A Tip for the Future
It may sound like a cliché, but the old saying that you go into hospital with one thing and come out with several others is surprisingly true. In my case, I was introduced to a supply of rather decent needles and a tonne of insulin for previously undiagnosed diabetes. However, in a classic Mark-shaped plot twist, I also left with one less thing: the distal phalanx of my left index finger.
12 November 2024
I’d somehow injured my finger and it just wouldn’t heal. Before long, it went from mildly swollen to looking like something the cat dragged in. So, off to A&E I went, hoping for… well, I’m still not quite sure what. After the obligatory wait that felt like a millennia, I was finally called in and thoroughly quizzed (including the question: “Are you diabetic?”). I was then bundled off for an x-ray, only to be met with more umming and ahhing from the doctor once the results were back with them finally announcing: “You need to see a plastics team, but we don’t have one here. You’ll need to go to the Royal Free Hospital. They’re expecting you!”
Off I pop, in a terribly expensive Uber, to the Royal Free’s A&E, presuming once again that they’d whack in a few stitches, give me some antibiotics and pack me on my way. Oh, how wrong was I? 6 nights of the finest sleep deprevation lay ahead, along with two operations to try and save my finger, hand and the rest of my arm.
On arrival after a tiny bit of administrative error (because its me, there has to be some level of chaotic disorganisation else it wouldn’t be right), I get to meet the first of a steady conveyor belt of surgeons, consultants, nurses and other tremendously brilliant folk. The on-call plastics doctor begins to examine my hand and asks that question again, “are you diabetic?”, which with absolute misplaced confidence I reply to with “nope!”. Anyway, much nerve blocker, heavy prodding and a wash of my poor finger with suitably horrific smelling chemicals later and I’m admitted to a ward. Well not before an unreasonable amount of blood is taken, for reasons that weren’t entirely obvious to me at the time.
13 November 2024
Fast forward a few hours, and I’ve finally managed to nod off, for what was the final time before finding out the big – or so I thought at the time – news.
I’m awoken by a number of nurses and a doctor wheeling in a couple of stands with several infusion machines on, quickly having one of the better canulations I’ve experienced before being hooked up to the machinery. I manage to ask “wha… what… what’s this for?!?” and a nurse announces with a level of aplumb usually reserved for the arrival of a new child, “It’s for your DIABETES!”. I recall reacting to the news with a cry of “MY WHAT?!” with sufficient volume to have woken the deaf guy in bed 4.
It turns out the plastics doctor had decided to order more than just the usual bloods which revealed three terribly exciting facts: A blood glucose level of 34 mmol/l, a c-peptide of 104 pmol/l, and a rather astonishing HbA1c of 155 mmol/mol. Equally excitingly I wasn’t entering a state of diabetic ketiacidosis (DKA) but I was in a hyperosmolar hyperglycemic state (HHS) and as such was being treated as a full blown medical emergency.
14-17 November 2024
The rest of the details are mundane, really. I got to spend several more days in that ward, enjoying a couple operations on my hand, under local anesthesia only, because, well, I was hungry and the idea of being nil by mouth just wasn’t doing it for me. You really have no idea how delicious a bowl of wheetabix is when you’ve just kicked the Grim Reaper in the balls. And to be fair, there were plenty of benefits to this approach, I got two really decently long conversations in with the surgeons as they artistically worked on my hand. There is something surprisingly calming about chatting about your situation with the people trying to make it better. I also think it helped me come to terms with it all there and then especially as when you see the bit of your hand they’ve cut off sitting on a tray you rapidly come to terms with it being gone. Although, I do kinda wish I don’t have the memories of them not being able to find the bone nibblers, but that’s a story for another day.
18 November 2024
Discharge day was one of the most emotional things ever, mostly because I am forever indebted to a fantastic friend who stepped in to ensure I got home without doing something ridiculous, like trying to use the tube. To be fair, having lost my eyesight as part of the beginnings of the recovery process, I dread to imagine what could have happened if I didn’t get home without their help. If you’re wondering about why that happens, its all to do with the viscosity of your blood changing as the blood becomes thinner again after being essentially syrup.
I remain so incredibly happy though, as ultimately losing that finger has resulted in gaining more time than I was going to have, and as such got to spend so much more time with those absolute brilliant people who course through my life, and this story, with joy and love.