Regarding Baron Guillaume Dupuytren ...

 

Baron Guillaume Dupuytren
(1777 -1835)

 This French anatomist and surgeon is best remembered for having treated Napoleon's haemorrhoids.

He also described this condition, known eponymously as Dupuytren's contracture ...

 

 

In some cultures this could be perceived as a rude gesture.

Above, you see St. Anley's ageing left hand, with the characteristic deformity of fixed flexion of the little finger.  This has become rapidly more apparent since the beginning of the year. There is also some thickening involving the flexor tendons of his ring and middle finger.

St. Anley, having trawled earlier medical knowledge, and after consulting wikipedia, knows what it is. It will only get worse.

"Please may I have an appointment to see my GP?" asks St. Anley on the telephone.

"Of course," replies Tracey, (now a medical receptionist.)
"Come along at 7.30 in the morning."
(Gosh, these doctors work long hours these days.)

My GP's surgery just after sunrise.

The consultation proceeds thus:

• Doctor: "You have a Dupuytren's contracture."
• St. Anley: "I know."
• Doctor: "It will only get worse."
• St. Anley: "I know. What can be done?"
• Doctor, becoming animated: "Surgery!"
• St. Anley, anxiously: "Will it hurt?"
• Doctor, with considerable glee: "Undoubtedly!!"
• St. Anley, with furrowed brow: "Is it life threatening?"
• Doctor, becoming impatient: "There is the highly regrettable risk that you will survive!!!" (I think this doctor doesn't like me.)
• St. Anley: "What's the recovery time?"
• Doctor: "Oh, about three months."
• St. Anley, dejectedly: "How will I be able to play my musical instruments?"
• Doctor: "Badly!"

... No change there, then!

Don't worry, I've got a screwdriver ...

Mrs. St. Anley takes her mobile phone to bed with her.

As St. Anley emerged from the shower on Monday morning, Mrs announced from her bed, “I’ve just ordered a new deep-freeze!”
She then went on to express amazement at her ability to spend money while still half asleep.
“It will be delivered on Thursday.”

As Thursday approaches St. Anley begins to wonder where it will go in the house.
“I’d like it upstairs in the tiny spare bedroom,” Says Mrs. St. A.
“How big is it?”
St. Anley studies the dimensions on-line.
“No way … it won’t go round the corner at the top of the stairs.”
“OK, we’ll move the kitchen dresser … err … somewhere, and have it next to the fridge in the kitchen.”

Much given to considerable morbid anticipatory anxiety worthy of a sufferer of OCD, he studies the dimensions again.
“Will it go through the front door?”
Width = 665mm.
St. Anley measures the door aperture - 690mm. Should be OK.

On Thursday afternoon, having created an adequate space in the kitchen, a large van arrives outside the house and St. Anley greets two cheery strong-men.

“Freezer for you, Sir!”

Then the fun begins …

Yes, it fits through the door frame, but that door handle is in the way.

Fit the best ...
Fit Everest.

“Don’t worry,” says St. Anley, “I’ve got a screw-driver. I’ll take it off.”
“Hmm …this is a bit stubborn.”

PING & POING … several springs of formidable strength scatter about the front porch.

Whoops!

 

“That’ll do fine,” smiles one of my strong men.
St. Anley considers the prudence of this exercise.
They manoeuvre the item through the front door.

Then, we come to an inner door ...
“It won’t go through that.”
“Don’t worry,” replies St. Anley, (worrying all the time,) “I’ve got a screw-driver. I’ll take it off its hinges.”

Heave-ho again … “No,” announces second strong man, “That architrave will have to come off too.”

St. Anley imagines total destruction of his home and considers sending the item back.

Cheerful strong man observes, “I notice you have a back passage.”
( St. Anley avoids the temptation to respond, “You’re not putting it up there!”)

Second strong man is now becoming grumpy: “We have a schedule to keep, you know.”

Now, please understand, the ‘back passage’ is a narrow alleyway at the side of the house.
It has a badly fitting wooden gate.
“Don’t worry,” replies St. Anley, “I’ve got a screw-driver. I’ll take it off its hinges.”
Side gate disintegrates into firewood.

More heave-ho, and via the back door the freezer is finally positioned next to the fridge in the kitchen.

Strong men depart, one with a cheery smile, the second with a disdainful grunt.

“Hello, Everest,” (St. Anley imagines it’s Tracey again,) “I’ve done a silly thing …”

“Yes," says Tracey, “No problem. I can have an operative to mend your front door handle there tomorrow.”
“Now, can I have your credit card details … it’ll cost you £99.00.”

There are several lessons here:

1. Never allow your wife to use her mobile phone in bed.
2. Never interfere with an Everest door handle.
3. Never admit to possession of a screwdriver.