Hb: 9.4 (-0.3)
Wbc: 0.34 (-0.48)
Npl: 0.31 (-0.43)
Pl: 8 (-4)
Weight: 80.2kg
 |
| A leprachaun with some platelets (pictured yesterday) |
Well the numbers don't lie the drop off in blood content has been precipitous, I blew my nose this morning and started a nose bleed and if you've seen my nose you'll know that this could very quickly have become a life threatening scenario... anyway, it stopped after about 10 minutes or so and for once I forgot to mention anything about it. It wasn't until one of the nurses saw the bloody tissues in the waste that I was queried on it and in short order a bag of platelets arrived at my infuser and was gravity fed into me in pretty much straight away. Jeannette was present as I was loaded up and noted that it looked like I was being drip fed a bag of liquidised steak fat which sounds pretty damn good to me, so I've asked if she can sort that out for my birthday. Apparently bashes and bruises (especially bangs to the head) are very dangerous with low levels of platelets as the bleeds don't stop. So lesson learned.
Like many people, I have derived a lot of entertainment from Jamie Oliver over the years - not so much from his cooking or recipes, no, the source of my joy is the strangulated parpings that he rolls out of his mouth like popcorn kernels with his big fat macaw tongue - he truly is the love child of Keith Floyd and Freddie 'Parrot Face' Davis (google him).
The hint is in the title - karma is a bitch - sore mouth phase entered new territory overnight - Jamie Oliver territory. My tongue has been swapped out in the night for a half a chipolata - flopping around my mouth like a punch bag. All of a sudden it's 'dher' instead of 'the' 'woowar' instead of 'rural' and 'thobbing at Thainthburyth'. It's amazing how finely calibrated the change is, it's not as if my tongue has trebled or even doubled in fatness, probably about 3mm of swelling all round along with a bunch of ulcers in the roof of my mouth but still enough to turn my normal 'Poor Mick Jagger Impression' of a speaking voice into that of the Tilbury Dough Boy.
Now please don't get me wrong, I admire the chap for all his work with 'Fifteen' and school dinners and trying to make a stand against 'Big Food' it's just that the times during which my sense of humour and culture were formed (70's and 80's) deemed that personal quirks were to be seized upon and mercilessly lampooned. As stated, having a rather impressive endowment myself (nasally) and a widows peak hairline (more recently rechristened hair island) meant that I got quite a bit of gyp from Fatlips Posh Chris, Shortarse Colin, Fat Boy Fat and Snagglepuss Frankie.
So no malice - just ripping the piss - I'm off to work on my wecipes for theamed withe now.
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