all night awake, and keeping everyone else awake, that’s when HE stopped. HE was lucky because HE would have been found with my tubes wrapped round his neck! 

The hospital saved HIS life because that Saturday morning they discharged HIM. He still does not know how close he came.  

My Saturday got worse. I felt worse. Nothing showed up on my sheets of information. It may have been the withdrawal of my friend Morphine, and the removal of a tube or two, or that I had the first tiny taste of a bit of food (soup) but whatever it was I just felt lousy. Even the defeat of Liverpool by Middlesborough (Middlesborough!!!) didn’t cause a flicker of interest. My afternoon visitors came and went. Not interested.

Then I knew. I was going to be sick. 41 staples in a vertical wound stretching all the way down from my chest to my, well I don’t know what bit of my body it’s called but it’s 41 staples from where it started. It puts a different light on being sick. Will those staples still be there when I’ve stopped being sick? To make matters worse I had been given a small, cardboard bowl. I knew I needed more than that!!

I’m not sure “dashed” is the right word to describe my movement to the toilet but I got there….. and as visions of burst bowels flashed before my eyes, was sick….lots…..but my staples survived. 

I felt better.

I never found out why he was there but have a sneaky feeling that he would be back. I think he might have had something that he didn’t want to admit he had.

In the words of the great writer Babette Cole from her series of books “The Trouble with Mum/Dad/Grandad/Grandma”  The trouble with blogging is that blogging ideas arrive at unusual times. 

So it was this morning. “Tubes up your nose and down your throat are especially yacky” came into my mind just as I was about to step into the shower.  How could have I written those simple words to describe what happened. 

The A&E doctor, who was very gentle and caring, stood before me holding a very simple and straightforward flexible, bendable, innocent looking tube. This was just after she had prodded and poked a (very, very) sharp needle into both of my wrists on the bit by the thumb where there is no fatty bits (there was a medical reason for this but I really can’t remember what it was) without the success she was looking for.  It hurt lots. Then the tube. If you have ever read 1984 by George Orwell when Winston Smith was faced with his ultimate fear then you’ll know what I am about to describe, expect I didn’t yet know that this was that!

I have no hesitation in saying I cried, because I did. For one reason it was at that moment I have found out I’m not in the slightest bit brave, and, because it was horrible! It took more than one go to do it. I’ve since  had tubes stuck into me in a variety of different places but none match into the nose , down the throat and further down into me.  I’d rather Manchester United win the league than have that happen again…..it has, but I was in the fortunate position being under a general anasthetic at the time and the experience was completely different.

The tube was attatched to a bag, and into the bag was supposed to come whatever was in my stomach. By Monday evening nothing had arrived in the bag and my spirits were lifted. I was convinced that Mr Artikouh would say on Tuesday morning, “take out the tube he doesn’t need it anymore”. Well he did mention the bag but it was more like, “how far down is that tube? mmmmm push it in further”. Well I have to say he was right because very soon rather interesting gren stuff started filling my bag.

This was just one of three tubes and three bags that I carried around with me. A great problem solving challenge is to have a shower with those three bags attached in the three places they were attached to! Sitting in the middle of a plate of spaghetti and trying to untangle it would be a similiar experience.

Tubes are very interesting and useful things and I’m sure that in the future I will use one to help with something extremely important but in the meantime  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just don’t use that tube………..”

There is a very simple reason why I could never be a spy

Five a side on Thursday night (11th December) was great. I played well. I can run which always means I can contribute but this time I played well as well. Luke said my goal was lucky and it was a bit, left footed and off the end of my toe, but I got there and I had to make that little bit of extra effort to do it and I did. It makes a difference.

Straight from footy to Tesco’s in Southport and then the following morning it started. Only a slight pain and easily solved with a couple of paracetemol and it was, after all  Friday.

Lunchtime things were kicking in a bit but 3.30 wasn’t a million miles away but at three minutes to two, 3.30 was a million miles away because the pain had really started. I went home, went to bed. I’ve never felt so bad.

Saturday morning at the drop in medical centre with a kidney infection diagnosis and painkillers and antibiotics and the usual feeling of  ”24 hours and I’ll be over it”. A bit of a mistake there.

The early hours of Tuesday morning the sickness started and it went on and on and on until Sunday 21st December became hospital time.

Tubes up your nose and down your throat are especially yacky. Needles in your wrist are particularly painful but by the end of the day, with the help of antibiotics and other stuff, for the first time in a week things were better than before.

