the last cut is the deepest

I think that, perhaps like Neil Armstrong, I should have rehearsed my first words. Had a little speech ready, so as to mark the significance of the occasion, in a fitting manner. Something along the lines of “Mrs Igor, I presume…”

As it happens we had an argument. Not the plate throwing variety - more the overly mannered, “after you” - “no, after you” - sort.

I wake with an earache. We know all about earache in our house. A couple of months ago Anniemay suffered so much that we had to visit the Emergency Care Unit in the middle of the night; twice. All because she couldn’t get an appointment with our GP.

I take a couple of painkillers and sit up in bed moaning. It’s morning. A good start. The precious speech ration is ticking away. At least I can moan.

Anniemay suggests we go to the Emergency Care Unit - “there’ll be no one there at this time and I’ll still have time to go to the gym”. She makes this suggestion on the basis that we’ll never get a GP appointment this morning. Which is a fair assumption to make.

It’s 7.30am by the time we arrive and full of babies and young children holding sick bowls. We take a seat and lift our feet as a cleaner does his best to remove whatever it was that was sticking to the floor.

I suggest she leaves so she can get to the gym - it’s her halloween special dress-up session. We argue discuss the matter; I don’t want her to miss it because she’s been looking forward to it; she wants to stay to do the talking. More speech ration used up.

In the end the decision is made for us; a nurse comes out and asks us to call our GPs because they can’t cope with the numbers in the ECU. There’s an irony here. This is where we’re supposed to come to take the load off the GP surgeries. We arrive back home in time for Anniemay to call the surgery; by a stroke of luck there’s an appointment free later this morning.

So; a win-win situation. She just has enough time to go to the gym and scare people and then come to the GP and scare him.

The GP identifies wax in my ears (shudder - the shame). It’s the right one that’s the problem; I remember that this is the ear that was used to take my temperature on friday and it seems likely that the thermometer has pushed the wax onto my ear drum. The remedy is warm olive oil and painkillers and then a good clean out.

It’s midday by the time we get back and that’s my 15 minutes of speaking over for the day.

As it’s a warm afternoon, I give the lawn what will probably be its last cut this year. And photograph the occasion, before repairing to the summer house (shed) for a cup of tea and a look back at a job well done. Anniemay then gets out her camera (here).

Thank you all for your interest and concern in the progress of my voice repair. It’ll be some time before we know for sure if the procedure has worked. On friday the surgeon, during his post-op check-up, suggested that my left vocal cord is no longer banana shaped, but more super-market-cucumber (i.e., straight). He didn’t put it like that exactly, but that’s what I heard, thanks to the tramadol.

At the moment it’s very quiet but not wheezy. Definitely not Darth-Vader. More, Marvin the Martian.