Raynaud’s syndrome

Mary reckons I cannot categorically state that I suffer from Raynaud’s syndrome as it has not been formally diagnosed by a doctor but if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck I say it is a duck.

This is what my hand looks like after a chilly cross-country run with the Eden Runners Thursday social group complete with mild pain, numbness and pins and needles. It takes about an hour for my fingers to return to normal colour and sensation.

According to the NHS:

Raynaud's affects your blood circulation. When you're cold, anxious or stressed, your fingers and toes may change colour. Other symptoms can include:

• pain
• numbness
• pins and needles
• The skin may turn white or a lighter colour as blood flow is restricted.
• [image] Fingers of a person with white skin. One fingertip is pale while the rest of the skin is pink:
• [...]
• The symptoms of Raynaud's may last from a few minutes to a few hours.

I rest my case, M'Lud.

How to use your NHS Covid Pass as a Green Pass in Italy

Your NHS Covid pass can be used in Italy as a Green Pass to gain entrance to indoor dining, museums, cultural venues and archaeological sites as well as cinemas, theatres, cultural events and concerts. 

1. Download the GreenPass Italia App:

Available for iOS and Android.

2. Request a digital NHS Covid pass (the PDF version not the paper letter).

https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/coronavirus-covid-19/covid-pass/

3. Scan the QR code 2 of 2 (3 of 3 if boosted) into the Green pass app. 

Select the (+) symbol at the bottom, then "Scansiona" and point your phone at the QR code. 

Options include:

• Print the PDF and scan the printout.
• Get a friend to photograph your screen then scan their photo.
• Take a screen shot, crop it, select "Carica" instead of "Scansiona" and import from your photo library.

Warning: check the NHS Covid pass expiry date as this is carried forward into the app. If necessary delete and repeat steps 2 and 3 to refresh. 

4. Venues will use the VerificaC19 App to check your Green Pass.

Notes:

• You can also download the VerificaC19 App to check that your own QR code, or other's, is valid.
• You need the PDF version of the NHS pass because the postal version does not have a QR code.
• You must use the most recent dose QR code, 2 of 2 (3 of 3 if boosted)! Dose 1 of 2 is not valid.
• You can scan the QR code into GreenPass from a screen.
• You can scan several people's codes into one phone.
• You can scan in from one phone to another. Handy if there are two of you because you can scan each other's into their app then back to the other phone.
• You can choose which is the main code if there are several on a phone by selecting it and clicking "Fissa".

You're welcome!

Scarred for life

Cisternino Italy.

One thing about scar tissue is that it doesn’t tan like undamaged flesh. Spending time out in Italy has enabled me to see more clearly some of the injuries that life has inflicted. They have developed like a piece of chemical film. Looking down at my leg recently I was reminded of my mystery scar as indicated by the dotted line.

The other scars I know about. My right, index finger scar is the result of over enthusiastic cleaning of a beaker in the chemistry lab at school. The scar on my middle finger on the left hand is a result of using a slippery Stanley knife (box cutter) while doing some tiling in the bathroom. The hernia operation scar hasn’t seen much sunlight, it is true, and so is still not very visible in all senses.

But this scar I have absolutely no idea where it came from. About 15 years ago I was having a aromatherapy massage from a guy who previously specialised in sports injuries. He asked me about the scar tissue in my left leg. "Scar tissue!" I said "What scar tissue?"

And he was right there is a scar about 5 inches long topped off by a rounded, damaged patch. I have no idea what injury caused this. Thinking it might be the result of some childhood accident that, like a carving on a tree had a grown with me, I asked my mother. She too denies any knowledge of such an injury!

So, although it must have been painful at the time, at what age it occurred and what caused it I shall never know.

21 Pints of Blood and Counting

 Thursday 21-January-16

I have been giving blood every 8 weeks for the last 2 years. A couple of years ago I volunteered for the Interval Study for blood donations:

"Between June 2012 and June 2014, the INTERVAL study recruited about 25,000 men and about 25,000 women at NHS Blood and Transplant (NSHBT) blood donation centres across England (to see locations click here).

During the study participants are asked to give blood either at usual donation intervals or more frequently. Men donate every 12, 10 or 8 weeks and women every 16, 14 or 12 weeks.

