The Detective Story

I went to see my liver consultant yesterday.

It was rather like a consultation with Hercule Poirot, (someone I have been spending time with while convalescing). By the way, what do you do when you have seen every episode? I suppose a full recovery is the only option, or madness would set in. Or perhaps you know you are well when you notice that you have seen the episode before, and actually care.

Anyway, to get back to my own consultant detective;

He looked at my test results and ummed and ahed and patiently listened to me tell him that I had asked Monsieur Google and could find nobody in the whole world with my symptoms after a simple surgery for gall bladder removal. Then we tried to piece together exactly what had happened to me from the moment I started to feel ill and was admitted to hospital as an emergency.

He found a test result lurking on the computer which I did not have in my fat file. This was the result of my first liver test when I went to hospital, which showed no damage, unlike all the subsequent ones. But then I spent five days in hospital being pumped intravenously with an antibiotic that can be toxic to the liver, because they thought that I had diverticulosis. And a fair amount of paracetamol, because everything hurt...

He scratched his head, and thought for a while.

You may have been damaged by the antibiotic!, he said dramatically.

We will follow this trail!

But first, we must eliminate everything else!

He would have twirled his moustaches at this point, but he didn't have any.

So, instead, he started writing out a prescription for a blood test which will remove at least two arms' worth and maybe even empty a leg.

Just to change the subject, other peoples' illnesses being tedious, my relationship with Porridge has suffered after our unavoidable visit to England, when she was left guarding the house, with visits from neighbours to interrupt her vigil in the garden.

She is not speaking to me. That is not entirely true. She is speaking loud and clear.

Nearly every morning since our return, we have woken up to find a large smelly comment under the table in the living room. She has never done this before. I hope she will forgive me soon...

She certainly knows how to hit where it hurts.