Should I stay or should I go?
Wednesday 29 May 2024
Ironically, I slept exceptionally well. Note to self - I must adopt the Spike Milligan approach and get ill more often! (the old genius nutter did actually say that to me when I worked at Bupa) .
However, it was clear that the drooping of both my eyelid and mouth had increased. There was simply no dodging a very difficult decision. The answer was blindingly obvious. I had to get to hospital, and if necessary get scanned. From there it would have to be hospitalisation or home. Despite constantly trying to tell myself that it was Bell's Palsy, more sinister thoughts could not be suppressed. That drove anxiety, and ultimately, no matter how much it cost, the yearning to just get back home. I also had the dilemma of what, and when, I could communicate anything to Cate. She remained blissfully unaware of my predicament, on a two day walk along the Kennet & Avon Canal near Bath.
Blissfully unaware near Bath
Aly arrived to check on me. It was with a heavy heart that I had to tell him that I wouldn't be going out to Mary; and that I needed to get scanned. I think he was expecting it, as he'd already sorted things with the hotel. He said that someone from his his company would be with me in a couple of hours to take me to the hospital. So it was farewell to the rest of the group. I got a bit tearful with the girls. They had been so genuinely caring and concerned - they could not have done more for me. If they were my kids, I'd be so proud of them (and if they read this, I hope they show what I've written to their parents). Just exemplary human beings. Charlotte, bless her, had a tear or two as well - no doubt what was happening to me had stirred memories of her trauma in Khiva last year.
Shortly before 10am Lachym, from DN Tours (the local agent), arrived. I could tell immediately that she had a really kind demeanour, and would look after me well. Irrespective of that, it was with a great degree of trepidation that I left the hotel. She said that we were going to a Hospital that specialised in Cardiac issues. Rather odd, but I wasn't going to argue. Like everywhere else in Ashgabat, the Hospital was a big white, modern building; glistening in the morning sunshine. I entered with trepidation, expecting to see a certain amount of squalor with third world level carnage and chaos - people everywhere, racing around noisily, and a degree of aroma. What a total snob! In fairness to me I could have easily been describing any UK A & E department after years of brutal under-investment in our shambolic Health Service. Oops, I may have displayed a touch of political bias there. Oh well, luckily I'm not the BBC, so won't have to spend the next week self-flagellating, and saying "beat me harder please master"!
It is in fact spotless, and a sea of calm. It's like a top London Private Hospital. Am I in the Wellington at St. John's Wood? I'm half expecting to see jaunty red-faced old boys walking past wearing blazers and striped red & yellow MCC ties on their way to Lords.
There are people waiting patiently sitting on sofas. We find the right area, and I watch a steady stream of people entering and leaving a number of Doctor's offices. As one patient leaves a particular office Lachym leaps up and puts her foot in the door to speak to whoever is in there. A minute late she beckons me over to the room. I have to say that I feel awkward, as I appear to be jumping the queue; albeit not a large one. Bupa bastard!
The doctor checks my BP, and has a close look at my face, whilst Lachym translates me describing what has happened, and my symptoms, The Doctor says my BP is slightly high - not a shock though really? Then I hear a Turkish/Russian variation of the word "neuro" mentioned numerous times. Surely that is the right territory? As we leave, Lachym slips a 20 Manat note under a book on the Doc's desk! Once out of the room, she explains that we need to go to another hospital, a Neurology unit.
After trying to park at 3 different places, we present at another gleaming building, but alas it's the wrong one. Ten minutes later we enter a third towering white edifice. Yep, it's the right place, and we're directed to a waiting area that is as calm and luxurious as the one at the first place. The name plates by each door display in Turkmen, Russian and English who/what was in each room. Lachym quickly spots the one with the word "Chief" in the person's title. I'm not at all surprised when she knocks on the door and goes in. She emerges quickly. When a patient exits from the room next door to the "Chief", the young looking woman Doctor comes out and beckons me. I'm beginning to feel like Royalty. Except the Crown just didn't sit easily. Shut up Nodge, just bloody roll with it. Again the Doc goes through the symptoms, and seems fairly relaxed about my state. She decrees that I need to have an MRI scan, and is apologetic that as a non-Turkmen national, I'll have to pay for it. Assuming the price is not too mental, that's fine; I've brought all the cash I have (c$500 in a combination of Dollar and Manat notes. I also have £45 which includes a Clydesdale Bank £20 note FFS!) and my credit cards.
