My problem is that I’d like to take more exercise but my bad hip starts to ache quite quickly and I avoid walking whenever I can.
The beauty of this Walkit App is that I can choose a starting pont – near home or near where the bus stops – and look up the slowest 15 minute walk. I can only actually manage half of that before the pain is too bad, so I plan on walking only that much, but It does give me something to aim for.
Living as we do in Central London, walks per se can be fairly boring. This way, by having a goal I find interest in watching the steps pile up on my pedometer.
Of course I shouldn’t have worn those thick-soled shoes in the first place.
Memoir extract It was vanity, sheer vanity. I’d missed out on Doc Marten’s when they were all the rage and when I saw the thick-soled boots in the Ecco shop I couldn’t resist them. I should have given them to Oxfam after I tripped hurrying to get to the Post Office before it closed. That time I’d only skinned the palms of my hands and tore a hole in my jeans. When I tripped crossing the road in San Sebastian, I broke my hip. Continue reading WONDERFUL WALKIT APP→
This is my chest X-ray not my patient’s. If you looked very carefully on a proper viewing box you would be able to see the calcified lymph glands at the root of my lung. These are the ‘tombstones’ that indicate that I had symptomless tuberculosis as a child, as so many of my generation did. I might have got it from the ‘healthy’ milk I was sent to get from the dairy between Commercial Street and Valance Road. There you could buy unpasteurized milk, thought to be specially good for growing children and no doubt teeming with TB bacteria. Or I might have caught it from someone with open pulmonary tuberculosis. There were large ‘DO NOT SPIT’ notices everywhere to try to reduce the spread of TB.
My first post after I qualified in medicine was as a house surgeon in St Margaret’s Ear, Nose and Throat departments. We admitted patients for the Monday morning operating list on the preceding Sunday afternoon.
Excerpt from my memoir Woman in a White Coat Brian Turner was lucky he snored so loudly. His new wife had issued an ultimatum – get fixed or get to sleep in the spare room. His GP referred him to St Margaret’s and I admitted him one Sunday afternoon to have his adenoids removed next day. I was by now allowed to remove tonsils and adenoids under general anaesthetic in theatre. Removing adult adenoids was scrumptious, nice big adenoids to remove. Continue reading How I saved Brian Turner’s life→