After almost 36 hours of continuous sleep I thought I’d better drag myself out of bed. I’d been dreaming of Bakewell Tarts for some reason. I could elaborate on how the latest mixture of morphine has been affecting my sleep and dreams but instead all I can muster is a bakewell tart. My temperature has been consistently high for three days, no apparent reason, but obviously it’s been contributing to the excessive sleep. Other than an hours exertion in the garden the other day I’ve done nothing to make myself ill. I’ve been struggling with sleep for weeks, ever since the changes to my medication. I’m still falling asleep whenever I stop doing anything. Whether it’s sitting down in an armchair or resting my head on a pillow, I’m asleep in seconds, then awake again 30-40minutes later. A pattern that repeats itself throughout the night, not a sequence beneficial for a good rest. I haven’t watched a full TV programme in weeks. I’m grateful for the many repeats so I can watch them in sections over a period of two or three days, often starting with the finale and ending with the start of the programme.
However, Bakewell tart it had to be. The thought I had awoke with. Not just any old Bakewell, as a Derbyshire lad it had to be at least near the real thing. There are so many that use the name yet bear little resemblance to the proper tart or pudding as it should be referred to. Tesco individual tarts at least try to adhere to the original recipe, so I dragged myself out of bed to drive the mile or so down the hill to the Tesco Extra that would satisfy my craving. I’m sure the ‘Extra’ refers to the extra stress that this particular store puts on me. The stress starts in the car park and ends at the checkout. Somehow the directional road markings are only visible by myself, as I narrowly avoided two collisions before I had even made it to the ramp that would take me to the first level. At least there was some safety in parking your car on that level in complete daylight, even if it does mean a long hike from the disabled parking spaces to the store entry. Clearly Tesco value parent & child customers much more than disabled ones. At least it means that it’s the parent & child spaces that are rudely occupied by single minded shoppers as opposed to the disabled ones. Somehow, the woman who insisted in blocking half the shopping aisle with her trolley and vast reach across the shelves to ensure that she alone could reach anything on the shelves, had the same shopping list as I had. Everywhere I went she seemed to be blocking my way, totally disregarding the fact that she was preventing me either shopping or even passing her vast presence. By the time I had reached the far corner of the store where the bakery was I had lost the will to live, never mind the will to complete my shopping. By now I was throwing anything into my trolley, mostly items I didn’t need, whilst ignoring all the essential items I had listed. The longer I stayed in the store the higher my temperature became. I could feel it rising as the beads of sweat gathered on my brow. By the time I had given up all hope of completing the shopping I came for I couldn’t even face the human contact that was required at a manned checkout, opting for the self service that I loathed so much. Surely it couldn’t be an ordeal with a basket of less than 20 items, including 3 packs of bakewells. Too much to ask of course. “Unexpected item in the bagging area” rang in my ears time after time. By the time I had returned home I wished I hadn’t ventured out, and so exhausted again I returned to bed to sweat it out for another 18 hours.
I honestly thought I’d be sitting here telling you how I was bringing this blog to it’s natural conclusion. I had expected the precautionary MRI scan to be just that, and that the clearer images from the MRI would allay any fears of anything more sinister going on in my liver. That’s not the case, “unexpected item in the bagging area.” To add to the uncertainty, they don’t know what is going on and don’t want to rule anything in or out other than there is an abnormal area of growth in my liver. To say this is a disappointment is a bit of an understatement. I’m not jumping to any false conclusions, but when you’re talking about the liver, any abnormality has to be taken seriously. The Oncologists seem as confused as I am, but keep stressing that the pathology after my last op showed clear margins when the tumour was removed. That is at least a glimmer of hope, but after two scans exactly what is going on is still not clear. And so I go for yet another scan, this time a PET CT scan. http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/PET-scan/Pages/Introduction.aspx That’s the radioactive one, and this will be my third. Will this be the one that gives a clear image of what’s happening? The scan is on Tuesday, and I’ll have to wait a further two weeks for the result. I’ve had my fingers crossed for so long now I’ve got cramp in them.