Well cut my legs off and call me shorty 🙄

Around 1992 I developed a swollen right knee. There was no pain or redness and didn't occur after any injury. I ignored it for quite a while. When it started to cause pain I was referred to Ipswich hospital for investigations. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. I wasn't too worried, I hated labels and just decided to get on with my life and doing what I loved. When my knee started to cause me too much pain, my rheumatologist gave me steroid injections into it, removed any fluid in the joint and it settled down for a while. This carried on until I ended up having to have steroid injections every 3 months. An X-ray of my knee showed it to be in good shape and there was a worry that continuing with the quarterly steroids would cause damage to my knee. I was referred to orthopaedics for surgical assessment and had my appointment set for 6th October 2006.

When I first met the surgeon, I'm embarrassed to say that when I saw he was an English doctor, I was relieved. I thought that it would be a bonus to be able to understand him and knew that he would have decent qualifications having been trained in a western society. How fucking ignorant was I? I hate that I had thought that and it has stuck with me since that day. It has made me question my belief system, my nurturing and social media impact because I have never considered myself racist. Why I feel the need to even write it here, laid bare for all to see, I honestly don't know. When I decided to write this blog I decided that there was no point in writing it if I wasn't honest about everything. For me, omitting things that are unpleasant to know about yourself is just as bad as lying about it. Maybe what happened was karma....if so, fuck me that's harsh! 😕

The surgeon advised that I should have an arthroscopy and partial synovectomy. For those with no medical background, the surgeon would remove inflamed tissue from inside the knee joint while using a camera. It is keyhole surgery. The surgeon assured me that although this procedure wasn't a cure, it would provide me with a few years of respite from the pain and swelling and eliminate the need for steroid injections. After discussing the surgeons advice with my ward manager and family, it was agreed and I was booked in for day surgery. 

I had a Chicken Korma the evening before my operation. Chicken Korma and a vodka and coke. I remember I ate it with a spoon because I couldn't be bothered to wash up a knife and fork. It's funny the useless things you remember when you look back over your life. How mundane and unextraordinary our final days could be. I didn't die but I came close and one of my last moments on earth could have been eating Indian takeaway with a spoon 😂😂

My final thought of the day......