Born Too Soon

Hello dear readers!

We are living in interesting times.

The pantomime of Brexit is, as we speak, continuing unabated, with various options from The P.M.s deal, through to no-deal, to possibly Noel Edmonds ringing up the banker popping to mid-stage and shouting ‘oh no it isn’t’ (oh yes it is!). Possibly there’s an unheard of deal behind you. Whatever the resolution to this strangely hypnotic farce, and whenever that resolution occurs (if at all) it will mean change, the only constant upon which anyone can rely. Things change.

Sometimes this is for the worse but every now and then, it’s possible to catch a glimpse of a brighter future, and that’s what has happened this week.

Fourth Time's The Charm
No, I’m not talking of matters political. In fact I’m going to draw the line on such discussions here and now (subject to an ill-informed and possibly misinformed vote… Oops!). Instead I want to focus on those rosier hints of a somewhat brighter future. I want, in fact to talk about technology.

On Friday of last week, I took my mother-in-law to hospital. This wasn’t on a whim, you understand. It wasn’t just for a day out, and it certainly had no darker motives attached to it. No, this was for a pre-planned, much needed and thrice postponed, operation on her knee.

The offending joint is something that has been plaguing Gwen (The mother-in-law in question) for a number of years now. The problems started when it was decided that the knee was becoming worn out, as knees tend to become during time’s relentless march. It was therefore decided that an artificial knee would be fitted, making Gwen’s mobility, and therefore her life so much easier.

This did not go to plan.

The Deepest Cut
I’m not sure of the details. I haven’t seen an X-ray, scan, or read any doctor’s notes. As an in-law I wouldn’t expect to. Regardless, something went wrong during the operation and for some reason the knee was fitted badly and did not take. This left Gwen in constant pain, and with a knee that was less use than when she went under the knife. A lose-lose situation if you like.

Now, surely, this being the case, the offending implant should be dealt with, yes? The thing should be removed and replaced, or at the very least be adjusted in place to afford Gwen a pain free life. Well, no. At least not at the first time of asking, nor at the second or third or… Well you get the picture.

Instead we were offered excuses and justifications. The implant was fitted fine. There were no issues of it that could be seen (That would be apart from the lady who was suffering constant agony of course). It was almost as if the surgeon who fitted the knee was becoming more and more defensive as Gwen’s pain, lack of sleep, and failing mobility gradually ate away at her quality of life.

Luckily a new doctor was eventually found. One who had no stake in the game, no face to save, or reputation to protect, and this gentleman took Gwen’s case. He promised her that he would do his best to dig out the existing implant and replace it with a bang up to date, state of the art little number that would actually be fit for purpose. The only proviso to this promise was that, if this were to prove impossible, due to the existing device being in place for so long, then amputation would be the only other alternative.

Sugar Rush
Sadly this is not he end of the story, nor is it the end of Gwen’s ordeals. She is, I think it’s fair to say, a little older than she used to be, and her somewhat advancing years have meant that the odd medical condition came into play. Chief among these as a matter of concern for the surgical team (well for the anaesthetists more than the surgeons as far as I can tell), was Gwen’s diabetes

It was this pernicious little condition that caused the surgery to be postponed the first few times. A matter of some frustration for all concerned as I’m sure you can understand. The blood sugar numbers were just that little bit too high, the added complications just that little bit too hazardous. In the end, and much to her credit, Gwen managed to get on top of this. Insulin was obviously an important aid to this, but watching those numbers and carefully controlling her diet were perhaps the most important elements and that was all down to the lady in question and the people (mainly family members) around her.

Medical History
And so Friday came, and a day at Chapel Allerton hospital for Gwen, myself, and my ever-lovely wife, Tina. It was a long day, starting at 5am and not finishing until 7pm and for myself and the Mrs that time was mainly taken up with caffeine fuelled waiting around. I imagine it was a little more traumatic for Gwen.

However, it was worth it. We finally got to see her (after extended time in recovery due to anaesthetics not wearing off as quickly as the doctors would have liked), at 5.30pm(ish) and, although dazed, she was awake and, more importantly, in possession of both legs. Good news for everyone apart from those wanting pirate impressions.

And this is what amazes me most about the whole thing. It has been far from a perfect time, especially for Gwen, but it has been resolved, and resolved, once complications have been cleared up in an expert fashion, quickly and with a refreshing lack of drama. The wound that Tina could not resist examining, is pretty small, the recovery time estimated to be 7 to 10 days. It’s a far cry from my own experience of a very similar procedure some 27 years ago.

Dogger, North-East, Poor
Alright, yes, I’m old. And, yes, that is a longer time ago than I thought it was when I started writing this post. I’ll probably go for a lie down with some Werther’s originals, a nice cup of Horlicks, and The Shipping Forecast after I finish off here. Anyway, way back then, in the antediluvian mists of time I had my left hip rebuilt. The details can be found in this post from 3 years ago, but suffice it to say that, this being before false hips, knees or any other joint, the operation was a longer and more complicated affair, and the recovery, as you can tell from the title of the post, was a tad on the lengthier side.

It brings home how much medicine has come along in such a relatively short space of time. The surgeon who performed Gwen’s operation pointed out the at the implant that was fitted only 5 years ago was now, essentially, out of date, and that he would be fitting a completely different bit of kit and that, to my mind at least, is truly gob-smacking.

The Future Today

With the emergence of 3-d printing and the ability to mould implants to fit a particular patient being a distinct possibility it’s something I can only see progressing. I’ve already seen documentaries this year highlighting potential new therapies for my MS and a pioneering in-utero surgical procedure that could all but wipe out my Spina Bifida. The former could be a little while of yet, but the latter is a reality, here and now. Fetuses are being operated on in the womb. Medical conditions are being alleviated before a person is born.

I guess, as my sainted mother said when she phoned me yesterday, that I was born too soon (and too beautiful, obviously), but the future is looking distinctly rosier for future generations, medically speaking anyway. As for the rest, well time, as always, will tell.

Until next time.