Each day was that bit better than the day before (before was each day worse than the day before) and on Christmas Day I had my first food in 12 days…a lovely, lovely little carton of soup….it was heaven. The following morning was rice Krispies and an offer to be taken to the pub by a nurse to go and watch Liverpool and Bolton…didn’t do that but I did get home for a couple of hours. 

The only bad news was that an operation to remove the abscess on my bowel was needed. (Sigmoid Colectomy). It could have been worse.

Sunday 28th was release day. I was washed, dressed and packed by 6.30 am…..I was a bit keen to escape. From my bed I could see everyone coming in and out of the ward. A doctor had to sign me out and I waited and waited and waited and waited and waited. They arrived, only after being nagged by the nurses and signed that form. It was good to be home.

My three hospital companions, Ned Flanders (because he was so yellow), British Empire Man (because he did everything to a time schedule) and Wolf Man (because he looked like a wolf) were left behind …they could still be there!!

A week after my Christmas holiday in Southport Hospital I stood on my Wii Fit Board and weighed myself. Normally my efforts to lose 2lbs in two weeks always failed miserably. This time my Wii Fit Board had never been so pleased with the loss of 18 pounds in two weeks.

Being off for so long reminds me of when a student arrives in your class. The first thought is I can’t wait to get all that stuff finally done in those six weeks of 80% curriculum time and then in the fifth week there is a sudden realisation that all of that stuff has not been done.

Well it’s the same being off for a long time. Those days of wishing, “just think what I could do with a spare three weeks…..just think what I could do…….just think of all that catching up!” have long gone.

I’m not so sure about catching up, or doing things that would be useful for school. They don’t seem important or relevant. Instead, as time has drifted/flown/dragged by, I’ve found things to do (ironing is now viewed in a completely different light),  places to visit and people to see. It’s a strange world and it gets stranger by the day.

Today, I guess, is the first day of this revamped (an odd word to use but..) blog but my Recovery Adventures are the things I talk about most, “do you want to see my scar?”.  I think real people are starting to avoid me so I’ll pester people in the blogsphere (see I’ve picked up the lingo).

Over the next few days, weeks, months I’ll tell you all about my “condition” and what happened. I’ll tell you about my Twitter stuff, my telly stuff, my meeting people stuff, my bus adventure stuff , my daughter’s wedding in Cyprus stuff and any other stuff that springs to mind. If you do decide to follow….you’ll be sorry.

Sod school! That’s what I say!

I now believe that it’s true that if you sit long enough then something will come along, and, eventually, it has. I’ve spent lots of time over the last few months,  watching, reading, gaming, being operated on, talking, twittering, computering, thinking, sleeping, and just being plain bored. 

It may be that starting negatively is being a bit of a pain, especially when during my absence I have found all things “social network”/technolgy to be an absolute saviour. Having my Nokia 95 in hospital (and it was allowed) enabled me to stay in touch. The days were long enough with access to the outside world….without it …well I’m not quite sure what would have happened!

However, it was finding out that the LEA in which I work, had decided that our use of Incerts (http://www.incerts.co.uk/) was inappropriate because it was a “proxy avoidance” issue that, I guess, was the thing that has finally started my brain pinging back into life and prompted me to write about “what I know best”.

This incident, of course, was not the first “ACCESS DENIED” message and it most definitely will not be the last, but it was the finest and best and most obvious case of, “we will decide what you can use even though we don’t know what you need or want.” Our Reception teacher had spent ages trying to persuade “them” to unblock it but the needs of the network were of greater priority than the needs of the user/school/pupil. It also left a distinct feeling, on the part of our Reception teacher that she had no influence nor was there anyone listening.

The problem was solved with a couple of emails. One in particular from the MD of Incerts, who outlined the technical case in an elegant and eloquent way. It forced the hand of  the “blockers” who quite grudgingly agreed to permit access. Success …but how much time and how much effort?  The following day I suggested to my Y5 colleague that http://etherpad.com/

would be an ideal tool for her collaborative writing project, and she tried it but it is “ACCESS DENIED”.

I remember reading at University the poetry of Philip Larkin. The theme, it seemed to my Eng Lit friend and I, was that he spent lots of time writing about negative feelings in order to encourage something positive. Or at least that’s what we thought, I haven’t gone back to the work of Philip Larkin since so whether it was or wasn’t the case I’m not really sure. However it made me think then and when I thought now, I was reminded of it.