06/06/2014 Friday
It looks like I'm going to be in here for a least another 4 days - blood tests show CMV reactivation so its back on the Valganciclo-alcopops for a few more days. On the plus side I've noticed that my Ciclosporin has been dropped by 25mg in the mornings so life isn't all shit sandwiches.
Sleep is still a very topsy turvy affair, it's coming up to 1am now and although my eyes feel like bullet holes I doubt I'll sleep for a good while yet. The problem with trying to catch up in the daytime is that even for an isolation ward this is quite a busy place - the nurses are in with meds every 3 hours or so and the orderlies do obs at 2-3 hour intervals. Add on to that the fact that most of the IV feeds last an hour, at which point the pump alarms and I'm not much starved of company for long.
I'm having a toot on the nebulizer just to open up those dilated bronchioles, I even experimented with the oxygen tap for a while for a bit of a dizzy buzz - it certainly makes the chest feel lighter and it's great to be able to take huge gasping unconstricted breaths again. The team here have stopped with the warfarin jabs to my stomach as my platelet count has dipped - due to the ganciclovir used to treat CMV, which means DVT stockings again. Emma the nurse on duty came to measure me up and I was surprised and perturbed to learn that my calves have got even smaller since I was last in here - I mean Jesus how skinny can a pair of legs get?
Jeannette got back from Aberdeen tonight (business) and tells me that the tree surgeon has finally been to get rid of a huge half dead cherry tree from the bottom of our garden, I had wanted the logs for our burner but the guy did it for such a low price that I thought WTF let him have them. J said it took a while for the penny to drop - she was looking down the garden and could see something was different - but couldn't put her finger on quite what. I'm looking forward to seeing the garden shaping up from Phil the garderner's good work and hoping that it has opened up our lovely view across the fields again. Have to admit it was getting to me a bit seeing the garden fallow and not feeling well enough to maintain it. The plan is for Phil to get it back on an even keel at which point I can take over the day to day up keep - he's not cheap but he works bloody hard.
Jeannette has finally conceded that we can also get rid of the pikey monstrosity that is the 10' trampoline at the bottom of the garden which currently serves as the repository for all the crap pumped out by birds that feed in the elderflower tree growing above it. It will be a true labour of love for me to dismantle the bloody thing and ship it to the dump in the disco. To give you an idea of the size - I anticipate at least two trips even with the back seats of the Land Rover down.
Next day...5am 07/06/2014 Saturday
Slept for about 3 hours, woke to peruse the papers online and start replenishing coffee levels.By 6.30am I felt like a rally car in a pitstop - one nurse and two orderlies in attendance, the nurse hooking me up to the first drip feed of the day one of the others taking obs and the third handing out my meds. Kudos NHS not sure where else in the world this would happen - unless you are obscenely wealthy.
My Ma visited this afternoon with a fresh stock of clothes and consumables, we had a couple of hours of easy chin wagging and catch up...which was nice.
Next day...3am 08/06/2014
Skyped Jeannette today and have more news of family slapstick whilst I've been in here. Our son Milo is now four and a half years old - I normally fight a bit shy of being one of those parents that ascribes supernatural powers to their pre-school children when discussing them with others - ie Jocasta is just sooooooo emotionally intelligent and loves Jeannette Winterson, Barnaby will be a natural sportsman - has a great seat and plays Mah Jongg at day nursery etc because I think they are children, not fucking Top Trumps playing cards.
However in this particular instance I have no issue with ascribing Milo with the superpower of gigantic arsehole stubborness. In any given discussion he will instinctively adopt a contrary and opposite position to that expressed by you even if it is to his own personal detriment - I fear we've bred a budding Union convenor - sometimes it's just too easy to screw with him;
Me: 'It's coco-pops for breakfast'
Milo: 'I don't like coco-pops'
Me: 'Oh that's all right - I just looked and we've run out'
Milo:<lip out> 'I want coco-pops for breakfast'
Me: <flourishing bowl from behind back> 'Here you go Ghandi - eat these'
Through bitter experience (it can be very self demeaning spending time bickering with a 4 y/o and losing) I have learnt that it's often so much easier to remove the element of choice or free will when dealing with him, so the ideal coco-pops scenario would involve no prior discussion or interaction, you just stick the bowl under his nose and put the spoon in his hand - providing no means of creating ammunition or for him to grasp a hand hold on a nerve to start shredding.
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| Milo and Wellie - in happier times before 'Pissgate' |
Milo: Mummy I need a wee
Mum: Go indoors then baby
Milo: No I need a wee now
(the nearest loo is about 10 paces away)
Mum: So go to the loo then
Milo: I'm going to have a wee here.
At which point he drops his trousers and proceeds to pee over the vertical metal post of the carousel laundry dryer. I think it was from this point onwards that he became a marked man - I mean baby.
In the meantime Jeannette, I imagine with hands full of pegs and washing, watches with mild horror as Wellington belts up the garden, makes a quick assessment of the situation and decides that Milo is coming on all dominant and alpha dog by over-spraying one of his (Wellington's) scent markers - a situation that needs remedying. He raises his leg and liberally hoses both Milo and the post with a stream of very strong yellow dog piss.
Well apparently from the screams you would have thought that Milo was being torn apart by weasels, Wellie carried on unperturbed until he was sure that his turf was properly marked and then trotted off back down the garden. Milo sadly learnt nothing from this experience- the first comment out of his mouth when I got on skype to the family this evening was a gleeful - 'Daddy I smell of wee!'
I think he was off to be bathed in tomato juice...
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