Well, that was an interesting week.
The Saturday before last, I was close to finishing the story I'd taken some time off the current novel-in-progress to write. This was a good thing, as the deadline was on Sunday. All going well, till I stood up and found my leg was hurting.
At first I thought it was just stiff, but the pain didn't go. I was also feeling groggy, so I headed for the bedroom to lie down. And realised I was also dizzy. And feeling generall unwell. Not to mention experiencing chills that made my teeth chatter. I felt very hot except for my fingertips, which were terribly cold.
It was astonishing how fast it happened. One minute I was fine; the next, it was clear that something was badly wrong. When Mrs Church came upstairs to check on me, she saw the inside of my leg was red and swollen and burning hot to the touch. I was terrified I was having a Deep Vein Thrombosis, which can kill - very quickly.
And that, gentle reader, is how I ended up spending most of my Saturday in the emergency room at Arrowe Park Hospital. Over the next four hours I was triaged, had blood samples taken, had my chest and leg X-rayed and learned I had cellulitis.
"You have cellulitis" is rarely any cause for celebration - it's no joke either, especially if it isn't caught early. But it had been caught early, making it easily treatable with antibiotics, and that's infinitely preferable to a DVT.
So I was given an IV injection of antibiotics and a week's course of oral ones and sent home. All this, by the way, didn't cost Your Humble Scribe a penny. God bless the NHS: I mean every word of that, and I'm an agnostic even on my best days.
I was starving, not having eaten all day, but a large Chinese took care of that. Given I'd been afraid I was about to spend a week in hospital, getting to spend the night in my own bed with my better half was a great relief. Needless to say, I didn't get the story I'd been working on finished, but I was up bright and early on the Sunday, and managed to get the story in before the end of the deadline. It may or may not make the cut for the anthology in question. But at least it's in the running.
The infection responded quickly, and that should've been the end of it. Unfortunately, there was a sequel.
I say it was a sequel, but I genuinely can't be sure if it was or not. This is because no one is actually sure what causes Bell's Palsy. It's thought to be a result of an inflammation of the cranial nerve, but what triggers the inflammation is another matter. Most medical websites will tell you it may be caused by a viral infection; according to my GP, that's what they tend to say when they have no idea.
That particular three-ring circus started on the Wednesday night, while we were watching a movie. My nose itched, so I tried to twitch it... and couldn't. Simple as that. It seemed a very small thing. Before I went to bed, I looked in the mirror and thought the corner of my mouth seemed to be drooping slightly. Mrs C didn't see anything too bad. I dismissed the fear of having had a stroke (or TIA/mini-stroke) and turned in for the night.
When I woke up, the left side of my face wasn't moving. Or at least, barely moving. Luckily, there were no other stroke symptoms (no slurred speech, confusion, lack of balance or inability to raise both hands normally,) and a little online research (checking the NHS website: always better to go for a reliable source) indicated it was more likely to be Bell's. I made a GP appointment and he confirmed it was indeed Bell's Palsy, so I'm now taking 10 steroid pills a day to make it stop. I feel like Lance Armstrong.
The Bell's Palsy, while nowhere near as potentially life-threatening as the cellulitis could have been, is actually much more of an inconvenience. Sometimes I almost forget it's there, and then I try to drink some water, or tea, or Pepsi Max and half of it goes down my shirt. And eating anything becomes a whole drama in its own right; just working out what I can eat for the duration of all this is going to be a challenge. Speaking for an extended period makes me sound like a very bad Winston Churchill impersonator. My left eye doesn't close normally, so it's constantly watering. And whenever I smile, I look like one of the bad guys from Deliverance, about to tell John Voight he has a pretty mouth. Only with teeth. (See the picture at the top of this post.)
So it's going to be fun, and I've no idea how long I'll be dealing with it. Bell's can take anything between a fortnight and six months to clear up. Again, though, it benefits from being caught early - if it's treated within the first 48 hours the prognosis is much better. It has been, so fingers crossed.
So does having Bell's Palsy suck? Oh yes. But I'd much rather have that than a stroke, just as I'd much rather have cellulitis than a DVT.
The bottom line, then? Count your blessings, be grateful for what you have, and - once again - God bless the NHS.
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