I was just starting to write my update the other day when Dennis alerted me to a Prime Ministerial broadcast and there we are - back to shielding. Before Johnson had even finished umming and arhrrring, I’d received an email from Vicky, my former volunteer, reminding me she was available and asking if I wanted any prescriptions collecting. How thoughtful and kind is that!
It doesn’t make any difference to me, to be honest. I’m one of The Shielded Ones and can’t do a thing for myself; then I’m “Clinically Extremely Vulnerable” and can do some things - but please don’t; now it’s CEVs who should “return to Shielding”. What’s the difference? I’ve declined the food boxes BUT, and here’s the real perk, I have access to a much bigger range of Sainsbury’s slots that your common or garden online shopper. At last a perk! (Going completely off-piste - nothing unusual there - I genuinely believed they were called perks because they cheered you up. My dad was a purchasing officer, first for the Coal Board, then for the Electricity Board. I never knew a Christmas without these perks - perfume for Mum, countless bottles of booze, hampers; nothing I liked unless there was the occasional box of biscuits. As he worked his way up the promotion ladders, the perks got better. I remember once there was a huge box of chocolates which sadly turned out to be liqueurs. I was in my 30s before I knew the origins of perks but, by that time, the government had passed legislation against bribery, which is basically what it must have been high up the ladder. My dad did get a wonderful camera once when he went to the USSR....)
I digress. My main concern is whether or not my appointment with Dr U on Friday will be changed to telephone. There’s still time and I really don't want that because I ask far less on the phone and less is achieved. Maybe he’ll want to examine my errant lymph node. I can hope. Then I can have my bloods taken. Otherwise it will mean my poor goddaughter, who’s already frozen waiting outside for over an hour on Sunday, having to sit in the car park and freeze her arse off for at least 2 hours on Monday. She’s taken the day off especially (even though we’re now in another lockdown) but, last time, I was only about 45 minutes and it was July. If they need to test my blood first because they don’t have any results from Friday, my 30 minute treatment will be more like 3 hours. But I don’t want her coming into the hospital. It’s probably safer than most places but I’d find it hard not to blame myself if she caught the virus. Leeds is doing ok, not well but not too badly in the circumstances. It would be great of everyone I cared about got through without contracting COVID-19, or whatever the new variant is called.
As a CEV, I’m in category 4 of the priority groups, alongside my ancient husband who is over 70, so with luck we will be vaccinated by mid-February.
Talk about rambling...I came on to write about Sunday. Well, I’m here so it couldn’t have been that bad. Carol dropped us off and I rang Emma to pick us up about 4.30. Then we went in, Dennis parked himself in the huge and empty foyer and I went into Radiology. I was told I’d just be having an MRI so I protested as the more important factor is the node in my neck, so they explained they would be including my neck. It would take about an hour. So I dashed out (no signal in the hospital) and rang Emma to ask her to be there for after 3.30. Turned out she arrived at 3.05 and I didn't finish till 4.15 so the poor woman was definitely freezing her arse off. But no complaints, just her usual cheery laughter PLUS - wait for it - PERKS. She works for Nestlé. I got three huge bars ‘straight from the kitchen,’ ie plain wrappers. Who cares about a wrapper when there is mint Aero within!!
Why did it take so long. God knows but it was 75 minutes locked in that machine and all I can say is thank god for lorazepam, even if it’s past its expiry date. I just lay and listened to the banging and clattering and noticed a certain kind of music behind some of it - but it all changes so frequently that there was never a chance to really hold onto a rhythm or tune. It turned out they did 2 MRIs as the ophthalmologist wanted the pictures and the oncologist wanted the contrast dye. I did have to press the emergency balloon they give you to hold - my head had felt quite comfortable but, after a while, I realised there was pressure on a childhood scar and the longer I lay there immobile, the worse it got till I felt like I had a migraine just against the back of my head. The radiologist adjusted the head rest and it felt great- for 5 minutes till I realised it was pulling at my hair and the back of my head felt even worse. Despite the lorazepam, I had to work hard at staying relaxed and focusing my mind elsewhere or I’d have tried to get out. I could feel that feeling inside me. What a relief when I was rolled out and released. Honestly, that face shield made me think of Hannibal Lechter! Yet my notes, I’m told, describe me as “a lovely lady who is difficult to cannulate”. Yep, it happened again. This time, I had to tell the radiologist he was hitting a dead end. Ouch. My vein ballooned up but fortunately subsided, presumably as my tissues absorbed the saline solution he’d tried injecting. Vein 2 worked but it doesn’t augur well for next Monday. Only 2 veins, one shut down through overuse, the other contaminated by MRI dye.
Roll on Monday. Oops, roll on Friday. Big day. Somehow, I just cant bring myself to even feel curious. It’s like my conscious brain won’t go there and my unconscious brain is biding its time. By Friday, my body will prove that I am actually concerned about the possible outcome of these scans. For now though, I just don’t think about it. Unfortunately Dennis does. The anxiety-induced vomiting is back.
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