Padfoot - The Last Chance Saloon.

Pictured in happier times - he used to like the smell of my shirt!!


My Padfoot is in hospital tonight - the first time he has been away from me since I had him.
He underwent X-Rays, blood tests and a scan in the hospital today and five vets examined the results. Between them, they "think" they have found two "masses" in/around his guts. There is also, apparently, a problem with his liver.
The only way forward is for them to open him up to see what is going on and so tomorrow he will undergo an exploratory operation.
The vets say that if tumours are found and they are inoperable then he should be put to sleep once and for all on the operating table. I have refused permission. I am going to the hospital at 8am tomorrow to be with him and make sure everything goes as I want it to go.
The first problem is Pad is 10 years old - relatively old for a pedigree - and so there is a big risk he will not survive the operation. If he does and there is something which can be done, it will be. If there is no hope I will be bringing him home to spend his last days at home with me.
I am sorry to bore regulars who tend to expect comedy on this Blog. It is appallingly self-indulgent, I know, but it helps to put this down in writing.
Many thanks to all of you for your kindness and supportive words. If everyone, here, in the States, in Australia, in Croatia - wherever - could just say a little prayer for him tomorrow - or, for us non-believers, a few words of hope - it would certainly do no harm.
Thank you all again. Fingers crossed for my beautiful boy.

You'll Have Had Yerr Teeeeeea?

For those of you who have not yet finished dinner, here is a photo of my leg again, only this time revealing the results of the operation which have finally put paid to my chances of ever advertising for Pretty Polly.
On a plus note, the doc said all was healing well. Terry Tendon, it turns out, is still hanging in there and so, as a special reward, I have been given a brand new cast to last me for the next four weeks. Hurrah!
Now, get on with your meals.

Mr Knife Goes to Knee Land

Well, after only 24 hours' grace, I was back at the hospital again today to once more meet interesting new people - an A&E consultant, an orthopaedics doctor, an orthopaedics registrar and, finally, an orthopaedics consultant.




The upshot of this four hours of flesh pressing was that I now have new legwear, albeit slightly less sleek and sexy than my original Ann Summers support stocking.

Oh, and I almost forgot.............they managed to work out what was wrong with me - physically, that is, not psychologically. It turns out that, as the orthopaedic consultant explained it to me, "Terry tendon has snapped and come away from Nigel kneecap". How naughty of him, I said.
To rectify this latest mechanical mishap to hit Pither's otherwise highly-tuned, athletic and God-like body I have to go back to the hospital again - supposedly tomorrow - to undergo an operation which involves stitching up Terry and inserting a length of wire to stop him going walkabout again.
If the orthopaedic surgeon's hangover is not too acute, the anaesthetist can keep his hands off the theatre sister long enough and there is a temporary lull in the raging epidemic of MRSA then there is a chance I will pull through. I will then have four to six weeks of wearing a cast to look forward to before I have to return to the Theatre of Blood to have the wire removed.
Nothing for Grantham today - except possibly the sad, pathetic, shambling joke which is my entire existence at the moment! Oh, and self-pity as well.