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.

Today I saw my Gramps for the first time since my op – he’s up visiting the ‘rents for the weekend and K and I stopped over for the afternoon to catch up. It was brilliant to see him again – after quite a long while, too – and he was suitably impressed with my turnaround from the last time I saw him. I love to see the look in people’s eyes when they see me for the first time since the op; it’s a wondrous mixture of the most complex emotions, with happiness and relief dominating.

This afternoon was not a great one, sporting-wise, which makes it lucky the rest of the day was so happy and pleasant.

First up, I arrived at Mum and Dad’s in time to sit and watch the Saints drop miserably out of the FA Cup to the mighty Bristol Rovers… they of an entire footballing division below us. Not that the difference in league standing made an impact on the game, since the majority of the Saints team (ok, the entire Saints team) completely failed to turn up for the match anyway. Maybe they thought they were playing Bristol City instead.

Following that disappointment, we hastily beat a retreat from the sofa to the pretty little village of Olney, where we took my Gramps and his lady friend for a nice afternoon stroll around the little boutique shops and stopped at a perfectly quaint little tea shop for afternoon tea and teacakes and crumpets – incredibly refined even if I do say so myself.

We found a beautiful little gift shop there, too, a real little gem, with sparkling jewelery which attracted the magpie-like K and some lovely little tokens and miniature statues and the like.

We eventually wandered ourselves back to the car and back to the ‘rents just in time to sit and watch Man Utd demolish Arsenal. Felt very sorry for K – being an ardent Gunner – but was remarkable to watch. And Dad and I did enjoy making the most of it because, let’s face it, K gets enough comedy mileage out of our following Southampton, so it’s only right for us to take advantage while we can.

We then settled into a lovely evening’s roast dinner (I guess Mum got confused and thought it was Sunday…) and chatted about all sorts of weird and wonderful things as we tend to do when we get together as a family.

It’s been a lovely day seeing Gramps again, going out for a stroll around a small town with him – something I’ve not been able to enjoy for some time, like so much of what I do these days. The firsts are stacking up so fast I keep thinking that I must have run out by now, but then another will pop up and remind me how well I’m doing and how great this new life is.

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m am rather pointedly against Valentine’s day. Tipping point this year undoubtedly came when I read an article in TIME Magazine talking about “the holiday” and all that comes with it.

Far be it from me to deprive the un-romantics of this world from their one day when they manage to muster up enough retail-fed creativity to find a gift that won’t make their girlfriend sigh with disaffection, but when we start to call Valentine’s day a “holiday” you know things have gone too far – and too commerical.

As if diluting the true meaning of Christmas and Easter down to a pair of jolly, junk-food inspired cartoon characters (or near enough) wasn’t bad enough, it is now apparent that we have to encourage our kids that February 14th means sending over-priced, over-valued, empty-sentiment cards and gifts to the people we love. I say people because I’m reliably informed that in some schools it’s now no longer possible to send a valentine to the one you kinda fancy, but instead it’s a requirement to send them to EVERYONE in your class. Gosh, if only the real world were that loved up we’d have no war, no poverty, no famine – we’d all be happy little cherubs floating around on clouds of marshmellows.

Personally, I don’t need anyone to tell me – Tesco, Asda, Clinton’s, Homebase – on which day of the year I love my girlfriend. I’m incredibly lucky to have the most wonderful other half (and she very much is my mirror image – only with her own lungs and not someone elses) who loves me to pieces and whom I love just as much. But we love each other this much every day of the year, not just when someone decides we should in order to sell more tat.

My plan for Valentine’s day had been to avoid it all together and not worry about it, but as it happens a friend of K’s had to pull out of going to the Theatre this evening to watch Matthew Bourne’s Nutcracker, which left a ticket going begging and a very doe-eyed K looking at me plaintively.

So – grudgingly – along I went, feeling very much like most men look when they go to the ballet: slightly bored, slightly put-upon and wishing they were sitting at home watching Bruce Willis blow something up at Christmas.

So it pains me terribly to say it, but I loved it. Having worked in theatre for most of the last 8 years, I’m only too well aware of Bourne’s reputation as a choreographer and theatre-maker (for his is quite definitely both), but all I’d seen of his work was his Edward Scissorhands of a couple of years ago, which I’m reliably informed is by far his weakest piece. I’d managed to let his Nutcracker, all-male Swan Lake and reportedly spectacular Play Without Words pass me by. And boy to I regret not taking them in when I had the chance now.

His Nutcracker was remarkable – vivid, colourful, soulful and emotive, a real feast of visual theatre that at times strayed about as far from ballet as it’s possible to go without bursting into song. As we arrived at the Theatre, an old colleague of mine commented that at times you forgot you were watching dance and that it wasn’t simply one of the best choreographed musicals you’d ever seen, and I now know precisely what she means.

Humble me it did, and also made me remember my old maxim from the olden days that it’s always worth giving a show a go, even if you think it’s going to be the worst thing you can possibly imagine plonking yourself in front of for two hours of a perfectly good evening.

