I woke up feeling a lot better this morning. I'm still stuffy nosed and I have a smokers cough but generally I was quite perky.
I hadn't had a good night, but then I never do before an important meeting so that was no surprise. I showered and dressed but did not have any breakfast, apart from a couple of cups of tea, as my anxiety was making me feel a little nauseous. Once on the road I enjoyed just being out of the house and this eased my anxiety a little bit. We arrived in plenty of time and found a parking space with no problem at all.
Once at the clinic my anxiety levels hit the roof when I was told I wasn't due today. I thrust my letter at the receptionist, which clearly stated April 12th at 10am, and after a bit of a dig around she found my name was in the appointment diary but had not been transfered to the list. The mistake was theirs, not mine. With this sorted we went and sat in the waiting room until I was called for blood tests and then another wait began, this time to see the consultant.
As is usual I passed the time by 'people watching' my fellow patients and one man made my blood boil.
He had had his transplant, the way he was talking within the last few months, but looked really robust and healthy. None of this caused me any worries until a nurse came out and asked whether he had his book. The book is a record that each patient is expected to keep at least in the early days after transplant. The book holds a record of all your meds and when you are supposed to take them and in what dosage. As these change a lot in the early days a written record is deemed the best way of remembering things. The book is also a record of your progress. In it you record your blood, pressure, oxygen levels, heart rate, temperature etc, etc every day so if any problems occur they can be pin pointed and dealt with early. For instance if you temperature rises it might indicate the start of an infection.
Anyway back to this bloke. He was so rude to the nurse and told her that he didn't have his book as 'I can't be bothered with all that crap, it's a waste of time.' To say I could have strangled him would be an understatement. I wanted to rip his heart out of his ungrateful body and give it to someone more deserving.. The nurse however, hardly batted an eyelid and took him through to see the consultant. When he reappeared he looked rather sheepish but still retained his swagger. Sometimes I think transplants are wasted on certain people, and he would be top of my list.
The it was my turn and I was lead in to see a youngish doctor who was dressed in a rather Victorian manner, complete with fob watch chained to his waistcoat. I found myself feeling distinctly under-dressed for the occasion but he was very nice and quickly put me at ease. We went through a few things such as have my meds changed? No. Has my condition changed? No. About five minutes later and after a quick examination he announced I was doing very well and would make another appointment in three months time. Then he put his pen down and lent towards me and said he sincerely hoped he would be seeing me before then. I responded by saying I'd rather hoped I would have seen him before now. He smiled and said 'well it could be tonight you know'.
'Yes but it could also be sometime next year.'
'Oh I don't think you'll be waiting that long, I have a feeling you'll be back here quicker than you think.'
Now what the hell did he mean by that? Did he know something I didn't and was dropping a big hint? In the end I decided he was just trying to bolster my hope up a bit. Anyway my next appointment is on the 19th July.
Peter decided that as I hadn't eaten today and had, had very little to eat all week that I deserved a treat and took me off for a pub lunch. We went to an ancient pub in St Neots called The White Horse. Peter ordered a burger and it was enormous, I settled for Carrot and Coriander soup with a large chunk of crusty bread. I did nick a few of his chips though, and ate the small pot of coleslaw that came with Peter's meal.
The drive home was awful as the rain hammered down and the roads were really busy. The first thing I did was make a cuppa as the soup must have been really salty and I was dying for a drink. I then changed into my baggies and sat down with the newspaper to rest for awhile, I was quite surprised at how tired I actually was.
I was also feeling a bit disappointed as I'd taken my camera along with the intention of taking a few snaps for this blog. However I decided getting soaked to the skin when I'm just recovering from a cold probably wasn't the best idea in the world and so the photo's will have to wait until next time.
I have finally heard from Andrew, albeit indirectly and he appears to be safe and well and having a wonderful time. He's due back on Tuesday and I must say I'm looking forward to seeing him.
Well It has been a stressful day one way or another so it is time to grab a ginger beer from the fridge and sit down and watch some daytime TV. You never know, this time tomorrow I could be on my back in hospital, hooked up to all sorts of machinery with a new set of lungs so I'd better make the best of it.
