Hip, hip, hooray ! : Ken Gibbs

Even God Needs Spectacles    

It started with mild discomfort, graduating slowly but increasingly to a real pain in my right hip, about which I consulted medical opinion who said that I simply needed physiotherapy. I attended physiotherapy sessions twice finding there to be no improvement. I went back to the doctor who – probably simply to get rid of me – arranged for an X-Ray to be followed by yet another physiotherapy session.

These days, when you have an X-Ray, the result is immediately available – effectively as a .JPG file – even though interpretation may need a specialist. When I attended the physiotherapy session immediately following the X-Ray, I was made to wait before the physiotherapist invited me to come and look at the X-Ray on his computer. Apparently, it didn’t need a specialist to see that it was a case of bone-on-bone in the hip joint, and he refused to treat me, but sought to get me fast-tracked for a hip replacement. I ‘only’ had to wait 16 weeks, from memory.

*****

Having gone through all the necessary preliminaries, I was told that I wouldn’t be treated in the main hospital in Cornwall, but at Hayle Community hospital. There was me, thinking that community hospitals were just for minor ailments – and I was not reassured by reading that Hayle had only recently been brought into the NHS, taking it from a semi-religious institution into mainstream medicine. Um – was I to be one of the proverbial guinea-pigs ?

I was driven to Hayle and delivered to reception where my wife was told that she was now surplus to requirements; I would be ready for collection in three days’ time. Knowing that I would be ‘prepped’ for the procedure and thus kept busy beforehand, I had been left with just one book which my wife felt was appropriate for someone who might have had some doubt that he would survive the experience so should be entertained up to the end. It was a children’s book of poems entitled, ‘Now we are sixty’. Actually, I was 74 at that time – as if it was important.

At this point, I should explain that the book was, in fact, a very clever take off of A A Milne’s classic, ‘When we were very young’ from which, to this day, I can still recite parts. That it was suitable for me at that time speaks volumes for my age because today’s children have had rather different reading material often with more emphasis on pictorial content than on simple linguistic devices. Today, rhymes are optional while in my youth they tended to be a requirement. Easier to remember.

The take off was – obviously – not written by A A Milne but by Christopher Matthew, and the simple illustrations were done in much the same style as the original. What sets it apart as entertaining is that the verses parody the originals very closely but with a sexual innuendo twist. Readers who suffered a Puritanical upbringing might be rather surprised.

*****

Back to the medical aspects of my stay in hospital. Amongst those administering to my various needs was a Nun whom I gathered was likely to serve out her time as a hospital visitor, having served her time as a nurse before the hospital had been absorbed into the NHS. There were still three remaining, apparently. She was – probably – approaching retirement age herself but was lively, friendly, and actually interested in my background. We chatted. She noticed the book beside the bed and asked what it was ? When I mentioned, “Children’s poetry” she asked if she could read it ? When I nodded, she read the back outside cover of the book and didn’t even raise an eyebrow but a quiet smile told me that she was likely to enjoy it.

Now here I was in a quandary. Knowing that Nuns and Monks know as much about the foibles of mankind as anyone else, should I indicate that it might not be to her taste because it might offend her ? It was one of those off-the-cuff decisions that I made simply because I knew that I’d be comatose for a period after surgery so that reading odd kids’ poetry would not be in my immediate set of priorities. She took the book.

*****

After surgery, my next memory was of total confusion. I had somehow made it to the bathroom and managed to slip and fall. Staff who heard the commotion arrived swiftly and got me back to my bed where I lay complaining from the shock or pain. The duty doctor – a young Bangladeshi male - grilled me to ensure that I was undamaged – eventually giving me something which would help me to sleep. Whatever it was, was fully effective and I slept. I wish I could get it over the counter because it dulled the pain so quickly. Quite a bit more effective than paracetamol, I would add.

For a couple of days following, I remained somewhat confused (according to my wife) and it was only when I eventually cleared my system of the drugs overload that I realised that I was missing the book.

The Nuns managed to mail ‘Now we are sixty’ back to me with an apology for not having returned it to me in hospital, but I was left wondering how it had been received. Sadly, I never had the opportunity to ask if they enjoyed it, but I have this impression that they knew enough about the real world that they will have giggled at the humour and the innuendo.

If only more hospitals had Hospital Visitors like this.

They are changing the guard at Buckingham Palace