Last Wednesday I decided that I needed to see the Doctor. This was an unusual thing for me. I don't normally do ill health. But I have been having headaches and a feeling I can only describe as like a hangover. A 'spaced out' not quite with it, fuzziness. A sense of impending doom.
"We don't have any ordinary appointments available until two weeks time", the Doctors receptionist informed me as she tapped my details into the computer.
"What's an ordinary appointment?" I enquired.
"None urgent." She answered. "Do you need an urgent appointment?"
"I'm not sure."
"Well how ill are you?"
"I don't know. I was hoping that the Doctor could tell me?"
More tapping on the keyboard. "Monday. Ten forty five."
"Thank you. Is that ordinary or urgent?" I asked.
"It's a cancellation." She said. "You're a very lucky man."
Leaving the surgery, and thinking about how very lucky I am. I headed for the local shop and bought two lucky dip lottery tickets. I suppose I only needed one lucky ticket really. But I believed the receptionist when she informed me how lucky I am, and in my befuddled state I decided to double up. After all I'm so lucky that I would probably win twice.
The spaced out and fuzzy headed feeling continued for the rest of that day. On Thursday I was able to function a little better, but the headache came back when I returned from an evening out. On Friday the fuzziness and spaced out, feeling of impending doom returned with a vengeance, and I took to my bed for most of the day.
This morning, Saturday. I woke feeling that I had done ten rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson. If this had happened of course I would have knocked him out in about round three. No contest. But anyway my head was ringing fit to bust. I held my head under the cold tap trying to clear it. But to no avail. Next time I will try turning the tap on!
George, my extremely handsome son came visiting at about midday. "There is a horrible smell of gas in here Dad," he said, as he came through the door.
"Sorry about that son." I said. "It must be the Fava beans I had with liver, and a nice bottle of Chianti last night." I always have to make a joke. Even when I'm feeling like death.
George didn't laugh at my joke. "Can't you smell it Dad?"
Well I had noticed a strong smell. But to be honest, I thought it was coming from an onion that I had chopped and left in the fridge. I had found the lid was not on the container properly. I thought the smell was permeating from that.
Close investigation revealed that when I had fitted the new butane gas bottle some days previously I had failed to connect it properly and it had been leaking out.
I am so stupid! I thought when I fitted it that it hadn't gone on correctly, but because gas was coming through to the cooker I just assumed it must be all right.
The situation is now rectified. I am still a bit light headed, but improving all the time, thank the good Lord, as the toxicity leaves my body.
I am so pleased that when I built this wagon, I put the bedroom at the other end from the kitchen. I could have died in my sleep! No more blog. How would you have coped without it?
That, Jon and Clive, is the reason I couldn't make it to the Wintertones gig last night. I was here at home. Stoned out of my mind!
Perhaps I should have opted for the emergency appointment. The Doctor would probably have found out that I was slowly poisoning myself. Too late now. Never mind. All's well that ends well. As I am sure someones Granny must have said. I'm going to keep the appointment. There is a mole on the side of my face that I ought to have looked at.
My lottery tickets didn't win, but the Doctors receptionist was right. I am very lucky today.