“No discernible anomaly”

The main event of the day was that I had finally managed to wangle a way to get my foot and hip examined by a person competent in that domain: this was done by dint of a simple email to the surgeon’s administrative Cerberus. She had simply said “no problem” and arranged for me to come in today. Easy.
 
I arrived at the allotted time – 8.15am – and made my way to Module O of the hospital. There, a very personable lady took my details and said how much she admired people who made appointments on time and, as in my case, took pains to arrive a little early. I said that I had thought the appointment was at 8:15. “It is,” she answered. “Tomorrow.”
 
Now, given my advancing years and rather selective memory, this might have thrown me for a loop. But I had checked before leaving that I hadn’t screwed up (if anyone can screw up, I will), and had seen the email clearly marked “Tuesday, June 24”. So, I knew, for once, that the error was not mine. Unless, of course …
 
I advanced my case rather timidly (with hospital parking rates the amount they are, there was no way I was going home) and she said it was no problem as the Great Surgeon’s Fellow was in and she’d squeeze me in at the end of the next visit. In the meantime, would I care to avail myself of the x-ray facilities. When I got there, of course, they only wanted to do my hips. Not my foot, which was the real worry. Never mind, I’d simply go again after speaking to the Great Surgeon’s Fellow. I was seen immediately, and then went back to Module O to wait for the Great Surgeon’s Fellow to see me. This only took 10-15 minutes. All was going well. All was going far too well.
 
When I walked into the room, the Great Surgeon’s Fellow was waiting for me. I have had mixed luck with his chappies over the years: some have been excellent (like the German who spent the time measuring my hip joints in the x-rays and discovered that there had, in fact, been significant movement in the joint); some have been OK; some have been absolutely shite. This guy was probably in between OK and shite; certainly, as he was visiting from China, his language skills needed a little work (although, I must add, they were significantly better than either my Cantonese or Mandarin). He told me my x-rays had revealed “nothing discernibly anomalous”. This might sound good – but you should hear it being said by an averagely able visiting Chinese speaker. My face must have looked rather blank, because he tried it again. Then, for good measure, and because neither of his comments had elicited what must have been his hoped-for response, he said it for a third time. With feeling. Finally, clearly (and probably correctly) judging me as some sort of lunatic, he pointed to the examining table and said “lie down”.
 
Once supine, I felt a lot more comfortable. Or I did until he started his examination. He prodded and poked, pushed and pulled, plunked and pinched. Then he asked me to drop my trousers. Then he did everything again. He looked my hip up and down, moved back to get a look from a wider angle, and then came to a final diagnosis.
 
“That’s a very bad bruise,” he said.
 
Again, the fact that I was standing there, staring at him with my mouth open must have led him to the conclusion that he was dealing with a moron. “Bruise,” he said, pointing at my hip. “Very bad.”
 
“I know this,” I said. “The fact that my bruise is very bad is partly the reason why I came in through the insanity of Ottawa traffic to pay $15 in parking fees to have you take a look at it. It is very painful. When I roll over in the night, it wakes me up. It is like someone poking a hot poker against it. It is a very bad bruise. It might, conceivably, be the Worst Bruise.”
 
“Well, not to worry, you are on the waiting list for an operation,” he said slowly, as if helping me to understand. “This will make everything better. Soon, your bruise will be better. Soon, all anomalies—of which you have none—will have gone.”
 
This meeting wasn’t going the way I was hoping. “What about my foot?” I asked. “That is the real issue, I think. If the hip hasn’t moved, can you order an x-ray of my foot to see if the bone has fractured? Maybe the way I am walking is contributing to my pain?”
 
“So sorry,” he said. “Not my purview.” At least, I think that is what he said. It might have been something else. Then he bowed. And left. I noted, with some discomfort, that he hadn’t bowed when he entered. And as I stood there, contemplating what to do next, there was a knock on the door and in walked a young nurse. She looked at me, smiled, and said “you can pull your trousers back up now,” before closing the door and leaving again. She came back in soon after, arranged to send my files on electronically, and told me I could go. These medical visits are becoming somewhat problematical.
 
The rest of the day paled in comparison. Ottawacker Jr. is still off school sick and shows little in the way of improvement. I managed a very nice video call with my friend Billy over in Liverpool. And I noted, with a little concern, that I was beginning to show some of the symptoms that Ottawacker Jr. was displaying. It is also still very, very hot.
 
I did manage to check the appointment time on my file – and, for once, I was not to blame. I’ll take that as a small moral victory.