Archives: Hospital

Around September/October last year we – as a family – decided that we’d grace my Godfather and his family in Ipswich with our presence at Christmas. They did invite us, it must be pointed out, we didn’t just decide we were going to descend on them and then inform them of their newly arranged festive plans. We were all looking forward to it – Mum because it meant she didn’t have to cook, me because getting away anywhere was a bit of a treat at the time, epic as it was to shift all my kit from place to place, K was positively brimming at the prospect of swimming on Christmas day.

We all know how that turned out, of course (or if you’re that much in the dark, check out the blog entry for Tuesday 20 November to get abreast of my detour), much to everyone’s consternation, not least Mum’s as it meant she not only had to cook, but subsequently take me to hospital while hurling my insides up on Boxing Day, lucky lady.

I jest, of course, being as we were all delighted to have the world’s greatest Christmas present thanks to the generosity of one family and their amazing loved one who took the time to sign the ODR. That being said, my lovely “Auntie” Norma has not stopped chiding me since my op for abandoning them over Christmas.

As wonderful a Godson as I am and as much as they berated me, it’s taken me until the end of March to find the time to take out and go to see them all. Mostly, that’s down to the hospital visits being way too regular to get over to Ipswich and back across to Harefield and enjoy anything of a stay there. In the end, once the docs decided they were sick of the sight of me and told me to go away, I managed to phone Norma and let her know we would be imposing ourselves for the week this week.

Best laid plans and all that, the week turned into 3 days after I planned a CBT on the Monday, which was (as you may have read) snowed off and switched to Friday, meaning we’d need to return from the East on Thursday night for me to make the 8.30am start.

Still, 3 days is better than nothing at all and it was a wonderful opportunity not only to see them all for the first time post-op, but also to get some good gym work done in their fantastically appointed gym and swimming pool, which has recently been complimented with a gob-smacking spa complex to boot.

So after a mad morning of rushing around trying to get a prescription done last-minute (because I’m a womble and I forgot), we set off and headed down/across/up/whichever way Ipswich is and found our way there after only going wrong once (quite an achievement considering the tiny, twisty, back-country lane they live down) – and that was on the main road, too.

After chilling out a little, it wasn’t long before my Godfather, ex-Army man that he is, had me bashing the treadmill to show him what my new lungs could do. They held up admirably to the strain, I have to say, Graeme working me harder than I’ve ever worked on these lungs and although I felt like I was just about to be flung full-force backwards across the gym by a treadmill turning way too fast for my ever-weakening legs, there was actually an amazing sense of accomplishment afterwards.

It wouldn’t have been a visit to G&N’s without a quick dip and K had me in the pool no sooner had we finished in the gym, K proudly sporting her new swimming leggings and imploring me to teach her how to swim, completely over-looking the fact that the last time I’d been in a pool was quite possible over half a decade ago and the last time I’d had anything approaching a lesson I’d still been shy of single digits.

We swam all the same, and took advantage of the gorgeously relaxing rainfall shower in the spa before drying off and heading in for dinner.

Best part of the day, though: hands down the after-dinner retirement to the top floor cinema room, with drop down screen and Blu-Ray projector with U-shaped super-comfy sofa on which we settled with tea, cake and biscuits to watch Atonement, an amazing flick which is one of the few adaptations I’ve seen in recent time to do their literary counterpart justice. James McAvoy is remarkable and Keira Knightley very good, but it’s director Joe Wright’s grasp of the subtlety of emotion and deft handling of the varied viewpoints and tricky time-lapses which give he film its weight. Some of the choices on dialogue delivery weren’t my cup of tea, but I could acknowledge them as a strong stylistic choice and as such not something to do the man down for, nor was it anything which would spoil the film as a whole.

Suitably buoyed up by the happy-go-lucky flick* we all stumbled off the sofa in the direction of our beds, with another day of activity – not least another gym session – ahead of us.

*not an accurate reflection of the film. It’s more down-beat that something incredibly down-beat with strong undertones of “somber” and a slight edge of “depressing”. But still very good. And surprisingly warm.

