T + 468. What a thoroughly decent chap.

01/06/2014

Haemoglobin: 8.0
WBC:              5.94
Platelets:        102
Neutrophylls: 5-3


Weight: 69.1kg

Well I suppose it had to happen sooner or later, after nigh on 6 years of stout, juicy and faithful service my veins have finally gone on the blink. Watching the nurses trying to canulate me over the past couple of days has been like watching someone pushing a bit of wet spaghetti around with matchstick. The little fuckers (the veins - not the nurses) will not stay still and most times when a needle does go in it exits the other side of the veins and blows it in a ball of blood because they're so squirmy. Anyway they ended up getting a registrar in to do it  -she was pretty impressive and soon got one jacked into the back of my left hand, so at least now I can do 'The Glove' as opposed to 'The Hitler' in the shower.

I've got two decent spots left on my arms, on the inside fleshy part of each elbow are two good veins which I save for the photo-pheresis (ECP) needles which are quite large.  They could use smaller needles but it makes the white-cell harvest procedure take much longer so I usually tell them to go with the bigguns to get it over with quicker.
Talking of which, I had another session of ECP over at Guys today and after the fiasco with the Kings College Transport system from the last time I was in, I decided to play it clever and tell them that my appointment was at 11am rather than the actual time of 12.30 in the hope that I would get there on time. My ruse was a stunning success and the porter arrived promptly at 14.30hrs to drive me twenty minutes to Guys. I could have fucking pogo-sticked there and back twice in the time it took them to get their act together.

So after the ECP (17.30 hrs by this time) I was in no mood for more of the same, so I went  into the despatch office at Guys (attracting the usual funny looks due to the  surgical mask and wearing sunglasses indoors) which was crammed to the gills with ill looking people waiting for transport and asked what the waiting time was. Upon being told it was 90 minutes, I asked them to cancel my booking and advised that I'd make my own way back. I figured a 5 minute walk to London Bridge Station then hop on a metro to Denmark Hill and bish bosh you're there. I'd just turned to walk out when the kid on the desk called across the crowded room that my ride had just pulled up outside. Cue virtually the whole room looking daggers at me because they'd obviously been waiting ages and had all seen me mince in. It probably looked as though I were some sharp elbowed self entitled twat who'd bullied my way into the queue.

Fuck'em I figure I'm owed a decent break with the transport for once.

Postscript: I've since found out that you can't get to Denmark Hill direct from London Bridge.

This entry demands a bit of a precis so bear with it.

This was not originally going to make the blog but I think it's just too funny and bizarre not to include even though I may have trouble making direct eye contact with some of  my more casual or formal acquaintances in future after they have read it. Apologies in advance to close family and friends for the 'too much information element' but if this is going to be a transparent record of my recovery then I think it should be told plus it's fucking hilarious.

50+ years on the planet, extensive travel and experimentation with many and varied consumables you would have thought that there's not much left to see that I would find genuinely jaw droppingly surprising. But here goes.

I woke up in bed the other morning with a black chap.

Before you jump to any conclusions I don't mean chap as in another person, I mean chap as in, you know a man's 'chap'. After my initial shock and whimpers I realised that it's another symptom of low platelets and all I can think of is that I must have dragged myself across the bed (a la dog scratching its' arse style) to get up and caught said chap beneath me in my pyjama trousers which caused the bruising and rather impressive change in hue. Totally harmless but as I say a bit of an eye opener - just for a second opinion I showed the (male) consultant and registrar when they did their rounds and they cleared the room faster than if I'd just asked permission to fart in their pockets.

It's rather like when you see those terrible pictures of  OAPs who have been beaten up by some little toerag for 50p. Blood content quality declines with age and platelet levels drop leading to less clotting which is why old people always end up with the very black purpley bruises - not that I'm saying my chap resembles an 80 year old mugging victim, although on the other hand....hmmmmm.

I will be keeping a keen eye on things over the coming days as I'm expecting the bruising to start fading first to a rainbow hue - which might allow me to set up a pay per view web page for the discerning bachelor and then to a pale yellow at which point I expect it to resemble the top half of a slice of battenburg cake.

BTW platelets and Hb are now at much more acceptable levels as I have had 3 units of blood since the chap squishing.