Eish! London 10 - 11 May

Sunday, 10 May – Eina! (That’s Afrikaans for Ouch!)

No, it wasn’t ‘Eina!’ because of a ‘rough night’; it was ‘Eina!’ because of a broken heater. We woke up rather late, as would be expected after the night we had had, and then started getting ready after our ‘what-is-in-the-fridge?’ breakfast of cheese on toast. I was last on the shower list and made up the couch and had some tea while I was waiting. Now London’s bathrooms are generally little nook and cranny bathrooms where there is often no space to move, a general echo of the tight little toilets one would find in a train station or a low star hotel where you can stand in the middle and use all the facilities by turning through 360°. This bathroom was one such bathroom. I had a fantastic shower and then cuddled into the towel that had warmed on the very hot heater; then I turned to face the mirror to dry myself properly and as I bent down to dry my leg, my backside connected with the dysfunctional 200° heater and made the connecting sizzling sounds, leaving me in phenomenal third degree pain.

There I was stuck in this little bathroom in pain, with no medical kit and no toiletries, and skin that had melted off my rear, yes, in extreme pain! What do you do? I hardly knew Emma; and Marilyn and I are go-out-dancing-friends. How could I go out there and ask: "Hi, would you two please check out my arse?" or "Sorry guys, the heater has burnt me, can you put some crème on?"! My self-control was phenomenal - in my panic I hadn’t even screamed - I froze, but maybe screaming would’ve been easier than trying to make embarrassing requests! How could that heater be so ridiculously hot? Why didn’t I pay attention to my really hot towel? Stupid Shannan, Stupid!

I meekly tried to get changed; pain searing against the fabric. Oh greatness, what to do? I can’t travel on the tube like this! I open the door and the two of them are chatting across the passageway in the kitchen. Here goes: "Guys?"

"Hi, are you done?"

"Um, yes, but there is a bit of a problem. Emma do you by any chance have some burn crème please?"

They look at me quizzically. Emma says, "No, why?"

How embarrassing! "I’ve burnt my arse."

Emma almost died. She was so apologetic and agitated; apparently the heater had been malfunctioning for a while and it was supposed to have been fixed.

I showed the two of them my new vertical branding and they were horrified; Marilyn got some ice out the freezer for me and I sat with that for a while. Towel and ice applied to burn. It was so unpleasant all round. I didn’t even have burn medicine or equipment back at the house and they had nothing in the flat. You know when things are going really badly and you think they couldn’t possibly get worse? Well this is when my phone rings and I don’t know the number. Sitting on one butt cheek, with two unsure ladies watching me, I answer the call. It’s the manager, or director, or someone from the disorganised agency phoning in connection with my unimpressed, ‘take-me-off-your-books’ email. Could anyone have worse timing? And on a Sunday!

She was phoning because my email had been forwarded to her, but she had been away and could only respond now. She was phoning to hear my side of the story. She was phoning to understand what had gone on; and I’m sure she said other things whilst I was flabbergasted at being stuck on one cheek and having a business call on a Sunday! Did they want to irritate me more, was that the deal?

I tried to focus, I rattled off about how unimpressed I was with their service and I told her about the payment story and that they had not kept their word, but they lied to get me to do something. I recall her saying that it was shocking and I needed to give them another chance and it would all be rectified and the money would be paid to me (ha ha I still haven’t received it as I conclude editing this book!). I was not interested, I was in pain. So I’m pretty sure I said "Fine, fine. Whatever you need to do that’s fine," in a very distracted, possibly rude and unhelpful way; but I was in pain! Who phones on a Sunday? Ridiculous! I blacklisted the company for many months thereafter.

Reeling from the call, I had to get going and get to the station. It was the most uncomfortable tube ride I have ever had, as well as the slowest pace I have ever walked between tube lines. Man, I never want to be in that situation again!

Monday, 11 May

I should have been working today, but after because I couldn’t lie comfortably I hadn’t slept and there was no way I was going to be able to properly teach a class all day, never mind maintain discipline. I needed to get to a doctor to get something for the pain and the seeping.

I went to the same surgery I’d tried to register with before. I explained I needed a doctor rather urgently and they explained that I wasn’t on their books, so I was not allowed to see their doctors. I asked if I could register and they gave me the times and told me I had to come back again on those days.

"I’ve already taken leave to register and now I need to take more?"

"Sorry," said the lady behind the glass window, "That’s the way it works. You will also need your passport, proof of residency and a bank statement, if you want to register here."

I must have looked in pain because evetually she gave me directions to a place called a: Walk-In-Centre. It was in Wembley and I could catch a bus there. Apparently it was a short walk from the bus stop. I left irritated, but at least I had an option. Thank goodness it wasn’t something more serious than a 3rd degree burn.

I went up to the Preston Road High Street and the pharmacist gave me some burn bandages and painkillers; he said that I really should go to the Walk-In-Centre because it sounded serious. I went home and put on a bandage as the chafing was killing me, and then I went and waited for the bus that headed to Wembley. Unfortunately the receptionist gave me the bus number that didn’t go to the centre, so the walk was a long one to the back entrance, whereas the other bus would have taken me to the front. Oh the joys when you are relying on other people for help.

The Centres are great in that you don’t have to be a resident, or be registered with the hospital to use them, they are not so great in that it’s a first come first serve queuing system and everyone goes there. I waited over an hour to get to the doctor, who prescribed Vaseline. Vaseline? No way was I going to put Vaseline on my burn! She disinfected the wound and put on a special crème with a large bandage which I had to leave on for a few days. I asked for a waterproof bandage too, which she thankfully put on. I wouldn’t be able to handle not showering for a few days. Gross.

I also went and got some hot pants underwear to make my life way easier, and some tissue oil, I believe the best option for a healing burn. Once again, I never want to be in this situation again.

I eventually had all the right documents and times and I did register with the surgery and we set the ‘joining appointment date’ for the 2nd of June.