We go to another reception desk, and are booked in. I'm also relieved of $380 cash for the scan. It's Turkmenistan, of course they don't take plastic. Lachym hurries me to the scanner area, as apparently they go to lunch soon. Ten minutes later I'm in the scanner. Tbh I'm now really nervous - it's my Mum's fault, she hated the claustrophobic machines. How long does it take, I ask. Oh just three minutes the first person says, but then another injects - "about ten".Scheiss!
As I'm moved into the machine, they put a mask thing over my face, and tell me to stay completely still. I hate it. Breath, concentrate on breathing. Think about what you learnt on your recent front crawl course - out through the nose, and in through the mouth. Ten minutes feels like twenty, but eventually I gently glide out. It's done. The scanner operator speaks to Lachym, telling her that they've never scanned anyone for the UK before, and that initially things appear to look fine - it's very unlikely to be a stroke or TIA. I should be fine, if I want to fly home. However, come back in three hours to see the original Specialist I saw. She will go through the results. Oh yes! the relief is more than palpable. The ridiculous notion that had been rearing its ugly head could be put to bed - I wasn't likely to be having brain surgery in Ashgabat. I know it's a crazy notion, but your mind goes all over the place. Stupid senile old git!
Lachym calls the Turkish Airlines office, and yes there are seats on the 3am flight out of Ashgabat, and onward to London with a two hour layover in Istanbul. We drive to the opposite side side of the city and eventually find the airline office. Yippee! My joy doesn't last long as Lachym translates to me that I need to pay the near $1000 flight cost in cash - they don't take cards. Pass the f**ing swear box! Now what? The unhelpful Airline person says you'll have to book it online. Oh yeah, that's easy given that access to the friggin' internet is so bloody restricted! I'm thinking the only way around it is to turn on the expensive roaming and phone someone at home to see if they can book it for me. Lachym senses my frustration and says "let's go back to the company office. We'll sort something there".
The people at her office are incredibly friendly and welcoming. They're going to rig my phone up to a VPN that they have to use sparingly. After all, they are technically illegal. Within ten minutes I'm booked on the flights, and have reserved seats. Hallelujah!
We then head back to the hospital to see the Specialist. She's not there, but miraculously appears two minutes after Lachym pops her head in the Chief's office. The Specialist confirms what I wanted to hear. No brain damage, no stroke, and I'm good to go. There's a "prescription" (in Turkmen!) which I should get sorted when I get back to the UK, and a thick wad of paper containing notes and copies of the images of my brain. And just for good measure, there's a CD with the images on it too. A collectors item to go alongside my collection of Waterboys albums and boxed-sets.
As we leave Lachym suggests that it would be good to give the "Chief" a couple of hundred Manat (c$17 at the unofficial rate), as a token of thanks. Absolutely no problem. I've got loads of the bloody notes, and I'm not going to spend them all in the few remaining hours.
Lachym drops me back at the hotel, and says that my pre-booked taxi for Saturday morning has been moved forward. It'll pick me up at midnight. I give Lachym most of my remaining dollars. She has been a total star. Earlier in the day, she had said to me "you are a valued guest in our country, it's our duty as Turkmen to look after you in every way". That she did. I wanted to hug her, but just wasn't sure if it's the done thing. Thank you Lachym.
Now for something I'd really been dreading. Phoning Cate! The chances of her actually answering are remote - she always seems to have her phone on silent. Moreover her knackered old I-phone is also likely to be at the bottom of whatever bag she is carrying. Now, how do I broach the conversation?
Unbelievably she answers straight away - she's on a train into Bath. "Are you alright?" is her immediate question. "Err no, I've had a bit of a health incident, but I'm fine." before she can interject I continue. "The right side of my face has dropped and my speech is a bit slurred". Unsurprisingly she replies with "is it a stroke?". "No, I've been to hospital, I've had an MRI scan, and it's definitely not a stroke. I can use my arms and legs, and I can still dance". This seems to reassure her, so it's onto practical matters remarkably quickly. I've got an early flight home, could you pick me up at Heathrow at about 10.45 tomorrow?. "Yes I can do that, but are you well enough to fly?". To be honest, I was still pretty nervous about going up in the air - would being up there put additional pressure on my brain or head? Trying to sound utterly convincing, I responded with "absolutely yes, I'm fine". And that was it. She was left to process what she'd be told. Luckily, her friend was with her, and so she could discuss it, and hopefully come to terms with it.
And that was that for the day. The taxi arrived just before midnight, and I spent the evening reflecting on what a surreal 36 hours it had been. All I needed to do now was get through two four hour flights.
To the airport................
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