Up far too early this morning to get off to Harefield for my first trip there in a month. Slipped into clinic still dripping from the torrent of water being unleashed from the heavens in the short walk between the car park and the main building, to be greeted by a very quiet scene after an apparently large number of cancellations. All the better for me, though, because the fewer people in clinic the earlier I get away.

Went through all the usual rigmarole and emerged the other side pretty much unscathed – weight’s up a kilo, SATs looking pretty stable, temperature good, lung function moving up smoothly.

K had the day off work, so took it upon herself to take us both shopping in Watford thanks to our 3-hour hiatus afford by the usual clinic practices of waiting for results before seeing the docs. Somehow, we managed to walk the entire length and breadth of the Harlequin Centre in the middle of Watford (albeit mostly looking for food) and come away without spending any money whatsoever and a brand new Blackberry Curve for me. I was impressed.

Proceeded to return to H-base and got into see the great MC pretty snappily. He was perfectly happy with my progress, which was something of a relief as last time I’d seen him he was mildly concerned about my slight plateau in lung-function and indicated that if it didn’t improve I’d have to go back in for another Bronch et al. My issue was I didn’t know how much he wanted it to have improved by in order to skip that part of the plan. Turns out, it just needed to be going steadily the right way, which indeed it was. More than that, some of the more obscure numbers (rather than the simple FEV1/FVC numbers we are given) had apprently jumped further than he’d have looked for. So win-win really.

Also managed to catch up with Emily briefly after we missed each other in the morning thanks to her having a bit of an “off” moment. Really weirdly, having not seen each other for months and months and months (since I was in hospital after my initial op), we’re now down to see each other twice in a week as we have a Trustees meeting for Live Life Then Give Life on Friday. Funny how the world works.

Managed to escape Harefield by just after 3, which had us home and dry by 5 after a brief Tesco-and-petrol detour on the way back. After half-an-hour or so of sitting doing nothing, itchy feet took over and we settled on a night out at the flicks to catch The Other Boleyn Girl.

Although on the surface – and in large parts – it’s a very ordinary (if star-studded) costume-drama/book adaptation covering the lives and loves (well, love – Henry VIII) of both Anne and the lesser-known Mary Boleyn, there are moments of brilliance smattered throughout.

It’s testament to the two leading ladies, Natalie Portman as the Queen-to-be-beheaded and Scarlett Johansson as her younger, less fortunate(!) sister, that one still feels fairly hefty pangs of emotion at the denoument that you’re well aware of before the film even starts.

In the hands of a lesser pairing, Anne’s betrayal of her sister and her semi-sadistic schemeing to win the heart of the King and the throne she believes to be her right would be too much for an audience to forgive. And while I can’t say I went the whole hog to total forgiveness, to imbue such an innately unsympathetic character with enough humanity to carry such weight on her death is remarkable. But it’s not solely down to Portman’s work – without Johansson’s pain, anguish and subsequent forgiveness and the enormous risks taken at the end being wrote so large and ingrained so deeply within her performance, the audience wouldn’t be allowed the access to the emotions we’re lead to feel.

It’s not a flawless film, by any means – there’s a few stilted performances and even some of the big guns involved take a while to hit their stride, but it deals deftly with the passage of time and there are some emotional beats within the story that the film nails as perfectly as any movie I’ve seen this year. Worth a look if historical and/or costume dramas are your kind of thing – not one to be immediately dismissed if they’re not.

Monday’s been a pretty nothing-y kind of day – hossie appointment early this morning for K, after which I dropped her at work and came home.

I sat and watched most of Last King of Scotland, Kevin Macdonald’s flick about the regime of Idi Amin in Uganda and his Scottish doctor who fails to realise what’s going on under the rule of the infamous dictator. It’s a fantastic film, Macdonald’s first fiction turn after the incredible BAFTA-winning documentary Touching the Void. If you’ve not seen either of them, I can’t urge you enough to see them.