I resolved to keep that at the fore-front of my mind from here on out and to embrace the new challenges that the Theatre may throw at me now I’m able to pop to Town and take in some of the Fringe theatre around London and more of the delights that visit MK. All judgements will now be reserved until at least the interval. If you haven’t caught my attention by then, mind, you might well see my seat empty during the second act…

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.

I’ve had a much better day today than Thursday – both productive, relaxing and joyous in the space of 14 hours, it doesn’t get much  better than that, I don’t think.

Started out with a way-too-early start to give K a lift to work this morning, but when I got home decided it was too late in the morning to consider sliding back into bed (although I have to say it was mighty tempting), so instead I sat myself at my desk in the study and got stuck in to completing the background work for a documentary proposal I’ve been working on since my transplant.

It took me most of the morning, but I got it sent off to the appropriate people to see what they make of it by lunch time, which pleased me greatly – as it always does when I actually complete a task I set out to do.  I suppose that’s a pretty bad reflection on how often I complete the things I set out to do…

Anyway, after busying myself all morning, I decided to take the afternoon off – as is my wont – and relaxed playing Football Manager on the computer for a couple of hours before heading out to pick K up.

From there, we headed to my ‘rents to catch up with my cousin who was visiting with family in tow from Luxembourg, where she took up residence with her Luxembourgish husband several years ago.  I’ve not seen her or her family for two years, we worked out between us, when her eldest was younger, her middle was toddling and her youngest wasn’t even thought about.

It was fantastic to see them – and my other cousin and his new wife who made it up from the old family home in Southend – and catch up with them all.  K was especially happy to be able to enjoy the baby-cuddles she’s been looking forward to all week.  The little one is a wonderful bundle of cuteness, although she’s not as good at hide and seek as her brother and sister are.

In another moment of “oooh I can do that now I’ve got new lungs” I took my cousin and her four-year-old into town whilst we waited for dinner to cook to pick up some new shoes (which are apparently a bargain over here compared to Lux).  We had the best time wandering into town, looking at all the shoes, (“those are cool.  Those are really cool.  Those are REALLY cool.  Those are the coolest!”) although we were all disappointed that they didn’t have the ones with monkeys on in his size.

We all gorged heartily on one of mum’s roast dinners and the “adults” sat around chatting whilst K and I played hide-and-seek after dinner.  My ‘rents house has the best places to hide – it’s clearly been far too long since I’ve played a proper game of hide-and-seek, because I found some great nooks and crannys.  And I’m much better at hiding now I don’t have a tell-tale “ahem” to give me away every 5 seconds.

I’ve got such a wonderfully close-knit family that it’s always wonderful to spend any time with them, but when the gap has been as long as it was since I last saw the Lux Lot it makes it that bit more special.  And when they’d been told after I saw their mum and dad (my aunt and uncle) just before my op that they weren’t sure I was going to make it to Christmas, it adds that final finesse of wonderment to the whole day.

Now I’ve just got to wait until my first year post-Tx is up and I can finally go out and visit them instead of having to wait for them to get enough time off to make it over to us.

I should have known before I went. When I watched The Bourne Ultimatum a couple of years ago, the shakey-shakey camera in the car-chase scene made me feel distinctly fuzzy-headed. In the morning, I took my AA tabs, which have a habit of making me feel slightly woozy.

So it’s hardly surprising that an entire film of running, screaming and a LOT of shakey-shakey camera – about which people are all given advanced warning – would not particularly agree with me today.

But ignore the signals I did and – in the hope of taking advantage of K having a day with her sister-in-law and the littl’uns – I set off to catch my second post-Tx double-bill of Cloverfield and Things We Lost In The Fire.

Since my comments section seems to have picked up on my movie opinions of late, I would love to be able to give you solid guidance as to the brilliance or otherwise of either of these films. Sadly, I only made it 3/4 of the way through Cloverfield before giving up completely and leaving, upon which I had just about enough level-headedness in my inner ear to get me home and into bed without throwing up, so I didn’t even get in to see Things We Lost…

From what I saw of Cloverfield, I have to say I wasn’t as impressed as I expected to be. I’ve heard such rave reviews about it from critics and friends alike, but I have to say I thought it was pretty ordinary. It was just a big monster movie, but shot in a very different style to the classic Godzilla-like epics we’re used to. It was hugely innovative, I’ll give it that, but the relationships and plot devices felt just as phoney and forced as anything you’d see in a regularly-shot Hollywood diaster movie. And I’m not one to be convinced my technical trickery that anything below-par is up to to a higher standard – a cliché’s a cliché however you choose to shoot it.

That said, I was hardly in the frame of mind to judge a the flick properly, focusing as I was on not throwing up from about 15 minutes in.

So today’s been a bit of a washout really.  Disappointing, but I’m sure I’ll get to the flicks next week to catch up on the good stuff and let you all know what’s what.

