So I just got back from the hospital. I should start by noting the excellent decor in the “Outpatients West” department of Bradford Royal Infirmary. I’ve been there for all kinds of stuff over the past years and it used to be utterly loathly and wholly depressing in there, but they’ve redesigned, rebuilt and redecorated and it’s now actually quite a pleasant environment. Of course, I wasn’t there to introduce “Changing Rooms” or to flounce about like Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen so, realistically I didn’t much care. It would have been nice, mind you, if the TV hadn’t been tuned to CBBC, being as the average age in the room was probably somewhere north of 40 – but at least they had put the subtitles on, so even from the back, we could all see and understand the horrors that Rachel (age 9) was putting her poor suffering father through.
I had, as I’ve said, had two calls from the hospital yesterday. One of them turned out to be from “this is Dr Newton’s secretary” to tell me not to bother turning up for my 2pm appointment because they were going to be busy and I’d be sitting about for ages, so should turn up around 4pm instead. Complying with this excellent advice I arrived at around 3:45pm and presented myself to the receptionist. She looked at her computer screen and her list and the screen and her list and finally asked me if I had changed my appointment. I explained that I had spoken to the secretary yesterday and after some nodding, was told to take a seat. As I turned away, I saw her cross out “DNA” (did not attend) from next to my name and tick me off instead. Nobody had bothered to actually change anything on the computers.
A nurse appeared and took my height and weight. As it turns out I am both tall and fat, which will come as no surprise to anyone. What I don’t get is why they always seem to task the shortest nurse with measuring my height. One day I will be allocated a tall nurse to measure me. On that day it will be an easy task for the short nurse, as I will have fainted with the shock and she will be able to use a tape measure before reviving me.
As I then waited, watching Rachel (age 9) pick out a holiday full of things her Dad hated, I noticed a very large woman appearing and disappearing from the rooms at the back of Outpatients West, carrying files. Now I know I’m a big lad, but clearly this woman had been involved in some kind of terrible accident in a chip factory and had to eat her way out. I checked my appointment letter “blah bla … Dr Lisa J Newton …” I now had the unnatural fear that chip factory woman was going to be the doctor. I’m sorry, I know it’s not cool and I know it’s not nice, but I didn’t want her anywhere near me.
Shortly after I was relieved to be shown into the office to find that Lisa J was in fact, not the chip factory woman and in fact a perfectly average peroxide blonde with no special intimidating features of any kind. We talked for a while about all the events leading up to my attendance at “Haemotology and Oncology Clinic” this afternoon and then discussed what we would be doing next. She gave me a good poking about in my neck and groin looking for the enlarged lymph nodes (and not finding them) then said that she would need some other tests.
Firstly she wants a bone marrow test. I’ve had one of those before and if you can just try to imagine someone using a core drill on your pelvis bone, well it feels exactly like that. This is because it is exactly like that. As you can imagine I’m very much looking forward to Tuesday lunchtime when I get the repeat performance. I’m saving up the vouchers, 2 more and I will be able to get a set of fake crystal wine glasses.
For today though she just wanted a load of blood tests, liver, kidneys, blood count, LDH (look it up) and oh… do you mind if we test for Hepatitis B, C and HIV as chemotherapy will tend to make them flare up.
Right well… ok then. Let’s hope that I don’t have Hep B, Hep C or HIV, as I’ve got enough to worry about, thanks.
Anyway, she tells me, by the time you come in for your bone marrow on Tuesday, we should know when we can get you booked in for your surgery.
Ok… Wait! What?!!
Yes, we need a biopsy of a lymph gland so we can do tests and see what’s precisely going on and decide what to do about it. Right, so you’ll what, stick some kind of needle in and get a little sample?
Oh no… we’d like a whole gland if possible…
The only plus side to all of this is that the time it will take them to mess me about will lead nicely into me not being ill with any kind of horrible chemo until *after* the St Leger Races works day out. I am making big plans for that day which involve best efforts to drink the free bar dry. Wish me luck!