An interesting couple of days would probably be the best way of summing up the beginning of this week....

Some of you probably saw me on This Morning (thanks for all the feedback and messages as always). In case you couldn't tell, I had a horrific head cold that had just set in that day. Which triggered off a whole set of events....

Here is a blog written Tuesday afternoon.

So this is surreal...

Yesterday my lung function dropped. Due to the fact a stinking cold was attacking me with early-stage vigour (plus the fact that I was rather busy) I decided to let said cold die down a bit and see what the results said today.

Today they were exactly the same. As it was a rather significant drop I phoned Harefield who, to my surprise and annoyance, requested I come up straight away. I did as I was told (I’m so good) and the result is that it is now 6.30 in the evening, and I am sitting on a ward with hospital wristbands scratching the keyboard as I type, feeling a tad sulky at the fact that I have been denied bail.

I can’t really complain – after all it is a big drop and the fact they are so incredibly proactive and aggressive in their treatment of anything suspect is very good news indeed for me. I am just being a tad petulant as, well, I’m busy. When I used to go into hospital it was part of my regime (pretty much a monthly occurrence) but now my week is full of stuff and suddenly I am feeling nervous at the prospect of having to put off said stuff and how to explain my absence. Suddenly I am “normal” and everyone views me as such, therefore announcing I’ve been taken into hospital may cause shock and worry, rather than “oh no not again” followed by purchases of standard sweet supply for hospital stays.

Filling in her paperwork, the SHO asked “when were you last admitted for treatment” and I surprised myself as I found myself answering “January 2007, for my transplant.”
After filling in a mountain of forms (nurses have been given what appears to be an entire new book to fill out on admission – just what they need; more paperwork to keep them from looking after their patients...) I lay back on my bed, pressing the little green arrow on the control pad to raise my head. The sensation and the noise took me sharply back to my lengthy recovery, and spending week after week staring at the ceiling, watching people walk in and out of my vision, coming and going whilst I remained static.

It’s oddly unsettling to realise that you’ve become so used to being well and being away from hospitals that the memory of when you were part of that world seems more like a memory of a film clip than one of your own lifetime.

One of the strangest things is that I don’t have a clue what is going on. The team are being fantastic (as always) and explaining everything, but when I was admitted with my old lungs I knew pretty much what was causing the issue, what they would look for, what they would do and how my recovery would go. This is all brand new and very strange – I feel daft asking questions about what will lie ahead tomorrow but I am so used to knowing it feels uncomfortable being in the dark.


To be continued...