An Unexpected Medical Challenge.
“At New Year, I said I would be girding my loins for the year ahead in my battle with cancer. Suddenly, out of the blue, a new, unexpected challenge arose. Luckily, one that was fixable.” - Peter McSporran
At New Year, after hearing from my surgeon that the prostate cancer had spread, escaping prior to my surgery, I was expecting further medical challenges. They are very reluctant to use further radiation as I have a lot of tissue damage from previous radiation and, more recently, surgery down there. So I knew at New Year's, some form of treatment lay ahead; I just did not imagine it would be for some new ailment.
“Many have written commiserating me with my bad luck; my neighbours just say ‘évida’ (It is life). They are right.” - Peter McSporran
Since the surgery, I have had two challenges: bladder incontinence, which I am told is expected and can improve over time, and infections. In fact, since my discharge from hospital after surgery in October, I have returned to Urgencia (A&E) on numerous occasions, each time receiving another course of antibiotics. If I were a chicken, the greenies would be going mad about the amount of antibiotics administered to keep me semi-healthy. Finally, I resorted to going back to our local clinic and my Portuguese equivalent of a GP, found an antibiotic to sort out the bladder infection. In doing so, however, he said there had to be a source where the infection was being harboured in my body, so sent me for further blood tests, scans and an ultrasound of my vitals, including kidneys, liver, bladder and stomach. I also had been suffering from constipation, one that felt more like a blockage, so the ultrasound scan had a look at my disposal unit but to no avail. A private clinic did the scans I should add for expediency. There is a rule here in Portugal: if the state medical health system can not provide a service in the required time, you are referred to a private medical provider at their cost. All tests and scans came back looking clear. So the following event was not due to my doctor’s lack of diligence but rather the radiologists. At that time, Christmas the stomach pains had not commenced. I was swallowing laxatives in all forms on a daily basis trying to make my bowels work to little or no avail. When I occasionally forced a poo, it was more like spaghetti than a sausage.
Although uncomfortable and not feeling that well, I was fit enough to enjoy Christmas and New Year. Following New Year, things were not improving, and my doctor thought perhaps one of my medications for bladder control could be the culprit for the constipation. Let me say here the communications with my local doctor are excellent, with swift return answers to my email and face-to-face consultations where necessary without a prior appointment.
In the second week of January, I was feeling as bad as I had ever been with the infections along with now suffering from stomach pain, which I thought was due to constipation.
Despite trying to eat half of my usual steak on Saturday at our favourite local restaurant, the stomach pain was becoming more severe, precluding this ritual. Finally, that evening in the middle of the Stormers v Sale Sharks rugby game on TV, I said to Rozanne the pain was now too great and we should head for a hospital. Rozanne, diligent as ever, called SNS24, which is the National Health Emergency Service. All medical facilitators in Portugal can access your medical history and your current status, including medications. They also advise on the nearest and least busy Urgencia. For me, it is inevitable Central Hospital University Coimbra (CHUC). After listening to Rozanne's description of my symptoms, they told us to get to the Urgencia at CHUC right away, issuing me with a case number, which they called through to Urgencia in advance, informing them we were on our way with my latest symptoms. They know me well there now. My cousin asked me how many loyalty points I had accumulated.
On arrival, I was through triage in ten minutes and off to the outpatient ward, which I feel is not the correct description. It was created to cater for the large numbers at Urgencia as it is a very recently constructed prefab-equipped ward allowing for patient movement, reducing the congestion at Urgencia. Once there, the tests my doctor had asked for previously were immediately repeated with the addition of X-rays. At about ten pm, two hours after entry following most of the tests, I found myself having an ultrasound once more. The operator, a doctor, went through my organs, saying clear, clear, clear. I wondered if it was clear, what the hell was causing the agony? Then he said, “Aah! I have found the problem.” I think your appendix is enlarged, and also it looks like there is liquid around it, indicating it could be perforated. Straight away, I knew another surgery as if I had not had enough recently.
Back to the ward, where a nurse said she needed further urine for testing, she was unaware of the findings of the scan at that time. As my bladder was empty, I grabbed a cup of water before heading to the toilet to persevere in producing pee. As I left the toilet, a doctor accosted me and said stop drinking. You need immediate surgery on your appendix. That was now about ten thirty. When I read about the UK waiting time in A&E, I thought about how blessed we are in Portugal. Unfortunately, due to previous surgeries, I am on blood thinners. Hence, I had to suffer in pain, despite painkillers, until the next morning, with my surgery taking place at eleven am. Surgery is not my biggest fear; it is the recovery room where all the screams, moans and groans and constant sound of monitors keep you on edge. Being a Sunday and an emergency surgery, I found myself being the only patient in that particular recovery room. From there, I went to the Intermediary ward, which is high care, where once again, I joined a host of moaners and a cacophony of monitors. I struggle to sleep in those conditions, and following surgery, especially frequently, along with tiredness, I hallucinate. It is the worst. I am glad I never tried LSD in my youth.
Following two nights there, I was transferred to the ward and, unfortunately, put in a bed next to someone I believe had a mental illness who managed to stop me from getting any sleep. There are only three people in most of these wards, or rather rooms, as the actual ward had about fifteen rooms.
