Monday the continuing email arguments with the Chair of one of the NHS panels I sit on. My final email on Monday was something like: I think we should draw a line under this. Email ping pong rarely leads to conflict resolution. I was quite proud of that one, dredged from my subconscious.

The rest of the week has been phone calls, waiting and waiting for phone appointments, taking the above arguments, to higher authority and, oxford comma, nightmares. Nightmares which seem all too real. Mind you Rishi must be in his own nightmare. Lizzie out. COP 27 on. King off. Coffey can self administer recycling or whatever job she has now got. Cruella making right wing more right wing. Hunt who oversaw the demise of the NHS, now has to pay for it. As for Hancock. What a total nincompoop. Private Eye has some easy material to use at the moment. My favourite this week is their ‘fake’ text messages:

Jeremy Hunt to Matt Hancock

I only screwed the NHS not a **** in the stationary cupboard. 

Back to my nightmares. It’s something like this. It’s a Tuesday. always a Tuesday. I am admitted to hospital. God of all surgeons is there. Jerome is there. Stents and Boaris. Psoas hitches and percutaneous nephrostomies, indwelling, disposable and suprapubic catheters. 

It relates of course to the years from 2009. For a brief reminder, it went something like this: 

Pre 2009 I ran a few km with the dog every morning.   Ran a couple of charity events and loved running. I ran in those quiet lovely moments before setting off to work/school . 

pre 2009 not one , yes not one, of my family ran anywhere. Rugby, cricket, hockey, netball, swimming….they did it all, but no running. 2009 was hysterectomy. Bleurgh.

2010 was very worried Ms Physio sending my CT disc to her partner in London. A senior Urological Surgeon. He asked his radiology colleagues for an opinion. The message came back. Admit this patient immediately. 

2010 operation to remove what was thought to be stones. None found. Stents. In. Stents. Out. Fevers. Eventually an operation. It turned out right ureter was obstructed. Mr Local surgeon decided to cut the ureter. Cut the bladder and sew it all up together again. He had not done this psoas thing before. The rest of 2010 was more of the above. Stones always suspected. Never found. 

2011 Mr Local surgeon sent me to see his colleague in London. That turned out to be Ms Physio’s partner. To her infinite delight. He, I think you may have guessed turned out to be G.O.D. of all surgeons. It was he who re-did the whole psoas, boari, hitch, perc, stent stuff. It was he who asked his ‘stent man’ to change my stents. That was  Jerome. Who didn’t even know who, what, why I was to be operated on by him . A phone call sorted that out. Not without much laughter.

The rest of the story goes on much the same. But, now, why these nightmares? 

It could just be because, in a stomach churning déjà vue sort of scenario, that this Tuesday, I am going back into the same hospital in London. Train strike or not I’ll be there by 7 am. Just like before. Just like before, G.O.D and Jerome will be there. I hope. The idea this time is to check out the remains of the ureter which in April, 2022,was spotted to be a bit weird, on an MRI image. The NHS cannot seem to get that looked at. Insurance won’t cover it. I have to pay for it. I need to get this sorted. To move on. Mr G.O.D will also bung in some botox. Jerome will sort out a clever antibiotic protocol we have both read up on.

But it’ll be easy . Quick . No big deal. Nightmare will be over. 

Finally. I have from time to time got on a treadmill over the years. Trying to regain some of the old running -fitness- feeling. Swimming is easier but not quite the same. The rest of the family are running. Yes, running. They sprint. Park Run. Triathlon. Marathon. Run. Run. Gawd. 

I started the couch to 5k programme  at some point. Well I have started it and got to week 4 or 5 so many times. Another infection. Another broken bit of foot, knee, spinal disc, lungs! paused progress. ..Bloody hell it’s meant to take 9 weeks, I think it’s been 9 years! Anyhow today…guess what? I finished the programme. By week 9 you get to run 5k in about 30 minutes. Three times. Today was run 3.  Yep.phew. I’m back in the running. Never give up.