Hooray for pancake day!  I’m not actually massively addicted to pancakes myself, but K is a bit of a pancake demon and loves to cook them, too (which she happens to be great at).  Not only that, but it’s become a kind of tradition to cook pancakes for her bro’s family (including the little niece and nephew, plus big sis).

All of which means we got to have a grand old time playing, cooking and eating with the littl’uns and ever-so-helpful big sis (who actually took over a little of the cooking).  It also marks the first time since my op – in fact, the first time ever, we think – that I lifted the little ones up for hugs and cuddles.  Both of them were so happy and excited to see us and it was indescribable to finally be able to scoop them up and give them a proper cuddle, rather than having to find a way to crouch down amid oxygen tubing and other gubbins.

Earlier in the day, after a relaxing morning, K and I went out on what must amount to our first proper “date”, to catch a re-screening of The Golden Compass, which has hit cinemas again on limited showings because of it’s nominations for the BAFTAs and Oscars.  Sad to say, though, I loathed it with a passion.  Although I can see how the story is interesting, or at least could well be if told properly in the novels, as I’m reliably informed it is, the film falls way short of an acceptable adaptation.  Apart from anything else, it features some of the worst performances from child “actors” I’ve seen in a very long time – it’s like watching a very poor stage school performance which has paid too much attention to the glitz and glamour without taking the time to drag even vaguely realistic performances from the actors.

The adults do well with what they’ve got but the whole thing left me feeling slightly bored and uninterested, with no real sense of peril or suspense.  K’s told me she’s not sure, having read the books, she’ll be comfortable watching the next two movies, but having seen what I’ve seen today I’m not sure I’d be willing to give up my time to them anyway.

On a brighter note, the massive Xscape building which houses the cinema is also home to a number of out-doorsy-type shops, where we managed to hit the sales and walk away with a bargain pair of water/wind/weather-proof jackets to take away on the various travels we’re starting to plan up, the first of which being a week up in the Lake District for my birthday week in May.  I daresay they may also come in handy if and when we head to Durham at the start of March and Tresco in April.  Like the scouts, we are prepared.

The babies have definitely tired me out today and I’m ready to tuck myself up, but it’s amazing again to be able to reflect on the things I can do with myself now that wouldn’t even have registered on my radar six months ago.

Thanks for all your messages, it’s nice to know that’s it’s not just the two of us who are getting such a pick-me-up from my new start in life.

More and more firsts keep piling up this week.  It’s been a bit exhausting, but for the first time in a long time I feel exhausted and I can actually identify the myriad different things I’ve been doing over the last few days to induce the tiredness rather than sit here recalling the fact that I made an ill-advised trip to Tesco which has wiped out my week.

Last night, having got home from work – well, picking K up from work – we were exchanging texts with a friend of ours who lives in Luton who was feeling a little down in the dumps, largely due to being left in charge of the dog and having far too much time to himself to think, something which always bodes badly for those of us with slightly brooding dispositions (see previous entries in this blog for my own personal examples).

Naturally, we invited him up for a Friday night of fun and frolics in Bletchley, but since he had the dog to look after and work to be at in the morning, he couldn’t make it.  Without having to think about it twice, I immediately offered to drive us down there to take the party to him.  No sooner were we off the phone to him than we were in the car and heading South, an option which wouldn’t even have crossed our minds just a few short months ago.

We had a great night, picking up party food on the way, sitting chilling, chatting and catching up, setting the world to rights and coming up with the ultimate in Bat-plans for the coolest of dudes and then kicking back and taking in a flick to top the night off (the improbably brilliant and clever Fracture, which I’d highly recommend).

We didn’t leave Luton till after 11 and didn’t make it home till shortly before 12 – a late night even by current energy standards – but it felt fantastic to have been able to just up and go, to shoot off to be there for a friend in a way I haven’t been able to do for a number of years.

Back in the olden days, five or six years ago at the height of my time front of house at the Theatre, I used to do this kind of thing all the time.  Friends would call late at night (usually after a show had finished) and I’d whisk myself round to drink tea and talk things through till all hours of the night.  I’ve missed being able to do that for my friends, to be able to be there, wherever, whenever they needed me.  I feel like I’ve found another missing part of me and I’m welcoming it back into the whole with open arms and a wonderful excitement.

Just to add to the excitement and general, all-round super-happiness of the week and month and year so far, K got a letter this morning offering her an interview at City University in April, two days after the Tresco marathon.  It must be said that after her UCL experience and the rather blunt non-communication from Edinburgh (they informed her of her lack of success through UCAS, without evening deigning to write a letter themselves), K had pretty much given up on City.  To be offered an interview had us both grinning from ear to ear this morning and really topped off the week beautifully.

Of course we’re not counting our chickens or other similar jumping-our-guns-type metaphors, but there’s every chance we could be settling in London come September – me to a new start in my long-stalled career and K finally starting down the road she’s been aching to take since her teens.

Life has dealt us both some pretty raw cards over the last few years, but if ever there’s evidence of a deck-stacking Karma at work, 2008 so far has to be it. 

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.