At the end of the study period, we will compare the amount of blood donated and measures of well-being in people asked to give blood at standard intervals versus those asked to give blood more frequently."

Of course I would be randomly allocated to the 8 week group which means regular visits to the West End Donor Centre. However I was given a breather for a couple of donations because we went to malaria-risk Zimbabwe which meant a six month quarantine period.

Today was the last official donation for the study but I will, naturally, continue to donate although maybe not as frequently. They took an extra "after" blood sample to compare with the original "before" sample. There will also be a questionnaire on my general health and well-being.

I have been giving blood intermittently since 1976 (not a typo that is forty years). Part way through the study I received a congratulatory letter for making 10 donations. Clearly w-a-y out as I was at least in the high teens if not twenties so I got in touch.

The Blood Transfusion records people managed to track down some old Farnborough donations in a previous system but going back to the early days it was probably paper-based records. They had no record of donations whilst I was working at Oxfordshire County Council, Sainsburys, Anglian Water and BT. In the end we agreed a compromise figure of 18. I settled for that as I don't want to overstate my record.

Let's see how long until I get my next badge.

A Mild Case of Dupuytren's Contracture

My father has lumpy palms which I had thought were callouses or some kind of arthritis or something. Then about a year ago a similar lump appeared on my right palm. Didn't bother me much as it didn't hurt and, given as how I am my father's son, hardly surprising - more "Ho, hum, here we go: the start of old age crumbling."

Then a facebook friend posted a picture of his bandaged hand following surgery for Dupuytren's contracture. I Googled the condition and there was picture of a hand looking just like mine!

Wikipedia picture

My hand

Dad's hand

(sorry about the colour - iPhone in low light level)

According to Wikipedia:

• "It is an inherited proliferative connective tissue disorder" - tick! like father like son.
• "The ring finger and little finger are the fingers most commonly affected." - tick! both Dad's ring fingers show it, now my right hand, I expect the left is a matter of time.
• "Dupuytren's contracture progresses slowly and is usually painless." - phew! certainly true in Dad's case so here's hoping.

At least I know what my hands will look like in 27 years time.

Cataract operation went well

On Friday I had a cataract operation under sedation.

Many people bandy about the phrase "worst nightmare". In my case this is the correct, literal use of the term. I was traumatised in my early teens by a clip from the film "Un chien andalou" which purported to show a woman's eye being slit with a cut throat razor. I later learnt that it was done with a dead donkey and some clever editing but by then the damage was done.

Ever since then ocular damage has been the stuff of my worst nightmares. You may well imagine that learning I needed a cataract operation - normally done under only a *local* anaesthetic - caused no small amount of anxiety.

My eyesight had deteriorated noticeably over the last 18 months after a lifetime of very gentle change. Over the last three months an element of double vision and night-time mistiness prompted the optometrist to suspect a cataract and send me for a specialist opinion.

Courtesy of BUPA and an accommodating consultant and anaesthetist the options of sedation and a full general were available. Even so I treated myself to a couple of sessions of hypnotherapy with Liz Hogan to reduce pre-op nerves. It did the trick; Mary remarked how calm I had seemed on the Thursday night.

On the day the anaesthetist put in a cannula for the sedation and said that if I got too nervous they could switch to a full general anaesthetic. He said "I'll just squirt in a little as a pre-med" and the next thing I knew I woke up in the recovery room. An afternoon of dozing in my private room followed until it was time go get in a cab, collect Mary en route and go down to Konnigans for a relaxing meal.

There seem to be negligible after effects from the operation. I have to take it careful for a while: no strenuous exercise and a protective eye-patch at night. The most dramatic impact is that the surgeon inserted a +4 dioptre lens to correct my lifelong myopia. I will probably have to use a contact lens in the unoperated eye until that is done as well, as will probably soon be the case.

Using both eyes at once is too much image processing for my brain to handle given the difference in focus and image size. So meanwhile I am using an eye-patch which I switch to whichever eye is appropriate for the task in hand. Arrgh, me hearties!

Pre-Op Questionnaire

Dad and I have both had hernia repairs. His was within the lifetime of this blog but I spared the world that particular news item. As Dad said - tongue in cheek - "Now we have something in common". Of course he pointed out in a spirit of one-upmanship that *his* was a double hernia.