I hadn't had a good night, but then I never do before an important meeting so that was no surprise. I showered and dressed but did not have any breakfast, apart from a couple of cups of tea, as my anxiety was making me feel a little nauseous. Once on the road I enjoyed just being out of the house and this eased my anxiety a little bit. We arrived in plenty of time and found a parking space with no problem at all.
Once at the clinic my anxiety levels hit the roof when I was told I wasn't due today. I thrust my letter at the receptionist, which clearly stated April 12th at 10am, and after a bit of a dig around she found my name was in the appointment diary but had not been transfered to the list. The mistake was theirs, not mine. With this sorted we went and sat in the waiting room until I was called for blood tests and then another wait began, this time to see the consultant.
As is usual I passed the time by 'people watching' my fellow patients and one man made my blood boil.
He had had his transplant, the way he was talking within the last few months, but looked really robust and healthy. None of this caused me any worries until a nurse came out and asked whether he had his book. The book is a record that each patient is expected to keep at least in the early days after transplant. The book holds a record of all your meds and when you are supposed to take them and in what dosage. As these change a lot in the early days a written record is deemed the best way of remembering things. The book is also a record of your progress. In it you record your blood, pressure, oxygen levels, heart rate, temperature etc, etc every day so if any problems occur they can be pin pointed and dealt with early. For instance if you temperature rises it might indicate the start of an infection.
Anyway back to this bloke. He was so rude to the nurse and told her that he didn't have his book as 'I can't be bothered with all that crap, it's a waste of time.' To say I could have strangled him would be an understatement. I wanted to rip his heart out of his ungrateful body and give it to someone more deserving.. The nurse however, hardly batted an eyelid and took him through to see the consultant. When he reappeared he looked rather sheepish but still retained his swagger. Sometimes I think transplants are wasted on certain people, and he would be top of my list.
The it was my turn and I was lead in to see a youngish doctor who was dressed in a rather Victorian manner, complete with fob watch chained to his waistcoat. I found myself feeling distinctly under-dressed for the occasion but he was very nice and quickly put me at ease. We went through a few things such as have my meds changed? No. Has my condition changed? No. About five minutes later and after a quick examination he announced I was doing very well and would make another appointment in three months time. Then he put his pen down and lent towards me and said he sincerely hoped he would be seeing me before then. I responded by saying I'd rather hoped I would have seen him before now. He smiled and said 'well it could be tonight you know'.
'Yes but it could also be sometime next year.'
'Oh I don't think you'll be waiting that long, I have a feeling you'll be back here quicker than you think.'
Now what the hell did he mean by that? Did he know something I didn't and was dropping a big hint? In the end I decided he was just trying to bolster my hope up a bit. Anyway my next appointment is on the 19th July.
Peter decided that as I hadn't eaten today and had, had very little to eat all week that I deserved a treat and took me off for a pub lunch. We went to an ancient pub in St Neots called The White Horse. Peter ordered a burger and it was enormous, I settled for Carrot and Coriander soup with a large chunk of crusty bread. I did nick a few of his chips though, and ate the small pot of coleslaw that came with Peter's meal.
The drive home was awful as the rain hammered down and the roads were really busy. The first thing I did was make a cuppa as the soup must have been really salty and I was dying for a drink. I then changed into my baggies and sat down with the newspaper to rest for awhile, I was quite surprised at how tired I actually was.
I was also feeling a bit disappointed as I'd taken my camera along with the intention of taking a few snaps for this blog. However I decided getting soaked to the skin when I'm just recovering from a cold probably wasn't the best idea in the world and so the photo's will have to wait until next time.
I have finally heard from Andrew, albeit indirectly and he appears to be safe and well and having a wonderful time. He's due back on Tuesday and I must say I'm looking forward to seeing him.
Well It has been a stressful day one way or another so it is time to grab a ginger beer from the fridge and sit down and watch some daytime TV. You never know, this time tomorrow I could be on my back in hospital, hooked up to all sorts of machinery with a new set of lungs so I'd better make the best of it.
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