We’ve relied heavily on self-medication thus far to keep all our space crews in tip top tipsy condition. The slightest ailment, and they reach for the medicine cupboard to give themselves a shot of one of the space elixirs we put in the on board optics for them. And but for the occasional headache when they’re a bit slow administering the Buckfast, everything has always been fine. Until now that is…
At 7.10 last Wednesday evening, we received an urgent message on the distress channel – that’s the same as the normal channel, only you shout “help” before each message. Anyway, it seems, that due to the excessive self-medication, Dilywn now has a terrible attack of gout in his left foot.
It’s not easy to administer “there-theres” all the way to a spacecraft floating around near Jupiter, so we asked him to fax a photo of his poorly foot for our ground-based space doctor, Uncle Rhodri, to ponder. With no formal medical training other than that gained working in a butcher’s shop – until dismissed for inappropriate behaviour with a side of bacon – Uncle Rhodri recommended, as indeed he always does – for everything – immediate amputation.
Excising a hugely throbbing arthritic big toe is a difficult procedure at the best of times. But in micro-gravity and millions of miles from home and given the fact that the only cutlery on board is plastic spoons – we had to rely once more on Welsh Space Agency ingenuity to save the day…
We instructed Dilwyn to not feed Megan for 3 days, then, after a bottle of the medicinal Buckfast, he was to smother his errant big toe in bovril from the space pantry and whistle Meg through for supper. Lo and behold, two birds with one stone – Dilwyn’s gout has now gone and Meg got her first bone to chew since leaving earth. Result.