Touching the Void is not your usual dry documentary, but even if it were the story alone is compelling enough to keep you clinging to the edge of your seat. Before I saw it I didn’t have much love for documentary feature-making, but Macdonald shows that docs can be just as exciting – if not more so in a lot of cases – as any Hollywood bang-for-your-buck blockbuster.

Last King of Scotland is mostly remarkable for it’s two central performances – Forrest Whittaker as Amin (for which he won the Best Actor Oscar last year) and James McAvoy, the then-up-and-coming, now bona-fide star, who plays his personal physician. It’s brutal and gruesome in parts, but please don’t let that put you off (there’s enough warning to let you look away), with the two leads performing an almost perpetual dance around each other which draws you in. It is by no means a demolition job on Amin, but rather a carefully drawn portrait which shows you not only how terrible he was, but also how charismatic, how inspiring and how self-confident he was. When you see this film it helps you to understand how leaders and dictators like Amin, like Hitler, can rise to power when they seem so extreme. It’s all about the cult of personality.

I didn’t get through the entire flick before heading to fetch K from work, from where we headed straight to the gym and then on to the cinema to catch Wong Kar Wai’s My Blueberry Nights.

Wong is known for his art-house foreign language movies, many of which have been considerably successful over here in their given scene, although you may not have heard of them. This is his first English-language film, for which he recruits a cast which combines Marquee names like Jude Law and Natalie Portman with solid British thesps like Rachel Weisz, top character actors like David Strathairn and is lead in an outstanding debut performance by better-known-as-singer/songerwriter Norah Jones.

Strathairn is worth the price of admission alone, as one of the greatest portrayals of alcoholism as I’ve seen on screen. It’s not just the perfect notes he hits in his various levels of stupor, but the contrast he creates with his daily working persona, the classic working-man’s drunk.

Jones is very good too, carrying the film on her shoulders with no noticeable nerves or lack of conviction. But one of the key things in turning in any good performance is the people you have to work with and when you play one-on-one scenes throughout a picture with the likes of Law, Weisz and Portman, you know they’re going to help you raise your game.

It’s not a flawless movie and it feels a lot longer than it’s 90-0dd minute running time, but it’s definitely worth a watch if you’re into tails of life and love and everything in between. It’s a little heavy on the food-fetish for my tastes, but each to their own.

I say family, because to me my Godson is my family, although technically the bloodline isn’t there. But today I got to spend a few hours round at his place playing, chatting, introducing K to him and his wonderful parents and it was so lovely as to be almost indescribable. But you know me, I’m going to try…

K had to work all morning, which left me at home to my own devices, something which is never the greatest of ideas when I’ve got something to look forward to in the afternoon, because I tend to not be able to think of much else and so meaningful work is always a little hit-and-miss.

As it happens, I managed to use the time to surf the internet for filmmaking websites and news and such, which has helped inspire and drive me forward with a few of the projects I’ve got rolling along in the background at the moment. My docs at Harefield are keen for me not to start doing any “real” work for a while (6-12 months post-op), which is both freeing and frustrating. There are many things I want to do with myself right now and a few projects I REALLY want to get going on, but at the same time I’m sure in the long run the enforced slow-down will only benefit them all by making me take stock of them properly and devote enough time to thinking them through and planning them properly.

I picked K up from work at half two and we shot straight over to Little R’s house to catch up with them for the first time in…well…. blinkin’ ages. I thought his Mum wasn’t ever going to let me go from the massive bear-hug I was enveloped in no sooner had I stepped over the threshold. Not that I’m moaning, you understand, since I felt pretty much the same way seeing all them again.

I feel like I’ve been so much out of R’s life for so long now, since he lives so close, but it’s been such a struggle for me to get to see him. Now I’m starting out again, I’m hoping we can rebuild our relationship back to how it was early on before I got too ill to do anything with him. We’re already planning an ice-skating trip for the Easter holidays!

