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Gall bladder
Sep. 12th, 2007 11:34 amOn the train on the way up to the Lake District on Monday I was sat next to an Indian man who has lived in Kendal for 43 years and told me all about my gall bladder. My mother is prone to complete strangers giving her urgent bulletins on their own health and that of their loved ones, and I appear to have inherited this special power.
One thing intrigued me, though: the day after the operation on his gall bladder—and I am unclear, as was he, about exactly what they had done to it—the doctor told him, “Because of the operation, you will find that you are feverish from 9am till around 10 or 11am, and from 5pm until 6 or 7pm, every day for the next two years”. Sure enough, he told me, that’s exactly what has happened to him for over a year now, and a feverish temperature twice a day is no good for a man of 65.
I ended up getting off at the same station as him and waiting for the same bus, along with his brother who had come to meet him. We were chatting when suddenly, mid-sentence, he cried out and tottered backwards, suddenly without balance. He was pale and dizzy. I grabbed hold of him and held him up while his brother fished around in his bag for his medication. I sneaked a look at my phone. His temperature had shot up at precisely 5pm.
Barring the possibility that the doctor was some kind of WITCH, what’s going on there?
One thing intrigued me, though: the day after the operation on his gall bladder—and I am unclear, as was he, about exactly what they had done to it—the doctor told him, “Because of the operation, you will find that you are feverish from 9am till around 10 or 11am, and from 5pm until 6 or 7pm, every day for the next two years”. Sure enough, he told me, that’s exactly what has happened to him for over a year now, and a feverish temperature twice a day is no good for a man of 65.
I ended up getting off at the same station as him and waiting for the same bus, along with his brother who had come to meet him. We were chatting when suddenly, mid-sentence, he cried out and tottered backwards, suddenly without balance. He was pale and dizzy. I grabbed hold of him and held him up while his brother fished around in his bag for his medication. I sneaked a look at my phone. His temperature had shot up at precisely 5pm.
Barring the possibility that the doctor was some kind of WITCH, what’s going on there?
