"Charles Booth please" a voice shouted my Sunday name from somewhere down the corridor in the Plastic Surgery unit. I set off in the direction from whence it came but no-one was there. I pushed partially opened doors. Rooms were deserted. Eventually two nurses appeared, chatting cheerfully. One of them checked my name and led me to a room where an immaculately dressed man sat at a table peering stony faced at notes in front of him.
"Ah, the gentleman I came up in the lift with" I said, recognizing him. I assumed it was Mr Mahajan, for that was the name on the appointment form. But he didn't have the courtesy to introduce himself. Without so much as a glance he ordered "Sit down" - as if he was speaking to a dog. Immediately my hackles rose. I took off my coat, ready for him to inspect the eruptions on my back and arm.
"Where was the biopsy taken from?" he asked. I pointed to the wee scar on my forehead. He got up from his chair, yanked my head round to examine the spot, then proceeded to do a little drawing of my forehead, shading the area where he planned to operate and telling me there'd be a little scar afterwards. Meanwhile the nurse, Amanda, unceremoniously stuck a swab stick up both my nostrils to test for bacteria.
I told him about the potential BCC's on my back and on my arm, how they itched and sometimes bled onto the bed sheets. He wasn't even listening. "That's all, you'll receive an appointment for day surgery in two to three weeks".
Like hell I will, not with you matey. As soon as I got home I rang the hospital to cancel the operation, effectively discharging myself. I don't want to see that rude, ill mannered and unfriendly Mr Mahajan (?) again, ever.
|New vest, courtesy of Terry Lonergan at 'Complete Runner' (Click to enlarge)|
Running-wise, it was another poor week. Twice I'd rolled out of bed in darkness, donned my running gear and stuck my nose out the door to start my run only to find it was windy, raining and misty. I aborted on both occasions, not wishing to get cold in my eye to aggravate any remaining inflammation.
|My guardian angel at Cupola Corner on Saturday's run|
So it was Saturday before I braved the elements to set off with my wonderful partner for an 8 mile run over Bycliffe Hill. It had forecast wall to wall sunshine in the afternoon but guess what, we'd set off in the morning into a nithering south westerly and sporadic showers. And where did the first shower hit us? At 1,500ft on the windiest and most exposed part of the moor. I didn't mind, I'd stopped to don a windproof jacket and my eyes were protected with wrap around shades and a cap.
|A sprinkling of snow at the marker cairn|
To make things more atmospheric and enjoyable there was a light dusting of snow across the higher part of the moor, highlighting a sheep trod all the way across to the Mossdale track. The shower soon fizzled out to allow a smooth 3½ mile run for home, down the long wall and into the ghyll just as the sun came out again. It would, wouldn't it, when we'd nearly finished.
|Back into the ghyll as the sun came out|
I've a bit of catching up to do this coming week - between a visit to my doctor and an appointment with the optician......
I sometimes wonder if I'm starting to get old?