“I would like to thank all my well-wishers for my recovery. A very big thank you. After surgery, recovery is as much about mindset as physical healing. Your messages certainly improved my mindset, raising my positivity. Thank you.” - Peter McSporran
Two days there and after declaring I was finally pooing again, they said I could go home. That was in the morning, but before you leave the hospital in Portugal, you have to have numerous tests to ensure you are fit enough to leave; the blood tests take five hours, and when they are clear, the redressing of your wounds etc take place. I had numerous wounds (five) the doctor had said she would try micro-surgery first, and if that failed, she would open me up, which she had to do as she also removed a small part of my bowel, After the removal of the drains, one having its own mini-electric pump and IV catheters, these being in my arm and groin they finally redressed the wound me thinking I could now leave. Not so. As I had complained about an irritated eye they now sent me off to Ophthalmology, where low and behold, they diagnosed me with something I didn't know existed: eye herpes. Perhaps I got it from the Brazilian beauty who hand-showered me each morning, be it at arm's length.
Maybe because it is a university teaching hospital, the place seemed to be filled with a large number of young ladies willing to take on the arduous task of nursing. There must be a special course on being nice to patients in their curriculum as everyone in the hospital is always kind, helpful and smiling.
“Attentive, diligent and friendly nurses have a huge impact on your recovery in hospital.” - Peter McSporran
Do not ask for silence; the Portuguese are a very gregarious happy race being vocal long into the night while the TV in some rooms would run throughout the night.
Following that and the issuing of medication and written instructions for our local clinic on changing my dressings and removing stitches, I was allowed to leave at ten that evening for a good night's sleep in my own bed.
Thank you to all who were involved in my stay at the now all-too-familiar hospital. Also, thank you to my caring wife, who suffered all the stress during my emergency visits to the hospital and had to nurse the shattered patient on his return home.
“Real angels do not have wings; they have patience and empathy.” - Peter McSporran
In saying that, I got soundly crapped on for bringing in the firewood one day in her absence. As I am not meant to lift anything for four weeks, she was truly pissed off. Luckily the anger soon passed.
The Passing of Two Highly Respected Zimbabwean Farmers.
Some men manage to rise above us all. I was saddened to hear of the passing of one such man, John Laurie. I first worked with John when I was Chairman of the Commercial Oilseed Producers Association, and he was President of the Commercial Farmers Union (CFU). John, at that time did an extra year as president, unprecedented until then, to cater for an internal political crisis and to ensure a sensible succession of the Presidency. That meant he was off his farm for five years while catering to the needs and wellbeing of all Zimbabwean farmers.
During that time, Gill, his wife, ran the farm and, to her credit, very successfully. Once leaving the CFU, John continued to work for the good of the country. He chaired the conservation association and sat on a number of boards, including the Beira Corridor Group. He was always an optimist and happy to take up the unenviable challenge as Chairman of The Railways. Mind you in those days it carried ten times more than the present-day decrepit and bankrupt state business. He also worked closely with the President's first wife, Sally Mugabe in her charity, the Zimbabwe Child Survival Movement.
John once told me he thought Sally’s death had a hugely negative impact on Mugabe’s behaviour. I would tell him I thought Mandela becoming President of South Africa and becoming the new statesman icon of Africa replacing Mugabe overnight did not help. Mandela had taken the international limelight away from him. I say this as I attended a State banquet in Mandela's honour in Harare, Mugabe’s apoplectic face on the night had nearly as much impact as Mandela's on me.
With the land invasions, John took up the fight for the farmers' right to receive compensation. He did this right up to his death despite losing both legs, never giving up hope in achieving this. John was a man of negotiation, not confrontation, but had a tenacity coupled with integrity few could match. I should mention that during this long, unrewarded fight for farmers, his good wife Gill supported them both by plying her trade as a radiologist. Goodbye and thank you, John; you will not be forgotten by us ex-Zimbabwean farmers—my sincere condolences to Gill and his family.
Keith Swales, an ex-school teacher and farmer, was the other man with huge integrity to leave us. Keith, for a long time, taught at Guinea Fowl School before becoming headmaster at Milton. While at Guinea Fowl, he coached the senior rugby team and athletics. I wonder if that is why so many good rugby players and soldiers came out of that school. Those boys were tough.
I got to know Keith through my present in-laws, his farming neighbours, and tobacco meetings at Trelawney Club. Keith’s farming enterprise grew, and by the time of the land invasions, not only did he grow tobacco, he also grew roses, reared crocodiles, poultry and, importantly, had a top Santa Gertrudes beef herd. It was through the cattle I got to know him best, with myself often considering his cattle for rewards at the shows, his cattle often taking a rosette. He was a keen exhibitor and for many years, chaired the Zimbabwean Herd Book.
On my visits to his farm, it was always immaculate. He had a great mind and never said anything without first giving it a proper thought. I would say you could describe him as unflappable. When I lost my farms, he still temporarily held his for a little while longer, perhaps a year, and was therefore happy to take over my Droughtmaster bulls, which he subsequently sold at the National Bull Sale. He was always ably supported throughout his endeavours by his good wife, Raynel. Goodbye, Keith and my sincere condolences to Raynel and his family.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
We salute both John and Keith. Spot on relevant comments about both gentlemen.
I was lucky enough to be at Guinea Fowl when Keith was House Master and attended a few braais at the Swales’ diverse farm.
Condolences to both families and keep yourself trucking too, Mac.