Plus, I got to be made hugely jealous at the family’s beautiful home cinema set-up. Not only have they got a PS3 (with Blu-ray, which just won the HD DVD format war for those of you who missed that piece of news) but also a gorgous 40″ HDTV and surround sound system to play it through. I’m not the most materialistic man on the planet, but I have to confes to a slight weakening of the knees when it comes to film-watching in the home (and filmmaking outside of the home…). Anything else I can take or leave – if it’s film-related I think I’d rather take it. Terrible of me, I know.

K and I then came back and veg’d good and proper for the night – some lovely sausage-and-chips comfort food and a night in front of the telly.

We caught the new series on BBC3 Being Human, which I have to say massively impressed me. The idea of a flat-share between a Vampire, a Werewolf and a Ghost didn’t do a whole lot for me on reading the listings, but the result was much more heartfelt, funny, dramatic and touching than I ever expected. It’s well worth checking out, if you can cope with the scary subject matter. It’s not really gory, but they have invested a good chunk of cash in a couple of big transformation scenes for the wolfman. What really impressed me, though, was the way it was shot and cut together. For the first time in ages watching a new British drama (particularly BBC), they have finally steered away from the ridiculous music-video manic-camera movements which blight so much UK output. Instead they trusted the really very strong performances of their lead cast and let the camera linger on them without wobble, shake or zoom. Well done that team.

Without doubt the last 7 days have been the busiest I’ve had in a very long time – pre- or post-transplant.

It’s been a whirlwind of trips here, there and everywhere that’s taken up the entire week without either K or I having time to properly draw breath.  We are both shattered.  I don’t know about her, but I feel shattered in a wonderful, sense-of-achievement kind of way.  K may just be shattered from trying to slow me down all week! (Not in a bad, I-don’t-want-you-to-have-fun kind of way, more a whoa-there-boy-you’re-new-lungs-are-only-three-months-old kind of way…)

I must apologise for the distinct quietness of the blog – I have attempted to redress the balance with a few days’ updates all at once this evening, because I feel terribly guilty for having neglected it all this week, although the truth is when I haven’t been either working or sleeping, I’ve been out and about this week.

Since Monday we’ve been to Stoke Mandeville, Oxford, Harrow, Olney, Deanshanger and Willen, not to mention the shopping trips, gym-visits, cups of tea and various odd-jobs which have taken us all over Milton Keynes.

Next week is looking like it might be mildly more sedate, although being half-term there is the chance to spend some time with my Godsons for the first time since my op, which I’m looking forward to more than just about anything I’ve had the chance to experience so far in the 13 weeks since I have my blowers swapped out for a shiny new pair.

I dearly hope the next week will bring a) more regular blog updates b) more pages completed on the new script (19 down, but none written over the weekend) and c) more firsts for the book of wonderment.

Another really, really busy day today, which has been lovely – again.

Started out with a quick hossie appointment for K, which all went smoothly and hitchless, followed by long discussions over what to do next, what needed doing and what we just felt like doing.

So first stop was Sweatshop in the Xscape building in CMK (and the inclusion of an unashamed plug, since they were so utterly awesome) to buy my very first pair of real real trainers. I’ve had trainers before, obviously, but never with the express intention of doing anything vaguely physical in them. But, since we’re about to bite the considerable bullet that is gym-joining, I figured I needed something proper.

The Sweatshop (yes, Dad, it is still there) is not just any shoe shop though. These guys know their stuff. It may make you feel a bit of a ninny walking and running (well, jogging) around a shop in your socks with your trousers rolled up, but when they select a few different types for you to try on, you realise as soon as you slide your foot into the first shoe that they’re as on the ball as a clown at a circus, but with less scary make-up.

The idea is that they study the way you walk and run and select a design of shoe that best compensates for any irregularities (or lack of) in your gait. I’ve never had a pair of shoes fit so snugly and perfectly. Sure, they’re expensive (even in the sale) but I can say with almost complete certainty that they will help my fitness and prevent injury, all because the dude told me so and I have total implicit trust in him.

Oh, and K got some too. (I think she was suckered in by his terrible good-looks, but somehow I tried to over-compensate by paying for both pairs, so who’s the loser in this story really…).

