Having had (almost) everything done for me during the last three months it only seems appropriate, given the content of this instalment, that I write it myself. Here we go with my second blog...
Last week was always going to be busy but it turned out to very positive, too. In between 'Homes Under the Hammer', new favourites 'Get the Builders In' and 'A Place in the Sun' I had to fit in the usual on line meetings, emails and the odd phone call with three separate hospital appointments.
Tuesday morning was the first with Dr L. Routine in nature, but with the usual banter, I learned that Dr L's husband is a ginger and carrying quite a lot of 'holiday weight'. Having previously learned that he had given Dr L a steam cleaner as an anniversary present I'm beginning to build quite a picture of him in my mind...
Thursday was always going to be more interesting. Starting with a CT scan in the morning I was scheduled to see the jovial Irish Mr M in the afternoon for his verdict on pelvic improvement since our last get together three months earlier. With almost three hours to kill between the two appointments I slumped on a sofa in my brace with crutches to one side and read about Brexit. Bang on time at 2pm (benefits of private cover!) my name was called and I struggled to my feet, grabbed my bag and crutches and swung off down the corridor in search of a pelvic update.
And what an update. It turns out that the last three month's inactivity was not in vain. Bone growth was described as very good and my brace, along with the crutches, could be consigned to history. I enquired whether I could drive and return to work? Yes, came the answer, 'as long as I was sensible'. And cycling? The outcome of the ensuing negotiation was back on the turbo trainer in a month, riding proper in three. Done!
Striding out of Mr M's consulting room and through the waiting area with my brace under one arm and crutches under the other I felt something of a fraud under the gaze of those who'd watched me hobble in the other direction half an hour earlier.
With an appointment the following day at UCLH in central London I'd arranged to doss down at my sister's cottage in Ewell. As ever, it was a pleasure to see her and her man. My sis is a committed vegan and, much like Harry Enfield's Smashie & Nicey who did a lot of good work for charity, she doesn't like to talk about it. Still, dinner was excellent and very tasty.
UCLH, in the heart of the congestion zone, is a sod to get to and even worse to park at. Being ahead of time is usually advantageous but when parking is limited to two hours arriving an hour early for an appointment of unknown duration is problematic. Driving round in circles for thirty minutes before parking and heading in was the answer and, as the day before, the private patient is seen on time. This time there wasn't really news, more an explanation of the treatment plan. A single dose of chemo followed by eight days of injections before a stem cell harvest, Then either two or four weeks of daily radiotherapy. All no doubt necessary but not quite as appealing sounding as the previous day's progress report.
So with a hair cut, a beard trim and 'Homes Under the Hammer' set to record it's back to work and three days in Coventry this week. Be careful what you wish for, eh?
