I am not sure where to start this week.

I could tell you that we went to Cornwall. We did.

I could tell you my resolution to get back to some pre-buggered-spine fitness, lose weight, swim and be ready for the  start of open water in April….failed.

I could tell you that the test results so carefully collected in London last week, got lost. Yes they did.

The consultant microbiologist herself, rang, to apologise. I cannot believe these things always happen to you. She said. Do not fret. I said. It always does go wrong.

In the olden days supermarkets could quickly and securely get cash away from trading floors to their cash office using a sort of big specimen jar that could be shoved up the vacuum tube by the tills. These systems have generally been superceded now. Except in NHS hospitals. It would seem that my 11th of March blood sample seems to have got wedged in the vacuum until the 19th of March. Goodness only knows where the urine has got to.

On Wednesday 20th, this week a panicky Registrar from the hospital rang to speak to me. In short, he had my 11th March, blood test results. They showed various issues not least a lack of sodium. Was I ok he asked? Would I go to hospital straightaway...Please. He pleaded. I did not!.

I now know that the sodium levels would have meant I was needing immediate ICU admission . It seems the blood had gone off whilst journeying through the labyrinth of vacuum tubes.

In the midst of all this fun, I was sorting some stuff in Cornwall. There is no phone signal there. However, speaking over fence post 5, outside, in a howling wind tunnel type gale. Jerome and I discussed my situation. We made a plan which involved me going into hospital. Filling up with iv antibiotics. Having an anesthetic to allow him to get a suprapubic catheter in. So that is what I did. It is in. It is working. Hospital was ok. Fantastic night nurse Rach, who announced my room and I, looked like a butchery blood bath , after a catastrophic cannula change by a doctor. Day nurse Ali…hilariously telling me stories of consultant strops. Then of course there was Jerome. Chatting away, discussing electric cars with my youngest, BFG . Extolling the virtues of electric over diesel for London congestion charges with D. He boosted Daughter 2 with wise words about NHS hospitals and made me laugh so much I had to reach for the puffers. Brought me a nearly flat white coffee one morning and made sure my curtains were open, my warm water jug was within reach and moved my oh so dreadful operating gown pack out the way. Incidentally, Daughter 2 proudly put the infamous paper knickers on her head. I laughed so much at the sight but laughed even more when I realised she really really thought they were a shower cap!!!

I was only ‘inside’ for 48 hours and now home, away from the security of hospital, I am getting the hang of new bags, tubes, day, night, apparatus. Waking at 3 am thinking it was all leaking. It was not. Hiding one damp leg behind the front door whilst I chatted to lovely neighbour. Bloody leaking down my leg? bugger. … ..I have of course done all this before. But as ever, selective amnesia has crept in. How the hell do I change the dam valve thing on the day -to -night bag wotsit. argh.

down the tube

by BoariJ