After lunch, we took a trip to Borders for some birthday cards for half of my family who have the rudeness to all be born within two days of each other, then on to another sports shop to make sure I’ve got some training gear to wear with my trainers. I’ve been advised that jeans aren’t necessarily the best things for gym-work. Seem fine to me.

Also invest in a cap to keep my flowing locks from my face whilst I stumble along on the treadmill. I’ve just realised that if I can justifiably use the phrase “flowing locks” about my hair then it’s time to call a non-Sweeney barber.

Then we snuck ourselves off to catch Juno at the flicks. It’s a wonderfully funny, sweet little film which really surprises when it takes it’s turns at the dramatic. It’s not just a little comic masterpiece, but is genuinely touching at the same time. It’s got some impeccable and immensely subtle performances from the entire cast, but most notably from Ellen Paige as the titular knocked-up character and Jennifer Garner as the prospective adopter. And I could watch Allison Janney (of West Wing fame) and JK Simmons in just about anything and be enthralled.

Couldn’t have been more different to Cloverfield last week, and I can’t recommend this one highly enough. If you only see one film in the next couple of weeks, make it this one – it’s wonderful and you’ll love it. And if you don’t it’s not my fault. (I’m not sure I’ve quite got enough conviction to be a real film critic yet, do you?)

To top off what was a cracking day, I managed to come home and knock off the first 12 pages of my new script, which will hopefully now progress at my regular 6 pages per day, provided K keeps the big stick wielded and I don’t have a hissy fit and throw it out the window.

Was back at Harefield today for my first clinic flying solo. Up to now I’ve been along with Mum or Dad and maybe K in tow, too, but now I’m more mobile and – more to the point – can drive myself comfortably for an hour or more (just), I can finally let Ma and Pa go about their usual daily business. In other words, they have to stop skiving off work to run me to the hossie.

What was even better about today (barring all the medical stuff, which I’ll come to in a bit) was that after our experiment with popping into Town last week, I took myself off on the train after the morning tests and got to have lunch with a really old school mate, who’s working for a record label near Archway. It was brilliant to see him and catch up – both of us feeling really happy about our lot in life at the moment, which not only makes a change (for me, anyway) but makes for a refreshingly up-beat and happy little luncheon.

Back at the big H, I saw the main man himself for the first time in a few weeks, which apparently worried him, because you only normally get passed to him if there’s something wrong.

As it happens, there’s not – he’s even given me such a clean(ish) bill of health I don’t have to go back for four weeks(!), barring unseen complications on my part. It’s amazing to think that just 3 months post-transplant, I’m already in a place where my docs are happy for me to stay away for such a prolonged period of time.

The down-side to it is that my lung-function doesn’t appear to be following the usually predicted improvement curve that he would be expecting to see at this stage. Whether this is left-overs from the Organising Pneumonia or signs of something potentially more sinister, he’s not sure.

The big issue with the O.P. is that it can take a long time to resolve (hence the 6 weeks of high-dose oral steroids I’m on at the moment), which means it’s pretty hard to detect if there’s anything else happening. The good news is that the biopsy from my bronch a couple of weeks ago is definitely negative for any signs of rejection and there is also very little or no sign of infection, which are the two main dangers right now.

More likely than not, the plateau in my lung function is a by-product of the O.P. and as that clears up over the next few weeks, my lung function should start to creep back up towards the predicted curve that they would hope and expect to see. Going to the gym and getting more exercise, putting weight on and generally getting stronger should all help that. Since it’s a bit of a waiting game to see how it progresses, that’s why they are happy for me to head off until the steroid course finishes and they can have a proper look to see if everything’s resolved.

For the time being, he’s kept me on some oral antibiotics and added in a second immunosuppressant to try to discourage rejection should there be any lurking or even thinking about having a bit of a lurk. It does make me mildly more susceptible to colds and infections and things, but not to such a degree that it should mess with too many of my plans. The main thing is I can still go to the movies…

All in all – beyond the slight concerns over the plateau – it’s been a good day hossie-wise. In terms of independence and self-confidence, it’s been even better. For the first time since my transplant, I really feel like I’m fending for myself and reaching a level of true independence and it feels amazing. I’ve not known this kind of freedom for a really long time and boy is it good to have it back.

