A bad night? Well, yes because of cough, cough, cough. I blame, probably completely incorrectly, the Royal Memorial Chapel Sandhurst, from Sunday just gone. It must have been minus five in there and I swear I could hear the penguins gathering excitedly by the front door, just waiting to come in to be fed. I’m actually amazed I didn’t catch pneumonia; maybe it is, but I haven’t dragged myself off to see a doctor having kinda peaked with the medical profession for the moment and fearful someone was going to say, in the present climate, “Self isolate, like Jon Snow from channel four news. Now get out for two weeks.” So, on Wednesday it started cough, cough, cough and shivering and didn’t improve a lot yesterday.
Anyway, in to Frimley I went this morning, to record my interview with Michele Monro. Not the best one I have ever done but she, bless her, can talk for England. Her new album was in Radio Frimley Parks letter box; there are 47 tracks on there and it’s wonderful “Matt Monro : Stranger in Paradise, the lost New York Sessions.” It has been a pet project of hers for a number of years and you can tell how proud she is to have done this for her dear Pa. I then tried to re record a little trailer for The Samaritans, to bring it up to date with new timings and a new phone number. I sounded so full of the bug and a tad depressed, that I thought I would be tempted to call them myself by the end of the forty seconds! Perhaps I should go for take two, once the lurgy has passed.
Mary joined me, after an unscheduled trip to Gatwick; Laura’s early morning train having been cancelled upon their arrival at Blackwater. We both go upstairs to the Endoscopy department, and only a little wait, for which Mr. Nizar quickly apologised; he was fresh from the operating room. You can’t have a go at a dedicated surgeon, now can you? Immediate relief as he tells me the cancer has not spread; MRI scan is clear, as is the CT scan and my bloods are all fine. There was a palpable lightening of the atmosphere in the room, did I see a winking angel? He then went into the details of what is to be done and explained one of the main problems is, will he be able to reconnect, after removing a chunk of the bowel, with what’s left; will it be long enough? My chum Graham Austin later offered me a length of garden hose, if it would help. I love my friends, I really do. It will be keyhole surgery with a robot; images of Lost in Space flash into my mind with an arm waiving piece of machinery shouting, “Danger Will Robinson, danger.”
He will operate this month come hell or Coronavirus, and it will take six to seven hours. A lot of pacing for Mary I’m thinking, so perhaps that carpet in the hallway can wait even longer for its renewal. Many other details were included with sympathy and such a caring attitude of a man so fascinated by the bowel and it’s inner workings, that you can only sit there in total admiration that such people exist. God bless the NHS and more importantly it’s wonderful, dedicated staff.
There we are folks; a lot to come but Mary and I will get through it and I’m sorry probably more blogs to come. But only if you want.
Thanks for reading. I’m both apprehensive but also so relieved and thanks to all of you for being there for me.
By the way, as a precautionary tale of ‘be careful what you wish for,’ Laura and I were heading for Gatwick about two months before Christmas (very much pre covid – 19) on a pre planned excursion. I, as usual, was busy musing and bemoaning on the extraordinary amount of traffic on the roads these days; it has been sometime since I heard anyone say shall we go for a Sunday drive out tomorrow. And Laura suddenly said, “Too many people.” Then pondered and then, “What we really could do with us another damn good plague, something to wipe a few thousand people away.” How long she will possess this new found ‘god’ like quality for, I have no idea. But I have cautioned her next time to by all means think something we are all thinking, but please just don’t say it out loud; motorways may no longer have hard shoulders but obviously they do still possess ears. And beware because your own thoughts can come back and bite you on the bum; who knew that she would technically self inflict her own self isolation.
M & M 🤞🧪💉