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How to live through high-grade non-Hodgkin lymphoma type B and not lose your sense of humour

Roger v Hercule 15—24th August, 2018:
Flatspotting*

I haven't been driving lately due to chemo fog and fatigue. As a result of many weeks of being left idle, the charge of my car's battery depleted. You probably knew that would happen. But I'm not very good with cars.

I decided to call the AA to come and fix the battery problem, rather than attempt to sort it out myself. What if I caused a spark and blew myself up? All that petrol—aren't cars just Molotov cocktails with steering wheels? Every time I start my car, I'm relieved it doesn't erupt in to a fireball.

I mentioned the depleted car battery to a friend. Let's call him Paul. Because that's his name.

Paul said there was no need to summon the AA. He'd get my car started.

Now—Paul is the last person I would have thought capable of such an automotive feat. He is a scholar and a poet. He knows everything about Walt Whitman. He looks like a professor. He is magical with people. He is exceptional at human behaviour and business culture and that sort of thing. But mechanical things? Cars? I was sceptical—even after he produced a set of jumper cables.

I consulted the internet to see how they should be used. The AA and Halfords both said that the red cable should be connected to the positive terminals of Paul's car battery and mine. The black cable should be attached to the negative terminal on his car battery and to an unpainted metal surface on my car, away from the battery.

Paul said that wasn't how he did it.

I pulled out my car's manual. It said the same thing as the AA and Halfords' websites.

Paul said we should just attach each end of the black cable to the negative terminals on the batteries in our respective molotov cocktails and have at it.

This did not sound like a good idea to me. I insisted on doing it the AA way.

Long story short: the AA way didn't work.

So we decided to do it Paul's way. I carefully checked the correct order in which the ends of the red and black cables should be attached. It's a very strict sequence. We might not be connecting the cables in the right place, but I was definitely going to make sure we did it in the right order. By the time I had read through the sequence in my head a couple of times, Paul had already connected the cables. I'm pretty sure he didn't do in the proper AA order.

He turned his engine on. His car didn't explode. Nor did mine when I turned my engine on.

Here is my advice to you:

1) Don't doubt Paul.
2) Call him rather than the AA if your car won't start (though I'm not sure about how far he's willing to travel with his jumper cables).

Emboldened by my success at starting the car, I decided to go for my first drive in weeks to charge up the battery.

That was a big mistake.

When I got back to the house, the father of one of Em's friends was there collecting her to go kayaking—because we'd told him I wasn't driving and would he please take her?

*Flatspotting occurs at the bottom of tyres occurs when a car is left immobile for weeks on end. It also accurately describes how you feel when you want the ground to open up and swallow you to escape from an embarrassing situation, but doesn't.

Ward Talk:
(Things I overhear in hospital)

 

Nurse (injecting water into a patient: "This is water to replace the blood I've just taken from you."

Patient: "I'm not sure that's a fair exchange. I feel cheated."

The United Nations of Me

Here is a list of the nationalities of the medical staff who have helped in my treatment and care so far:
  • Irish
  • Indian
  • Filippino
  • Nigerian
  • Congolese
  • Polish
  • South African
  • Australian
  • American
  • Scottish
  • English
The A&E doctor who triggered my formal admission to hospital* was Pakistani, Bangladeshi or Indian. I don't know which. I do know he was very likely a Muslim.

I'm grateful all these people are here and working together to care for me.

* I believe this man saved my life. After I'd completed all the A&E tests, he told me that, technically, there was no urgent reason to keep me at the hospital. But he didn't feel right sending me home either. If he had, it would likely have been weeks and weeks before I'd have had an appointment with a specialist consultant to get to the bottom of my breathing trouble. By then Hercule would have created all kinds of mischief for me—much worse than mere shortness of breath.

Spierkater—Exercise Machine

Spierkater is my running alterego: www.spierkater.com

Countdown to Uncertainty

We're on the brink. I go into hospital on Sunday for my 6th cycle of scheduled chemotherapy. The last one.

My life since 2nd May has been dictated by Hercule. When the chemo is done on 1st September, he'll be gone. (I hope so, anyway.) And with him the treatment schedule that has been the foundation of my life. No more three-weekly routine. For the first time in four months, my diary will be mine to fill.

Part of me is terrified. While I'm ready to be done with all of this, the treatment has been a comfort. It has given me structure and the knowledge that Hercule was being dealt with. When I walk out of ward GB on Friday 31st August, that will all be gone.

I have to remind myself that facing an unwritten future is better than facing no future at all.

Roger

PS—Previous issues of Roger v Hercule are here:

 

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