Back in the olden days of years ago, I distinctly remember plaguing my parents with moans about being made to walk far too far and the whole lark giving me sore feet.  Today, after over an hour wandering the shopping centre in Uxbridge (more on which later), I turned to Mum with an enormous smile on my face to declare, “My feet hurt.”

I’ve not done enough walking to make my feet hurt for pretty much as long as I remember.  There must be a time, three or four years ago, when I’ve been on shopping sprees with K in the days of our simple friendship, which ended with me having sore feet, but it really must be that long ago.

In the four-hour wait between tests and seeing the doc at clinic today, Mum and I decided to head off and explore Uxbridge, which is only a few miles down the road from Harefield. We found our way – surprisingly easily – to the main shopping centre and spent a good two hours browsing around and taking things in.  Unfortunately for my bank account, “taking things in” also included “putting things in bags” and since most shops are reluctant to let you bag things up without paying, my wallet came away a fair bit lighter.  That said, my wardrobe is now a fair bit fatter.  Or will be when I make room amongst K’s stuff for my new additions.

Clinic went really well, with my lung function up, weight up, X-ray clearing up nicely, all other obs stable and doing well.  My CRP was up ever-so-slightly, but we think that may be due to the semi-cold I have been suffering this week; it never fully developed but I’ve had the snuffles on and off since Monday.  The doc gave me 2 weeks of oral Zithro to ward off any nasties that may be lurking, but I think it’s unlikely that anything’s going to come of it – it’s more a protection measure than anything else.

The last few days have been such a joy – doing all sorts of things that I haven’t done for ages and just starting to feel normal again.  Today we finally managed to catch up on Christmas with K’s brother, which has been delayed and delayed after my stays in hospital and a combination of them and us not being well enough for us to meet up (bearing in mind I still have to do my best to avoid anyone with colds or bugs).

It was great to see not only them, but their new house too – a 3-storey affair which I’ve now got the lungs and the legs to enjoy a proper tour of.  Not only that, but discovered my fitness levels are also now up to the Nintendo Wii.  Dangerously addictive, that machine.

I think the most amazing thing about the last few days is being able to do things without thinking.  There’s no moment’s pause between the impulse, need or desire to do things and actually getting up to do them.  For so long I’ve been used to working out all the ramifications of what I’m about to do and how much it’ll tire me out, how much O2 I’ll need to take with me, what I need to save my energy for later in the day and everything else.  Now, if I want to do it all I have to think about is whether I have time to. (And possibly whether I can afford to….).

I honestly can’t believe how much my life has totally turned around and the fact that this is only the beginning fills me with the kind of excitement I haven’t known since I was a child.  It feels like the whole world is opening up to me and all I’ve got to do is reach out and grab it.

It’s amazing how out of the loop you get when you’re in hospital for a week.  I saw K most days while I was in, spoke to her on the phone at least twice a day not to mention exchanging obscene amounts of text messages, but somehow I still seem to have spent the day catching up on all the big news-worthy events of life in MK which appear to have slipped her thoughts while she found ways to keep me entertained in the Big House.

I have had a great day, though, quite apart from catching up on all the goss (which, incidentally, K claims she “forgot” in all the excitement of spending time with my in my room… excitement I wasn’t party to at the time, clearly, since I distinctly remember my room in Harefield being most very dull), I have had several cups of tea with visiting friends and also managed to do something I’ve not done for a long time.

This afternoon I did the most wondrous of Sunday afternoon activities: ODD JOBS.

It’s not until you’ve spent a goodly amount of time not being able to submit to your whim and fancy of “popping” somewhere to pick things up or drop things off that it becomes quite such a special thing.  That’s why today has felt so good, I think, because for the first time in a very long time I’ve been able to think of something that needed doing and just go out and do it.

