Today chums, I have mostly been pretty cheesed off.

You’ll remember that last week, I had a phone call from the hospital telling me that my pre-op checks had revealed a problem with my blood pressure and that I should see my GP: Then I got home that night and found they’d sent me an operation date. Everything in the garden was rosy, I assumed that the call was only advisory and the blood pressure wasn’t a block to the operation, and started to make arrangements pertinent to a March 17th operation.

Today the hospital rang again, to ask why I hadn’t been in touch to tell them what my GP said about my blood pressure: I explained the above, to be told that the operation date had obviously been sent to me by mistake, and that the operation couldn’t proceed until I’d had three weekly readings and my GP had put me on the appropriate blood pressure medicine. I got a bit annoyed with the woman on the phone, wanting to know why all this hadn’t been explained at the time: She explained that I’d been very dificult to get hold of, she’d tried to phone me at work several times, but before 9 AM there’s no-one on our Reception (well duh!), and when she’d tried during office hours she’d consistently been put through to the same wrong number. That wouldn’t be too unbelieveable – our receptionists aren’t the brightest lights in the harbour – if it weren’t for the fact that everyone else seems to get through to me OK.

Anyway, I’ve got a GP appointment next Wednesday – the earliest he could see me – and for backup plans I’m trying to decide between getting a sharp knife and doing it myself, or phoning her next week anyway and saying I’ve seen my GP and he says there’s nothing wrong with my blood pressure. And while at first glance neither of those may seem like a good idea, if you’d been waiting seventeen flippin’ months for an operation that takes about half an hour, you’d be seriously considering both those options as well.

Those of you who are good at maths will have realised that starting next Wednesday, plus three weeks for the tests, plus time on medication, means there’s no way we’re going to hit March 17th. I could cry with the frustration, and probably will before this day is out.

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