Blimey, our local health trust is good. I phoned on Tuesday morning for an appointment and was offered one, with the doctor I asked for, at 3 o’clock the same afternoon, which disconcerted me a bit as I thought we’d shilly-shally around possible times/days for a few minutes and then agree I’d have to ring back in a day or two. This wasn’t for any dramatic reason, just that he’d suggested I call in every few months to say how I was getting along and I last visited a year ago. This sounds dilatory on my part but isn’t really. He sort of wants you to have something to say, even if he hasn’t made that clear. So I waited until I did.
In the summer, hip was fine, could dance until dawn and all that, but since October has been not so good, thus demonstrating that cold wet weather is not good for arthritis. Sometimes I limp heavily, which worries others more than myself. So I asked if this might strain my spine, knee and other hip. Sensible question, you see, and he suggested I self-refer to the physiotherapist at the local cottage hospital.
Next day, the Sage took the form in.
Next day (this morning, in fact) I was phoned offering an appointment on Monday.
Gosh. A bit fast for something completely non-urgent (and under the NHS, not privately). I’m terribly impressed.
Except, I don’t actually care for this sort of thing. And it’s suggested that I wear loose-fitting trousers (well, I ‘might be more comfortable in’) or shorts. Shorts? I don’t possess any. And the only loose-fitting trousers I have are those I have shrunk out of, and they aren’t the sort of thing it means. I am scruffy, but rarely casual. Fortunately, Weeza has a pair of what, apparently, are called ‘jogging bottoms’ (?) which she bought for yoga when quite newly pregnant. So they had room for growth. And I’m a size smaller than she was (how come she was slender while I am still pudgy? Damn short-arsedness!) Anyway, she’s not only offered them to me, but invited us over for Sunday lunch to pick them up. So that’s splendid on all accounts.
And I’m perfectly fit and well, just a bit limpy. And the doctor suggests, obliquely, for we understand what we mean when we don’t quite say (this is fine, it’s a ‘same sort of people’ thing) that I wait at least 5 years for a new hip if I can. So it’s in my best interests to remain unattractively fit and become gorgeously slim. Size 10 now, size 8 beckons.