Well here we go. 2026.

2025 ended as it had limped on – ambulance, blue lights, hospital and big intervention.

My amazing family created Christmas dinner. They were /are fantastic.

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The care and attention from the paramedics, the resus team, and the respiratory ward has been nothing short of extraordinary. Every medication given on time. Glucose checks every four hours. Oxygen monitored hourly, starting at ten litres — a level that brought me straight back to my Dad’s final days, which was bloody triggering.

Blood tests through the day and night. Nurses, consultants, registrars — always present, even on Christmas Day and the days that followed. Somehow still cheerful, still chatty, still reassuring, especially when the treatments caused the waves of nausea, sweating, shivering, and shaking.

When the oxygen mask left my face blistered, they immediately found something soothing to ease it. And when I mentioned wanting a shower, they didn’t hesitate — they appeared with warm water, wipes, and even a head-wash cap.

Their kindness, their consistency, their humanity… it has been unbelievable. Truly, absolutely remarkable.

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My brave brother and my brave daughter #2 — both of them facing fears I can’t explain here — still came. They showed up. Masks on. Isolation measures sorted. Claire came. Jo came. They brought grapes, picnic treats, mini cocktails(!) cold water ( instead -of -the warm- jug -out -of -reach) chatter , laughter and a kind of quiet courage that meant more than anything. They are, truly, the very best.

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Then once home I have daily calls from community respiratory team. I’ve even had the GP call

GP has been told to monitor anaemia potassium and magnesium. Bloods to be done. BP to be monitored.

Not only but also BARTs Severe Asthma Team have called. Updates. MDT. More tests on way. Appointment brought forward.

This is all brilliant.

. .

This one was critical. But the benign, as in not life threatening, the bladder, no updates from Dipstick, nor his team. No MDT. No MRI results. Nothing. Despite my cynical attempt to get involved by offering to assist with a clinical trial recruitment.

But that’s the benign issue — benign as in not life‑threatening — .



I can only quote Jerome: B9 ain’t fine. When you’re struggling to breathe, suddenly you’re on a “pathway” — a neat little tick‑box system.

But a bonkers bladder? Ah. That doesn’t fit any pathway.

what happens? If we ignore it… well, that seems to be the plan.