It can only be summised that the last few weeks have been shite! In and out of a variety of hospitals - including a jolly old stay in my favourite place, Hammersmith. Meanwhile during this time causing poor Dr Evil to do an awful lot of head scratching! I am never straightforward it must be said.
What we do know is that the very likely reason I have been feeling so crap for the last few months is because I have had Clostridium difficile or C. diff as it is more affectionately known. The comedy value of this is that you become treated like the unclean and everyone appears in your room wearing aprons and gloves etc. Just what you need when you are bored in hospital. However a quick trip to Wikipedia after being informed of this wondrous news actually brought a smile to my face. Why you may ask - well.....
".....significant diarrhea ("new onset of > 3 partially formed or watery stools per 24 hour period"), recent antibiotic exposure, abdominal pain, fever (up to 40.5°C), and a distinctive foul stool odour..."
Hurrah - how I have been feeling for months. C diff is one of those fun type hospital superbugs. Once I did my Sherlock Holmes bit I came to the conclusion that the 6 different antibiotics I had when I had the pyelonephritis/nephrostomy/stent fun and the stay in lovely Slough, is when I contracted this nasty little blighter. That was March. It is now August. So I am on lovely metronidazole to get rid of it.
However, what we have also established along the way is that maybe the lovely rash-inducing drug isn't doing as much as we would hope. After the horribleness of another colonoscopy and what can only be described as the humiliation of a virtual colonoscopy CT (I will leave you to Google), the evilness in my abdo has formed a 9cm mass low in my pelvis. Shit. More tremendous news. It is never good when you get taken out of your hospital bed in your PJs to be shown your scans.
Now what Dr Evil told me after giving me the plan, was that he had driven to the hospital that night, preparing himself to tell me that there was nothing more that he could do for me. Fuck fuck fuck. But and it's a big but - he looked at the scans himself and decided he can help.
So here I am at The London Clinic (now that you MUST Google), for the next 5 weeks having radiotherapy Monday - Fridays. I get the weekends off for preverbial good behaviour! The hope being that we can shrink this bastard - or maybe make it piss off for a while. My biggest battle is the mental one of being here for 5 weeks in Central London, a long way from my family and friends - but needs must and all that. This place is the Canine Gonads of places and I am getting the best treatment I could possibly get. Can't say fairer than that really. So that's me.
As if all this shit wasn't enough to be going on with, someone decided that no, you need more and very tragically Darrell's gorgeous, beautiful, wonderful dad; my truly lovely father-in-law has been taken from us. He too had the evilness but went downhill very fast and very unexpectedly. So Darrell had days of trying to visit two hospitals, terrified that he would lose both his father and wife. How insane is it that Darrell's 99 year old Grandad had to attend his son's funeral? Life is fucking sick sometimes. Sleep well Vic.
|Olympic'd up! |