Planarchy for the Yookay

“Mr Fat Leg” is what the physios used to call me whilst helping me to learn to walk again after I broke my leg some 16 years ago.  Not behind my back, but to my face. Indeed when I bumped into one of them at Glastonbury later that year, that is how she started introducing me to her friend (much to his shock).  But it was a fat leg, really, really swollen and on the plus side they did get me walking again and although it never became quite as svelte as the other one I like to think that you had to look really hard to see which was the slightly fatter one most of the time.  Nevertheless, the breaking of the femur and the bionic additions (well just a titanium rod really) have left their mark on the circulation on that leg and long periods on my feet or cold weather have always left it a little swollen.

Recently that has become more of an issue and it had also been aching to the extent that I gave up running a couple of weeks ago and Mrs.Planarchy persuaded me that I really should go and see my GP about it.  I almost didn’t go yesterday as I’d been out the previous night with a friend not seen for twenty years and hence felt a little bit below par.  But I hate people that don’t turn up for appointments almost as much as I’m sure the GPs do and so, despite it not hurting or looking particularly swollen, my fat leg and I cycled down the road to see him. Within minutes my trousers were off for the first of many times over the rest of the day. He then drew on my leg and measured the diameter of my calves to see if I really deserved the moniker of Mr.Fat Leg. It turned out that I did but he was concerned that the current problem might be a Deep Vein Thrombosis which are generally regarded as not being a good thing. He then wrote a coded note (well I couldn’t read it) which I was to take straight to the local A&E department. Obviously I didn’t do anything of the sort as I just saw a whole day spent in a waiting room, thus I sped home for a banana and a just begun book.

When I arrived at A&E I had to take my trousers off again.  Well I didn’t have to but it seemed like the right thing to do.  Oh, al-right, first they colour coded me but as soon as I saw the triage nurse I got to take my trousers off again.  Then a doctor and student doctor.  Trousers off (mine, not theirs).  Blood works ordered,
“Trousers off?”
“Well we usually just do it from your arm actually,” they replied.
“How tame,” I thought. Then ultrasound of the leg for which obviously it was trousers off again.

I’ve had ultrasound scans before and always found waiting rooms full of pregnant women with their partners looking at me with great suspicion but this time not a pregnant person in sight.  Maybe everyone had read that piece in the Grauni but I doubt it.

She’d almost finished the ultrasound on the back of my leg and I was just thinking that if that was that then at least I’d only been here two hours and maybe the whole day wasn’t lost after all. But then she said very calmly that she had found a thrombosis so I knew I’d be there for a few hours yet. The doctors had already been through what would have to happen if they found a DVT. I knew it would be straight onto the rat poison tablets plus injections in my stomach for a few days. I’d probably have to take my trousers off again too.

So, the GP, who I thought was being way over the top was right. I’m glad he spotted it and indeed that Mrs.Planarchy talked me into going to see him. Still it’s not a pleasant feeling learning that you’ve got something pretty nasty sitting in your leg. And though all the healthcare professionals I encountered were wonderful and totally forthcoming the problem is that between one de-trousering and the next you spend a lot of time sitting or lying on your own. Then the mind starts to wander and one can’t help start to become concerned. So I phoned Mrs.Planarchy and she got to spend the afternoon in a way too warm hospital room.

Now I had officially been elevated to a definite Red patient I got to alternate taking my trousers off with taking my shirt and jumper off for ECG, chest X-ray and more blood work. Having found the problem they were now, like good scientists, looking for a likely cause. I’m not and never have been a smoker, I don’t usually drink very much alcohol and I’m pretty active with a healthy meat free diet so many of the more obvious ones were excluded. In the end they couldn’t really find anything. The original trauma to the leg was probably a big factor but they did not believe the clot had been there for the whole time. Age is also a factor but ultimately they didn’t really know what had caused it….a combination of many things I suppose.

Now for the moment it’s just daily stomach injections for a few days and Warfarin tablets for six months with checks on my blood until they get the dose of that right. More scans in the weeks and months to come and I expect I’ll take “avoid excess alcohol” to mean none at all for a few weeks but otherwise life carries on. I’m not sure about any long-haul flights in the future and I’m certain that when driving long distances I’ll be even more strict about stopping for regular walks. Oh and obviously I’ll be bleeding a bit more profusely when cut. I should probably try and weave a Shakespeare quote in here….“If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die?” Except obviously there’ll be more of the bleeding when pricked because of the poison which hopefully won’t cause us to die. Not sure about the tickling.

AND I think I have to say though I know it’s still far from perfect, whenever I’ve needed the NHS it has been there for me. I wouldn’t be without it.

Finally, I know you’ll be glad to learn that this entire post was written with my trousers on.