Our roving reporter from his hospital bed.....

This is a piece Dave has written and asked me to post on his behalf.

I took my shortage of breath to the GP's surgery on Wednesday morning. Well, it was do that, or spend the rest of my nights sitting upright and never lying down again. That's how scary the episode on Wednesday morning had been; I was gasping for air, dripping sweat, wondering when i would pass out and die for about 15 minutes. The GP I saw wasn't my usual allocated male but one Helen Taylor. After tapping my chest, listening to my heart and lungs through the stethoscope, he said it was probably fluid in the lung, especially the right (which was weird as on the last scan that lung was unaffected). She recommended I go to A and E and get xrayed, after which they would probably just drain my chest. She also told me it would be fine to go home and gather a few things together, and being out of drugs I decided to do that, call Sarah on the way to meet me at home and explain the situation to her.

The call to Sarah was a hard one for me to make, as I knew it would bring up all of her concerns about going in to hospital, because a time may come when I go in to hospital and never return home. Apparently after expelling a few very loud "Bollocks" in the direction of the nearest wall, she was fine and able to come home - although a few tears meant that she was, from her perspective, driving home through a personal monsoon.

We quickly threw a few things together for me, but no overnight stuff in an attempt to tell the universe I had no intention of having to stay. Quite why I did things so quickly I have no ides, as i should have known only too well there would be hours to wait. Briefly I was buoyed by the fact that there were so few people at A and E and that the nurses behind reception were so understretched they could discuss holidays together. The four and a good bit hours between my arrival, being given a bed, and being told what was going to happen, was due Sarah later discovered, to four wards being closed due to infection.

Three hours were passed with Sarah and I , typically in a situation like these, laughing at the things around us and our own jokes. The first act on show was Raymond, the Unco-operative drunk. He kept trying to get one nurse to take him through to A and E in a wheelchair he's adopted as his own. Then there was Amal, the Over Stressed Registrar; his slight frame looked incapable of supporting a biro, yet somehow he managed to carry on his person two pagers and two mobiles, some patient notes and a permanently surprised expression. Sarah realised that he hadn't read my background notes when he asked the question, "And what makes you think you might have fluid on your lung?" She appraised him of the situation with the swiftness and accuracy of a Wordsmith Ninja. After 15 seconds, Amal was incapable of any real coherance, said "Oh," and popped out of the cubicle to speak to the consultant in charge.

One person whose presence was invaluable was Di Burrell, the specialist Macmillan nurse who has followed my case from the beginning. It was she who through some feat of charm or blackmail, managed to secure me a bed on a ward by 4.30 p.m.. Without her there I suspect things would have been much slower.

It's Friday now and the initial x-ray has led to a further two scans, a Ct and an ultrasound. With there being three possible causes of the white shadow which appeared on the initial x-ray over my right lung, it seems I have been unusually thorough, and gone for all three. So, I have fluid on my right lung, which can be drained (possibly today and tomorrow); I have a small pulmonary embolism on my left lung which will be dissolved by the fragmin injections I am being given daily (and I'll learn how to do this at home) and I have tumour on the right lung (which is the probable cause of the fluid) and there is nothing that can be done about that one.

In short, I'll be here at least another day, and probably all weekend. Sarah has had two days off work in order to be with me and Emma visited on Wednesday night. As this resulted in a "Group Family Hug" (a special invention of ours), where all three of us were comforting, being comforted , and crying, she has not had her opinion of hospitals as awful places changed sufficiently to encourage more frequent visits. Emma has also come home from school today at the end of lesson 2 as she feels tired, is coughing a lot and is running a high temperature.

Sarah's strength and calm are as amazing as ever and at each visit we have been able to laugh and amuse ourselves, even if at times our humour would appear dark to some. We both knew, without the miracle, there would be the odd emergency hospital visit and perhaps one day a visit I will not come home from, but go to the hospice instead. Hence we are both calm and taking things one at a time. I'm certain I will still be at home for Christmas, even though it will be with an oxygen tank in tow, and I'll still be looking forward to my 73rd birthday, as well as the fun I shall be having when I take my miraculous story on the road and tell people how I came to be cured. You see although I have to plan for and anticipate potential cancer related problems in the future, I also have to plan for and anticipate what I will be doing when I survive and go on to live at least another thirty odd years or so. One thing is certain, there will still be training and development in my post-cancer life, because I love it so much, but there will also be new content and materials to present about how miracles can occur. I must admit, that future is far more fun to plan and consider than the one where I have to select the music to be played at my memorial/funeral!

This entry will have to be typed by Sarah which once again goes to show; I have an amazing wife and a stunning daughter and I'm looking forward to going home asap to be with them again.