Sitting around with a couple of friends this afternoon chatting about what computer one of them should pick up, we decided to swing by PC World to have a look, where I could also pick up an iTrip for my new iPod to play it in my car and replace the fumbling around with CDs that has been the case up to now.  Following which we skipped across to Borders (where else) to pick up a scrap book to help us plan our many and varied travels we’ll be taking as I get stronger and more free to move about without the restrictions of clinic appointments and potential hiccups.  Including a quick swing past my ‘rents house to pick up our spare house and car keys, we weren’t out for longer than about an hour-and-a-half but it was the most wonderful feeling to be able to follow an impulse and get things done.

The first few months (well, 3-6 if you listen to the docs) post-transplant are supposed to be the big rocky patch, with hiccups here and there and the occasional (or not-so-occasional in my case) knock-back.  But I’m fast discovering that they are also the times of the biggest revelations about what life is truly going to be like with new lungs and just how much of a difference to the every-day they are going to make.

Here’s to a week free and clear of hiccups, clinic trips (bar my appointment on Thursday) and a more settled routine, including getting into proper training for the Tresco mile.  Anyone fancy a cuppa and in MK, you know where to find me – I’m the one sitting on the sofa grinning.

Freedom at last – after a week spent couped up inside despite feeling just as well as I had the week previously, it isn’t half a relief to be back at home and within my own four walls.  Even if I don’t leave them for the next 7 days, it’s going to be a heck of a lot nicer than it has been on E ward this week.

That’s nothing against E Ward, you understand, it being the very best of the best places to be if the docs suspect you’ve something dodgy going on in the new blowers they implanted, but let’s be honest: hospital is hospital.

Interestingly, I didn’t find this 5 night/6 day stretch as hard going as my previous one (just a week prior) – I was fairly upbeat and resilient the whole way through.  I think it largely had to do with the fact that when I was admitted the team let me know straight away that I was going to be in until Saturday at the earliest, most likely, whereas the previous week every day had been a will-they-won’t-they let me go connundrum whic, upon the arrival of the nigh-on inevitable “won’t”, always served to deflate and depress me – getting one’s hopes up in a hospital is a bad plan at the best of times, but when you’re feeling physically fragile, too, it’s never good.

Still, three days of being pumped full of more steroids that the US sprint team and the Tour de France combined have served to set me back on the straight and narrow (we hope) and get me sent home for a glorious span of 5 days before my next clinic appointment.  Getting discharged on a Saturday is usually no mean feat, but luckily for me, my team were on duty this weekend, which meant full access to the key decision makers who could kick me out at will (mine or their’s, I’m not sure which yet).

All I have to show for my week’s stay in the Big House this time is a severe sleep-deprivation hang-over.  One of the side-effects of the Methal Prednisalone (the IV steroid they put me) is sleep disturbance and although I managed through the first night with just a bit of a late nod-off and minor leg-cramps, last night saw me lie awake until 6am before being unceremoniously awoken for my breakfast at 7.45.  Under 2 hour’s sleep does not for a chirpy Oli make.

Still, it’s hard to moan too much when I’m just happy to be out and back home.  Perhaps the total lack of sleep last night – and my managing to stay awake throughout the day so far today – will do me good in getting me off to sleep nice and swiftly tonight.  One can only hope.

Oh, the only other good thing to come from having far too much time on my hands in hosp for the week was a chance to get started on the treatment for my next writing project – a low-low-budget flick about a band on tour which I hope I’ll be able to knock out in quick-time and see about getting shot sooner rather than later.

Of course, like most of the projects that get mentioned on the blog in their formative stages, there is bound to be a mishap which gets in the way of this one at some point soon, but then perhaps this will be the exception that proves the rule.  Watch this space is about the best I can say, I guess.

I’m off to flop in front of the telly to try to stay awake till my last dose of daily immuno-suppressant is due at 10pm.

For those of you who read this in time over the weekend, pick up a copy of tomorrow’s Observer, where I *should* be featuring prominently in a health-article to back up the paper’s continued push behind the Opt-Out campaign.  For those who can’t get out to pick one up (and thus see a picture of my lovely mug) I shall endeavour to post a website link up here as soon as it’s up.