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Showing posts with the label Health

Hospital Hopping: Another Trip, Another Hope for Pain Relief

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Yesterday's adventure wasn't a sightseeing tour, but another hospital visit – this time, for my better half. My wife, bless her, has been battling a bunch of disc problems, and the pain's been a real downer. So, off we trotted to the Westmorland General in Kendal, (a 3 hour journey) hoping this trip would bring some relief. The destination? Her coccyx. Imagine an epidural, but for your tailbone – yeah, not exactly a picnic. The procedure itself involved a pain relief injection, which hopefully will do some good. Fingers crossed! Now, the aftermath wasn't exactly fun. Let's just say her bum was feeling pretty numb on the journey home – a bit like sitting on a giant inflatable cushion, but not in the relaxing way. Still, a small price to pay if it means kicking that pain to the kerb, right? Here's the thing, though: these hospital visits always leave you with a mix of emotions. Hope, obviously, that this latest treatment will be the answer. But also, a kind of wea

Greasy Lad: My Quest for Fitness, One Bland Bite at a Time

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Picture this: it's February 1st, the weather's flippin' Baltic, and I'm huddled inside like a hibernating hedgehog, mainlining chips and gravy. Yep, proper comfort food season. But then, a truth bomb hits me harder than a stray sheepdog: me waistline's looking more like a prize marrow than a six-pack. So, I decide to be sensible, embrace the "new year, new me" cliché, and ditch the naughty fats. Now, before you picture me gnawing on carrot sticks like a prize-winning rabbit, let me clarify. I'm no saint. Chips, those crispy golden devils, were my lifeblood. But let's be honest, staring at a bulging belly button that could rival a beach ball wasn't exactly doing my self-esteem any favours. So, I took the plunge, ditched the chippie, and embraced jacket potatoes and brown rice. I'm even tempted to try Quinoa.  Cutting out chips, the lifeblood of any self-respecting Cumbrian bloke, was like kicking a loyal sheepdog. But hey, needs must, and al

Cod Liver Oil: My Mam Was Right!

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For the past 15 years, I've been popping cod liver oil capsules like they're Smarties. Now, before you picture some wizened old git with a beard longer than Gandalf's staff, let me assure you, I'm no stranger to a decent vindaloo or a cheeky chippy tea. But there's summat to be said about this fishy elixir that keeps me feeling reyt grand, even when the Cumbrian weather's doing its best impression of a washing machine on spin cycle. It all started with my Mam, bless her soul. She used to swear by the stuff, claiming it'd ward off everything from the common cold to a zombie apocalypse (though, in fairness, that last one might have been a dramatised tall tale). But hey, if it kept her sprightly into her mid eighties, who am I to argue? My Mam used to take the oil by spoon. I'm not that brave. Capsules are my preferred delivery system.  Now, I know what you're thinking: "Cod liver oil? Isn't that what they spoon-fed to us whippersnappers back i

A Bicep Odyssey: Not Quite Arnie Arms

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We all know Father Time is a cheeky sod, but recently, his pranks have crossed a line. He's been fiddling with my grip strength, turning everyday tasks into an episode of "I'm a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here!" Door handles morph into greased eels, milk cartons become sumo wrestlers, and don't even get me started on jar lids – those things are now Fort Knox with a side of super glue. So, I've decided to try to do something about it, with Bicep Curls. Aye, I hear ya. Some might scoff at the notion of me even thinkin' about exercise with this snotty symphony goin' on in me head . But, as long as this ailment's confined to the top deck, like a rogue seagull nesting in me noggin, exercise is still on the menu. I'm a firm believer in movin' me body, even if it's just a gentle stroll or some tai chi (joking) in the back garden. After all, a bit of fresh air and gettin' the blood pumpin' never hurt no one, right? Just don't expect

Sinusitis: Nasal Niagara and a Throbbing Noggin

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This morning, I bring you a tale of woe, snot, and enough decongestant to fell a rhino. Yes, I've been struck down by the dreaded sinusitis , that merry prankster of the head colds. Imagine this: you're nestled in your bed, dreaming of fields of daffodils and fluffy sheep (cos, you know, Cumbria), when all of a sudden, your nose decides to reenact Niagara Falls. Next thing you know, your head feels like it's been repeatedly thumped by a Morris dancer's clog, and your Garmin watch, that little electronic snitch, informs you your resting heart rate has taken a nosedive (pun intended, sorry not sorry).  Yep, folks, that was me last night. Sleep? More like a restless battle against a tidal wave of mucus and a throbbing noggin. Paracetamol has become my best mate, sinus tablets my new religion, and tissues? Well, let's just say Kleenex should send me a lifetime supply. Now, I know what you're thinking: "Cheer up, it's just a cold!" Aye, you lot are righ

I Mailed My Masterpiece: Bowel Cancer Screening

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Let's face it, folks, poo isn't exactly the topic you bring up at a swanky dinner party. But hey, guess what arrived in my mailbox today? Yep, the NHS's dingleberry testing kit for the big B – bowel cancer. I've been patiently waiting for the kit to arrive after receiving a (turtle) heads-up , just over a week ago, and now it's all systems go! Now, I'm no stranger to a bit of self-deprecation, so I decided to embrace the, ahem, unique opportunity and document my bowel-screening escapade for your (hopefully) amusement and education. We're about to get down and dirty... in a metaphorical sense, of course. The kit itself looked innocent enough – a cardboard box with a reassuringly clinical blue logo. Inside, however, lay the tools of the trade: a little plastic spatula that resembled a fancy ice cream scooper (minus the sprinkles, thank goodness), a vial that could've held a genie's wishes (if the genie had questionable hygiene), and instructions that,

Postman, Brace Yourself: I'm About to Deliver a (Hopefully Not-So-Grim) Package

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This mornin', my letterbox sported a special delivery: an invitation to the Great British Poo Parade, otherwise known as Bowel Cancer screening. Now, I know what you're thinkin' - "Ew, why's he blathering on about bodily functions?" But hear me out, because this ain't your average gossip about last night's vindaloo. See, bowel cancer is a right git of a disease, but the good news is, if we catch it early, it's more scaredy-cat than snarling lion. That's where this screening comes in. It's a doddle, really - a quick swab of the, er, undercarriage, pop it in a discreet little envelope (no need to decorate, the lab appreciates plain packaging), and off it goes to the testing fairies. Think of it as a VIP invitation to the "Colon Coliseum," where they give your insides a thumbs up or a friendly nudge in the right direction. Now, I'm not gonna lie, the postman might need a heavy goods vehicle for my contribution. Let's just say

Running: I Finally Got Off My Duff and Went for a Jog, and Let Me Tell You, It Wasn't Pretty

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Well, folks, I did it. I finally managed to drag my sorry carcass off the sofa and go for a jog. Now, before you start picturing me gracefully gliding down the country lanes like some gazelle in Lycra, let me disabuse you of that notion right now. It was more of a shambolic shuffle, punctuated by wheezing gasps and the occasional whimper of despair. But hey, I did it! And you know what? I'm actually quite proud of myself. After all, it's been, well, let's just say a while  since I last attempted anything resembling exercise. Back in the day, I used to be a bit of a running machine, pounding the pavements with the best of them (15-20 mile a week). But then, life happened. Injuries struck, motivation waned, and before I knew it, I was about as likely to be found running as I was to win the lottery (which, let's face it, is also highly unlikely). So, what made me finally change my ways? Well, to be honest, it was a combination of things. My jeans were feeling a bit snug (a