When I came to fill in the pre-op questionnaire I put my religion as "Jedi" (see "In the UK 390,000 Jedis there are"). Unfortunately the drop-down list in the system did not include that selection so I had to go down as "Other" presumably along with Druids, White witches and Fans of Paris Hilton.

When Dad completed his form and got to the question on existing medication he had to wrote "None". He isn't being prescribed anything at all whilst many of his contemporaries rattle like castanets (or is it maracas?). Considering he was 79 at the time he is pretty d**n healthy. I only hope I inherit his constitution along with his hernia!

Purple like an aubergine

Or eggplant as Americans call it (though any resemblance to an egg is pretty farfetched to my eye).

My natural decorum and good taste *cough* plus the fact that Mary checks this blog regularly for egregious errors of fact means that I have not been able to document my post-operative condition as luridly as I might have otherwise have wished. The safest thing is quote from the informative leaflet the hospital gave me.

"Risks. For a hernia repair these include: bruising - there is a risk of bruising around the operation site. But some patients may develop quite dramatic bruising and swelling, which in men can extend to ... [Ed. That quite enough thank you!]"

On the Friday before we left for Italy I went back to the nurse who did a conjuring trick and proceeded to pull a foot long piece of what looked like fishing line out of my groin. A most odd sensation. It appears that dissolving stitches are for the inner layers only. She pronounced the scar as healing nicely and off I went with a packet of anti-inflammatory Nurofen.

Two weeks of relaxation in Italy means I am well on the way to full recovery although the residual tenderness may mean that an exhibition of Russian Cossack dancing may yet be some way off.

Can you feel anything when I do this?

Well the operation seemed to go very smoothly. I was curiously not as apprehensive as I was expecting. In the anaesthetic room when they wired me up my pulse was only 51 and "shot up" to 60 when they inserted the canula into the crook of my elbow. The anaesthetist said "I'll just inject a little to start with" and that's the last I remem...

...when I woke I was rambling inchoherently like a complete and utter drunkard. I was having great tribble spooking and was definitely slurping my worms. G*d know what I was wittering on about but I think women's nostrils came into it somewhere!

Three hours of dozing was followed by several cups of tea and biscuits and a very late lunch at 5:00pm. Then at 8:30 I got a black cab home. They may be an iconic symbol of London Town but they have the suspension of an armoured troop carrier. I spent the entire journey home gripping the hand rail to minimise the jouncing about.

The post operative guidance is basically, "If it hurts stop doing it". I have some paracetamol and a pair of full length ambi-embolism stockings to wear for a week but I don't think white is really my colour.

Nipples to Knees

Apparently fashions change in medical procedures. Many years ago I had a summer job as a hospital porter. A-a-h the memories <pause, sigh, shake head to clear>. Anyway, a couple of times I had to assist one of the regulars prep a male patient. The slogan was "Nipples to Knees!" Dry shaving the aforementioned area with a disposable razor. I played no active part and presume my role was effectively that of chaperone.

It didn't look the most soothing of shaves so I had fully intended to do my own prep this evening, thank you very much, in a nice warm bath but according to the admissions clerk the modern way is clippers immediately pre-op. A quick Google shows this to be the case [1] [2] so I shall leave that to the experts.

Instead I shall concentrate on having a good, slow release, meal tonight as it is nil-by-mouth from midnight so that means no breakfast and who know when I shall be ready for my lunch.

Inguinal Hernia

Apparently hernia repairs are the single most common male operation in the UK with over 100,000 performed each year according to the BBC. On Friday I am about to become number 100,001.

Last Tuesday the GP confirmed my diagnosis (not difficult), last Friday I met the consultant surgeon and this Friday I go under the knife. The surgeon, John Scurr, seems to know his stuff and has a good firm handshake - just what you need to hold the scalpel steady.

I resisted telling him the old joke:
 "Doctor, will I be able to play the piano afterwards?"
 "Yes, I don't see why not."
 "That's funny, I couldn't before!"

We are having a barbeque on Sunday and Mary has made me promise that I won't go playing the invalid or offering to show people my scar. Spoilsport!