So after sleeping like a corpse for about 17 hours, I got up feeling very glad to not actually be one. After more raspberry ripple ice cream for breakfast (I should speak to Wallis about sponsering this blog as I ate so much of it 
) I had a bath and cleaned the burn on my leg you see in the accompanying picture. (The burn is about six days old when that picture was taken) Amazingly it didn’t hurt, which was a very strange thing, as it looked horrendous.
I pretty much spent Tuesday sleeping; it took nearly all week for my body to get over the high dose of Diazepam the paramedics had given me, after my third seizure in the ambulance.
I have no idea what’s in it, but if you want to completely lose four hours of your life and sleep pretty much all the time for the next five days, it’s certainly the stuff for you.
While I was sleeping my wife booked an appointment at our local GP’s to get my leg seen to. The first scheduled visit was the following lunchtime, as I wasn’t up to driving (for obvious reasons) and walking for more than about five minutes totally wore me out. My wife took on chauffeuring duties to add to her ever growing list of things she had to do for me. (definitely long suffering that one)
On my first visit to the GP surgery I saw one of the sisters who checked and cleaned the burn, took a swab which went away to get tested, just in case it had become infected and then she covered it with a huge stick on breathable dressing. Amazingly, it still didn’t hurt despite looking like it really should do.
I then saw one of the doctors who asked me a bunch of questions, half of which I couldn’t answer with any great certainty.
The doctor then told me the list of things I wasn’t allowed to do, which included, driving, working, walking pretty much anywhere on my own, drinking alcohol and the somewhat vague ‘straining myself’ I’ll let you make up your own jokes here. Then she signed me off work until the 1st of November, at this stage it was the Wednesday 10th of October, so November seemed an awfully long time away.
After booking another appointment for the Friday to get my dressing changed we went home, via the local supermarket to buy more raspberry ripple (Still waiting for your call Wallis 
♂️) and a roll of Clingfilm.
No, not some kinky Fenland fetish, but rather to wrap around my leg to try and keep the dressing dry when I next had a shower. Spoiler alert it was totally hopeless at doing this and both the Clingfilm and the dressing fell off within a couple of minutes of getting in the shower.
The rest of the week was pretty much the same as the start, chicken soup and ice cream two or three times a day and sleeping off and on for the intervening hours. Friday came and we made our way back to the surgery for my afternoon appointment to get my dressing changed.
Now folks, you meet the lady who has tended to the burn on my leg, so far for ten weeks, made me laugh when I felt down, reassured me when I’ve been scared and generally helped me come to terms with and helped make this whole saga bearable, it is Nurse Pippa.
Pippa is mental, in the absolute best sense of the word, she is everything a great nurse should be and makes me laugh like a drain. The first time I met her she looked at my burn and announced it looked like I had a turtle shell (you can see in the picture what she meant) so she decided to name it Donatello.
Now for the next five or six appointments if not more, when she saw me hobbling round the corner to her room she would hum the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle theme tune at me. Then announce she wanted to see how Donatello was healing, like I said she’s mental 
but in the best possible way.
At this point I also need to mention Pippa’s partner in crime Ann, they are honestly like a comedy double act and I really don’t know how I would have got through this so far, without them both.
Ann hasn’t really had to do anything on my leg, bar the odd check and agreement with Pippa as to how it’s healing. But her humour, kind nature and general piss taking out of Pippa have been an enormous comfort and source of entertainment.
The next few weeks continued pretty much in the same way, my wife went back to work after the first week as it was decided I was safe to be left at home on my own.
Although my next door neighbour Bernie (on my wife’s instructions) popped in pretty much everyday to check up on me, as well as another mate Steve, who would come round two or three days a week for a few hours to drink tea, chat and generally keep an eye on me. It’s at times in your life, if stuff like this happens to you, that you realise who your really close friends are and how lucky you are to have them.
Such a friend, apart from the ones I've already mentioned is a guy called Tim; we have known each other for over thirty years now.
When I told him what had happened, he booked the Thursday off and drove up from Hertfordshire with a bag of Waitrose goodies and spent the day with us.
I’ve been very lucky since all this has happened, receiving lots of messages and calls from friends and relatives, but that seemingly simple act of Tim’s to take a day off and drive up to see me meant such a huge amount, friends like that are a rare and precious thing.
Another who will never forgive me if I don't mention him (he's a real prima donna like that ) is Tony who has called me every few days to chat and makesure I'm doing ok. His piss taking is merciless, as you will no doubt see in the comments on this blog if he's read it. 
One thing various people had noticed, although it was commented on mainly by my wife and mother in-law, was my memory and attention span were apparently awful. I would be talking to you and all of a sudden just sort of zone out, or stop what I was saying to sit there just uming and erring. I apparently had good days and bad days like this, but I don’t remember.
I do remember talking to people and then forgetting a word I was about to use, which would terrify me as I thought I was about to keel over again, so I’d go quiet.
According to my dear wife I’m still doing this now but not as much, although I still have good days and bad.
After a couple of weeks I had a letter come through for an appointment, at our local hospitals neurology department, this was to take place on Tuesday the 30th of October at 10.25am.
As the appointment drew closer I found myself getting more and more anxious of its outcome. I work for a brilliant company in London so I drive the 90 miles to Stanmore tube station every day, before parking and then getting the tube to Finchley road where our office is. I then do the reverse of this journey to get home every night.
If I was diagnosed as having epilepsy I wouldn’t be able to drive for six months or more, which would complicate matters for work.
Not something that we couldn’t deal with, as luckily my in-laws live near St Albans, so worst case I could stay with them in the week. But, it would as you can imagine, cause problems if I were unable to drive for a longer period of time. Plus, I’d have to get a train home or my poor wife would need to come an collect me each week if I wanted to go home.
So with these and other fears spiralling around in my mind, the day of my appointment came. We arrived at the hospital, a nurse booked me in and took me to be weighed, height measured and blood pressure taken, then we sat nervously waiting to see the consultant/doctor. Sitting in a waiting room with posters about Parkinson’s and other conditions was frankly terrifying.
This turned out to be the lovely Doctor Sybil Stacpoole, who you may remember from the first blog. She asked me what I remembered of the Sunday's toilet incident, so I explained the few memories I had and then she asked my wife what had happened from her side of things.
She then took me into the examination room and tested my reactions, hearing responses and some other tests I can’t honestly remember right now.
She showed us the CT scans which was clear of anything abnormal or worrying and went on to explain she thought I’d had a complicated fainting incident.
Which meant I wasn’t epileptic, she surmised my body had just sort of overheated on that Sunday and I’d fainted. But, because I didn’t end up as a heap on the floor and I’d been slumped on the loo for about 15 to 20 minutes my brain hadn’t been able to get the oxygenated blood it needed.
So when the paramedics had got me on to the sofa I still wasn’t laying down, although my brain was getting more oxygenated blood it appears it still wasn’t quite enough. Which is why I’d had the big seizure when I was put in the ambulance, as I was suddenly laying flat and my brain couldn’t cope with all the extra oxygenated bloody it suddenly got.
This all made perfect sense and was as you can imagine a huge relief. She went on to say I was ok to go back to work, although I would still need to wait a while before I could drive. I thanked her for both her time and the great news she had just given me, happy that I could get back to work at last. At this stage I'd been off for four weeks and was incredibly restless and bored being at home all the time.
Right, with this happy news I will end this one here, as once again its ended up being longer than war and peace. I think this is becoming what some folks have messaged me as, a two cuppa blog to read 
️️ Until next time dear readers.
