27th February, St Georges, University of London, Tooting, England.
I’m definitely not 100% today
Everything was going so well. Then, life comes at you fast. In today’s episode of little Johnny’s cock cancer journey I start the week on Tuesday. It’s not a bank holiday, I’m just making the best of the conditions.
But today, I also have the chills, and I have the sweats so I’m in bed whilst my temperature goes between 38 and 41.
I think I’ve got stomach flu, but Prof wants me to come in anyway. Even though I feel like shit, but I’m glad I did.
Over the next few hours, I develop a crimson skirt around my thighs, and I discover that I have cellulitis. The doctors think I probably have sepsis too, I was beginning to think my legs were getting a bit hot….
“I’m sorry you’re not flying first class, but this is the safest plane”
I’m really seriously ill, and can’t stop vomiting. The head of urology, and the professor take the decision to admit me as an emergency. So here I am, at an enormous hospital in South London.
“You’re not travelling your usual first class Mr little, but you are on the safest plane”. Nice analogy prof. Nice. It doesn’t make me feel any better about it though, this place is an utter mad house. (I’ve tempered my language for a family audience)
“Oh and that CT scan…”
Here we fucking go. “So there were actually two anomalies. We missed one of the lymph nodes in the middle of your thigh, but I’ve never known one to actually be positive”. Professor number two the robotic surgeon nods sagely. “Never.” Says prof robot.
Uhuh. And the other one? “Well no idea about that, there shouldn’t be anything there at all, it’s a bit of a mystery.”
“Excellent stuff, well I’m glad that nobody knows anything at all and that I’m lined up to be an exception to the rule. I can’t wait.”
“It’s very unusual for you to be sarcastic Mr little”.
Is it? I thought that was my thing. Anyway, I’m dying here, I can’t be amazingly positive every day.
So, ultrasounds and aspirations for those bad boys, might as well get those done while I’m here…. will keep me busy but I’ll go with the experts, if they think there’s nothing to worry about, fine.
My robotic surgery has been moved to three weeks time, as I’m not fit enough to do it now. Unless of course another night in Tooting causes me to end it all. But I have seen a potential route to eternal damnation through the 4th floor toilet window if required.
Well, I’m still here
How did night one go? Well aside from the crying and coughing (not me) and general beeping bullshit – it was shocking. Like staying in a Russian military training hostel with prison food, but less comfortable beds. Lots of angry young men in the mayor’s patch!
But after some serious doses of antibiotics and a rollercoaster of blood pressure, heart rate and temperature, I definitely feel better. I’m still not right… but I’m better, and I even had a lovely walk to M&S food with Jo at lunchtime. I thought it was only fair after she’d made a 6 hour round trip to bring me pants! (Etc)
What did M People sing about?
It wasn’t fucking Tooting, that’s for sure. I’m staying another night, and I’ve already been moved to a window bay, which is basically a “people’s knighthood”. Just look at that view… I’ll be able to hear the gunshots better from here too.
And it’s not like I’m superstitious, but bed 13?
UPDATE: one of my new roomies has just come back from some pretty drastic dental / mouth surgery and he’s desperate to sleep. He’s already got a couple of drain pipes hanging out of his face but here’s the clincher – if he doesn’t continually exercise his mouth his jaw will clamp shut. It’s excruciatingly painful watching the nurses waking him up saying paddles paddles and prizing his mouth open.
Then I saw the surgeon do the demonstration. Well fuck that, I’d prefer someone to take a knife to my cock… Oh.
