Well here I am in the CT- scan holding area; computers screens arrayed in long lines through a door to the left. A recorded american man’s voice booms through leaded doors behind me: ‘Breath in, hold your breath - breath out’. Fragments of conversation escape from other doors as I sip water and wait.
Then it’s my turn to go through the doughnut. I get a different one with a friendly male North of England accent. I never knew they came in such varieties. I wonder if they have names ? The Dumfries one sounds like the queen.
Finally comes the wait for the illusive porter - precious as gold dust. Twenty five minutes this time. It is the same one that brought me. I give him a friendly greeting and decide to break the ice and discover that Bert likes a nice bit of a joke on patients relatives and the maze of subterranean corridors which are his home.
The lead up to all this had not been so good. More sickness last night and again this morning trying to drink the trace liquid they need for a good scan. Plus another 38 O C temperature spike. Later today they swapped to a second alternative pair of antibiotics to see if they could nobble the little blighters causing the problem.
And so the day ticked by, one of gradual improvement from a very shaky start. Now it is dusk once more. Blog time.

Today started at 5 am. with a pounding headache. It seemed to be making sleep impossible so I decided to press for nurse. Francis came and took my temperature... it was 38.2 hence the headache. Some soluable paracetemol was gratefully recieved. When I woke again just before breakfast I was soaked in a feverish damp and had to change my top. But the rest of the morning progressed well and I felt bright enough to carry on with some more research and writing. And managed Tai Chi exercises after my shower. By late lunch I was whacked and so put on Jan Gabarek’s Rites and floated off into dreamland. Now I am staring at this screen and writing, one eye on the clock which tells me supper is barely 45mins away, and thinking I do not want to eat. While this other little voice in my head keeps urging me to have a go, knowing what the weight loss and muscle degeneration can be after something as major as this. Maybe I will just settle for a CalShake (fortified milk shake) this evening, they go down so easily compared with all the stinky savoury mush on offer here.

Did I really say: ‘and nothing happened’ yesterday ? I had barely published the blog when my temperature crossed the 38 centigrade ‘thin red line’ on two consecutive tests. That meant mobilising the emergency rescue plan. Another platelet transfusion plus two broad spectrum antibiotics to be administered every 6 hours; Piperacillin - Tazobactam and Gentamycin. They will continue for the next 4-5 days to see if they can head off what ever the problem is. Oh goodie ! Watch this space for more crazy antics in the life of Rodg. It is very humbling to consider how many people are devoting bits of their life to keeping me alive just now. I feel a great weight of responsibility to lead a life that reflects this when I eventually emerge on the other side.

And Nothing Happened

I really think we’ve got to the boring bit of this story. Our youngest son, Inigo, whilst at primary school, used to write a strip cartoon called ‘the adventures of Dilly Dan Doo. There was often a little blank white square interspersed amongst all these amazing shaded drawings that simply had the caption: ‘And nothing happened’

Yesterday I was sick, today I wasn’t. Yesterday I was wheeled across to the Gartnavel Hospital X-ray unit armed with nothing but a face mask. The whole grim grey building looks like the Maryhill slums: a massive slab of a tower block. I did not have long to wait before I was wheeled in and stood with my chin above the screen. They needed to check-out my lungs because of odd spikes of temp over the last 3-4 days. Then came the wait to get a porter to take me back - they are elusive as gold dust and grumpy to a man. After a half hour or so of listening to harsh coughs and wet sneezes emanating from every room and corridor in the vicinity I decided it might make a lot more sense to get back under my own steam. Alas I only made it as far as the end of the corridor before an “excuse me” hauled me back to my place damn it. Should just have dashed out the front door instead of trying to retrace my steps down to the tunnel. Well another 15 mins went by and at last a porter arrived wheeling in a grey-haired old lady. I gave him a friendly hail only to be met by a look from him that you reserve for what you normally cough into a handkerchief during a heavy cold. ‘And a merry christmas to you mate ! ‘ I muttered under my breath, as he stomped off without a word. Eventually the nice young irish lass that had actually done the X-ray took the initiative and wheeled me back, avoiding any crowded lifts. The whole adventure took well over an hour.

Today's results were inconclusive so they’ll just continue to be vigilant until Mondays X-ray meeting. What it has done , though, is to slow down their plans to throw me out of here at the minimum one month period. Things may be delayed by another week or so. ‘Thank God’ shouts Christine, who was getting in a total panic at their mutterings of discharge. She’s planning to be up again on Sunday having sort of caught up on the ‘mail mountain’, the laundry mountain, and the fluffy ‘can-I-have-a-cuddle?’ puss mountain.

Todays breakfast was quite bland compared with yesterday’s. The coloured stuff arrived much later....




....I stared at them and wondered if they were trying to tell me something

Another two bags of blood, late yesterday evening, has put a spring in my step today, lets hope it contunues. It was interesting to learn that from now on all blood that I recieve will be O+ve; All my life up to now I have been B+ve. So for quite a while to come I am going to have these two types swirling around together until the O+ve becomes the dominant at some unknown point in the future. Vive La France !

Christine has been very impatient regarding the falling out of all my hair. Today I was able to text her and say my beard is coming out in tuffts this morning. At last she’ll get to see this strange, other person she unknowingly married. I think you may have to wait a few days yet before you get to see a photo.

ps. Never heard a bang or saw a flash last night; only the faint hint of wood smoke coming in the air system. A strange bonfire night.

Day T.+14

Well wasn’t breakfast colourful this morning ?
I managed it though... but only just. Still feeling very washed-out and nausea not far off.
When the anti-sickness pills, arrived half an hour before lunch, I dutifully attempted the first wee white pill. In less than a minute it was back up again, drat it! So that was lunch a non-starter.

Christine came back in just after that minor setback: she had been vacating her room for the next poor sole’s stint of vigilance. She has been camping out in it for the past two weeks and fitting in visits to the laundrette and the local supermarket. She will be home for a couple of days and be back on Sunday. It’s bonfire night tonight... I wonder whether the odd rocket will stray into my little corner of sky?

And then a foot massagist just appeared in my room from the ‘Friends of the Beatson’. Totally magic treat for ma’feet. I can add that to my Indian head massage experience of a few days back. My toes are tingling.

Day 12

Maybe burning the midnight oil last night wasn’t such a good idea. I’ve been playing catch up all day. But it was great to have a brain for a couple of hours yesterday evening. I’m carrying a lot of onboard fluid at the moment - my legs look like tree trunks, with podgy toes sticking out the bottom. A good excuse to sit with my feet up and snooze.

The Neutrofil count was up again to 0.90, and platelets continue to go up. Definitely the first green shoots of recovery. I was allowed ‘out’ and took a brief trip through the airlock across the corridor to have a peep at the room where Christine has been staying for the past two weeks. She has a fantastic roofscape view. The trees are nearly bare, three weeks of leaf fall since I last saw them.