Friday night project

Another post sent in by David.

Friday afternoon and I was mugged by two teenagers.

They claimed they were doctors, but you could tell they had both left their hoodies and BMXs downstairs. Fortunately, all they stole was 1.2 litre of fluid from around my lung, which went quite a way to explaining my shortness of breath. As of yet (8.00pm Friday night), I don't know what that has revealed about the tumour in my right lung which will have been the source of that fluid. Neither have I been told any more about the pulmonary embolism, other than that it broke off a larger clot in my swollen legs, and the fact that it should be dissolved by the fragmin injections I will learn to self administer.

Sarah has not long left to go home and tend to our Emma who is herself suffering from a proper cold with aches and pains and hot sweats, all of which prevent her from coming to the hospital in person to visit.

It's redundant to say that it has been a hectic and emotional few days. If things continue as they are, then this will be the first of a few impromptu hospital visits, and hence could be regarded as a familiarisation sessions where we can learn a few lessons, the first of which being NEVER drive yourself to A and E unless you want to be entertained by a corderline psychotic alcohol/drug abuser for several hours. The second is to know beyond all doubt that a procedure you expect to take 15 minutes will take about 4 hours, unless it is the weekend when it'll take until Monday afternoon at the earliest. I am bewildered by the fact so many staff are so deeply committedto the provision of the best possible care, yet allow a system so labyrinthine and counterproductive to govern everything they do.

Right now, I've the time to reflect on the week and once again get clear on the reality of the situation as opposed to all the possible meanings and interpretations I could put on everything, most of which could lead me to believing in a future where I'm dead before the Christmas turkey! Stripped of everything, all that's happened is this: I've had a couple of things I already knew or guessed, namely, I've tumour on the lung and it's produced some fluid. I've been told something I didn't know - I have a blood clot I am told will go nowhere else and will be thinned to the point of disappearance by me giving myself an injection of something called fragmin. Sarah, Emma and I have cried, hugged and talked together about how much we love each other, and I've had a lovely rant in the quiet of my own room about the fact that I don't want to die, I'm far too young, there's so much more to see and do with my life and that I share with my two girls. In other words, we three have been perfect human beings in a set of circumstances which are far from perfect. Added to which both Claire and Tricia cleaned my house today and helped take care of Emma when Sarah came to the hospital. Messages of love have been plentiful to say the least, so once again I feel loved and cared for in a way that moves me to tears. AND never, but NEVER order fish and chips from York District Hospital's menu on a Friday night; arrange for someone to bring you a takeaway instead.

When it's broken down that way, I can once again choose to make this week's experiences mean I am loved profoundly by man people and if love and prayers can move mountains, I am far from being a lost cause. My wife and daughter are loved and loving, and even if I die, will have the personal strength and courage, and the unwavering support of many people, and will therefore eventually be living wonderful lives without me being around or being needed. I know I'll be missed if it happens, but I will not be needed; those two have far more capacity to handle what life throws at them than to need my assistance. However, if I'm called upon or spoken to, I suspect I will be listening and will answer. But that ain't going to happen before its due time, so right now I'm going to enjoy my NHS cup of tea (far superior to the fish and chips) and my new found ability to breathe deeply once again.