246. I was wrong…and right

 Thursday I was proved wrong. Seeing Dr K was merely an extra clinic to cover staff on leave and Dr U was on leave. Did I feel foolish, because he was so apologetic at causing me any anxiety. We got off to a good start with his saying it was nice to see me again, to which I replied that I questioned the nice in the circumstances. He agreed.

My blood markers are 23 which indicates little if any cancer activity - YAY - but he didn’t yet have the scan results. And I was right. I now have to have an MRI on my head. He said it’s to compare my eye with January (the scan where they didn’t identify cancer, just an “undetermined growing mass.”) and also to check the back of my brain because of my poor proprioception, toppling etc. At last!! It’s only 2 and a half years since I first mentioned it. Covid got in the way and my referrals to Neurology and the Frailty Clinic got lost in the system.

I’m not exaggerating. I came out of The Shed the other day armed with book, phone and mug, Dennis stood there locking up (long story *) and I just walked around him and found myself facing the wood on D’s other side. I’d walked in a semi-circle. D asked what I was doing and I had to say I was doing nothing, I just couldn’t stop the movement. Then Thursday, heading down the nasty cement staircases in the Bexley car park with Maureen, I lost concentration and, although I was holding onto the bannister on the left, I suddenly found myself on the right side, facing the windows. If that had happened on the actual steps rather than the break in the stairs, I might have had a nasty fall. So I’m glad it’s being looked at. It’s easy to blame everything on chemo but there might be another explanation (like old age or incipient senility). Getting older is less fun than i hoped!

I also found myself almost bursting out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. I must have spent 5 minutes discussing bowels, anal fissures, haemorrhoids, anusol, suppositories (which I was told in 2019 never to use -he says it’s ok but tbh I doubt I’ve used more than 5 in my life!), constipation versus diarrhoea. All with the same gravity as talking about balance and fatigue, 3rd injections rather than booster, and shielding versus quality of life. Then I found out that there was “a problem with logistics” and I couldn’t have my bloods done because it was a day too early for the pharmacist’s calibrations. This was after being told they wouldn’t be reducing the dosage unless I couldn’t tolerate it!!! I would have to go back Friday. Thank heavens for Lisa who dropped everything and took me. 

 I had considered driving myself

Credit: Creative Commons

but there are some hairy bits of Leeds to navigate and I didn’t think I was up to it. I told her it would take 10 minutes max. In fact, they were calling number 34 when I picked up my ticket - 63!! It took 59 minutes whereas the day before, I’d have gone straight in! And I heard someone talking about their daughter Dynasty. Honest!

When I got home, I told D about the markers and the MRI (I spared him the constipation debate) and he said “When are we going to get some good news?” Markers at 23??? All he heard was I need an MRI, something else for him to worry about. I forget sometimes that we have reacted very differently to My Diagnosis and it’s hard for him at times. Anyway, there on the floor was the box of flowers I ordered for myself just because…

Aren’t they gorgeous, even surrounded by my chaos?

* I’m in contention with the manufacturers of The Shed because of its faults that are only going to get worse. It would seem that they have a carefully worded document which absolves them of any responsibility because this is the nature of timber products. I’m not giving up yet. I’ve spotted possible loopholes but I’m not hopeful. I will have to resign myself to a summerhouse that absorbs water at the back and isn’t securely locked unless we regularly relocate the locks. As if that’s going to happen! But I’m not letting Dennis treat it until this is resolved. Actually I shouldn’t have to deal with the manufacturer - my contract is with Robert Dyas who have ultimate responsibility. You don’t pay over £2k for rubbish workmanship (unless you’re perpetually unlucky like Dennis and I are lol).

But it’s cloudy and miserable, I am still in my pjs at 4pm and really don’t care if it’s lazy. Now, back to the Paralympics. There’s something more uplifting than the Olympics. Maybe it’s what they each have to overcome on top of all the training , competing etc. They still go back to having MS or limited vision and more yet they never seem to do anything but smile with delight, with a few justified exceptions. Poor old Alfie losing the bronze in a match with his best mate. Gordon couldn’t even raise a smile when he won - the situation seemed too painful. But that’s competition for you. I have never been competitive (ok, maybe when I was in the netball team) and I don’t quite get it.