Medical mishap has Josie in a blind panic
A COUPLE of years ago Josie had a serious stroke. She was on holidays with her husband at the time and he called an ambulance and got her to hospital as quick as he could. She had a further two strokes in the ambulance, leaving her without speech or movement on her left side.
It was a horrid time for everyone, but she was well looked after in Cork University Hospital. It turned out her blood pressure and cholesterol was sky high but, with changes to her lifestyle, she has made a full recovery -- or so she thought.
Last week she noticed some flat, yellow marks above her right eye. She daubed on some Betnovate, which is a cream for reducing inflammation of the skin.
After a day or two she noticed it was getting worse so she asked her husband to have a look at it. Josie's husband works in a hospital.
Now, if you are married to someone who works in a hospital and you ask them to have a look at something that might be wrong with you, it can be considered in the same league as being married to a builder and asking him to put up a shelf.
Either the shelf never gets put up or, if it does, it will fall down within a week because he didn't use the right screws.
So it is being married to a medic. He'll have a look at your ailment and, because you are not as important as his patients, he'll prescribe the wrong screws.
"It looks like Xanthelasma," he said nonchalantly before rushing off to save someone else's life.
Josie immediately Googled said condition and was horrified to discover that Xanthelasma can be a symptom of high cholesterol, which in turn can lead to a stroke.
"I can't believe this," she cried in a voice that suggested she was more than slightly hysterical.
"What does your other half think?" I asked her.
"Him!" she shrieked. "He has sallied off to work without so much as a by your leave."
I told her to calm down and rushed straight around to her house.
I found her upstairs hyperventilating like a vegetarian in an abattoir as she lashed on the Betnovate the way Maggie lashes cream on her doughnuts -- with no restraint.
She also wasn't wearing her glasses. I picked up the cream.
"It's Voltarol," I said.
I showed her the tube. "You've been rubbing a cream for rheumatoid arthritis on your eye for the past week.
"So I'm not about to have another stroke," she said as she held her chest.
No, but she might give me one!