Misdiagnosis

October started with a bang. We all needed a servicing. The house heating system, a big red Stanley cooker and boiler had its annual service ahead of the chillingly cold Irish winter. The car clocked up its first 30,000 kilometres and required a service and the hand brake required tightening. My wife visited the doc and had her blood pressure tablets changed and dosage increased. Her cholesterol came in very high at 7 and she exited with another prescription.

It was all rounded off with a visit to her much older sister who at 71 was recovering from the removal of an entire kidney. They’d intended just taking a biopsy but on the day whipped the whole thing out. We visited the Saturday afternoon, a month after the operation and thank God found her and her husband in a relatively good state of health and mind.

“How did they spot her cancer of the kidneys?” I asked as we drove homewards.

“Oh – it was in her urine – her pee. It was red which meant there was blood in it. Your kidneys manufacture your urine.”

“Hmmm” I answered thoughtfully. Apparently a lot can be learnt from the colour of your urine.

We carried on home and the next day I looked out the kitchen window to see the damage caused by the first storm of the winter. 140 Kilometre per hour winds had lashed the house and garden the previous night. The grass was covered in broken branches and leafs torn from the trees. My ride-on shed’s felt roof had a large chunk torn off and chucked onto the concrete below. The new ponds dug out in the summer had experienced their first heavy downpours of rain water and the water had got under the liner so the bottom came floating to the top. It was chaos and with a gap in the bad weather I took out the ladder and mounted the shed roof to tack back the loosened piece. I then coated it in tar paint and added a roll of tar “cellotape” to triple proof it against happening again. I addressed the other issues as the sun appeared and we had a bright sunny day.

Next on our list was to harvest the vegetables we’d grown in the poly tunnel and soon a basket was filled with tomatoes, radishes, parsley, sage and beetroot. My good wife didn’t hang about with the beetroot and before the day was out the pressure cooker was spitting steam and they were cooked. They cooled and were sliced up for tea that night. I must confess I love beetroot and during the day while working in the garden I popped in a few times and nibbled at the it as it cooled in the kitchen.

The salad we enjoyed that evening was amazing. I don’t know if it was the work in the garden but I was very hungry and ate a hearty meal. Knowing the vegetables are all organic probably adds to the pleasure of eating. A few wickedly fattening cashew nuts added to the flavour and ensured I left not a nano particle on the plate.

The good weather stayed about for the next day or two and my roofing work seemed to have done the trick. Reluctantly we left our country home and drove to Dublin on the Wednesday. In Dublin upon our arrival I used the toilet. Once done I turned around to flush the contents away but found that the bowl was filled with blood red water. I said nothing to Miriam but I was worried by it. I had a rather sleepless night. I felt physically fine but maybe that’s true for everyone with cancer of the kidneys? At 6.30am I was up and in the toilet again. Again the contents of my toilet bowl were red. Now I was seriously worried. I had to share it with her.

“Have you a minute?” I asked as she exited the bedroom. Normally I know better than to approach the Grinch before a first coffee and cigarette but it indicates to you my degree of worry. I was prepared to take the chance.

“What for?” she replied with a slight irritation in her voice.

“To look at my toilet bowl” I answered.

“Mark – I’ve seen one. You know when you’ve seen one – you’ve seen them all.”

“No Miriam – I mean – can you take a look at my ….. pooh”

“Well why didn’t you say so?

I can’t wait. I suppose you say this to all the girls

Lead on”

She took one glance at my red offering and roared laughing. I looked at her quizzically.

“Mark – mines the same!!”

“Does that mean we both have cancer of the kidney?”

“No you fool – It’s the beetroot”

“We both ate the beetroot”

So let this be a lesson to all you amateur doctors out there. Never self diagnose. I’ve learnt my lesson. However the lesson may also be to ease up on the beetroot. Your choice .