So after four weeks I could finally pretty much get back to normal life again. I was very relieved to be able to call my boss Lee and our office manager and HR lady Jo, on a little conference call to tell them I could start back to work. It was decided as I was still signed off, that I should start back on Monday the 12th of November.
I work for a brilliant company called AT and C, we design and install corporate and residential AV systems, I love my job and I had missed both the work and the folks I work with.
I would normally be out on site doing what I do, but I was worried that I may still keel over. So Lee and Jo suggested I swap roles in the company and become the rack builder, which would mean most of the time I would work from our offices in Swiss Cottage.
This was a perfect solution, as I love building racks and where I would be working was next to my mate Andy Tuck or Tucky as he is known.
So if I did keel over there wasn’t just Tucky right there, but two other folks in the office who are first aiders, so it was as they say a win, win situation.
So happy with everything I said my good byes and looked forward to seeing everyone on Monday the 12th.
Now, the only slight issue, those of you who have read the other blogs will have realised, was I still wasn’t allowed to drive and I live 90 miles from the office I would be working from.
Kew my in-laws, my wife called her Mum and Dad who were only too happy to have me stay with them in the week and even said they could give me a lift to and from Stanmore tube station each day.
So with this all arranged I had a very happy few days at home. My wife drove me down to her Mum and Dads and we spent the day there, before she and my younger daughter toddled off home after dinner.
Monday dawned bright and rather warm for the time of year and my father in-law Anthony (or Ant as everyone calls him) dropped me off at Stanmore tube station and said he’d be waiting for me at 5.30pm the time I would normally be getting back there.
It was wonderful to be back doing my usual morning routine, reading ‘Metro’ on the tube while listening to me commuting playlist, my walk from Finchley road station to our office, seeing the same folks who commute at the same time of the morning as me, the chap who gives out the papers outside Finchley station who I always nod to.
All of these mundane sounding things were just brilliant to me, after being cooped up at home for the previous four weeks and if I’m honest, wondering if I would be able to return to doing my job, which is something I love.
I got to our office at about 7.30am and chatted to the few folks who like me, get in a bit earlier than we need to, in a bid to avoid the worst of the rush hour. I went through the same explanation of what I’d been through as people drifted in to start work.
Tucky is slightly older than me but a fit bugger who cycles from south of the river every day. When he had got his bike into the workshop, he saw me sat chatting to someone drinking a cuppa and charged over to give me a huge hug.
There have been lots of lovely folks who have called, texted, emailed or Facebook messaged me, that have really cheered me up when I’ve felt down or upset, as I’ve been going through all of the Cyril shite, but that bear hug from Tucky was something very special.
We have the same stupid sense of humour, the first day I started with AT and C and I met him, I knew we’d become firm friends and partners in crime and so this has come to pass.
That hug suddenly made me realise quite how much I’d missed being at work and among good friends like Tucky.
We always have a meeting at 8am on a Monday morning to go through what’s been happening and what jobs are coming up in the pipe line, the warm welcome I got from everyone was very humbling, they really are a great bunch to work for and with.
After another bear hug from my boss Lee, I started getting on with the various stuff I needed to build, happy to be among my mates and the hubbub that is AT and C.
All was well I got the tube home, Ant collected me and I settled into my new weekly routine. I went to work on Tuesday and Wednesday all was fine I was back in the swing of things and enjoying my new position and its associated work load.
I said my goodbyes on Wednesday evening (not knowing it would be a lot longer than just one evening until I saw folks again) and got the tube back to Stanmore, met Ant and home we went.
My in-laws were going out to a dinner with some friends, but my lovely mother in-law had left me a dinner ready to go in the microwave. They left a little after 6.30pm to go to their friends and I heated up my dinner, washed up and then sat down on the sofa to watch TV.
I felt pretty knackered, but as it was my first week back after a month off, I wasn’t surprised, a mate called to see how I was doing so I chatted away to him for a bit.
I went to answer a question he asked, I was about to speak and I suddenly forget everything I was going to say, this was as you can imagine quite alarming. I laughed it off and carried on talking, then I went to say something else and suddenly couldn’t for the life of me remember the word I was going to use.
Now, I was getting a bit scary and I think it must have shown in my voice as he asked if I was ok, I said yeah just tired I guess and then for the third time in as many minutes I forgot what I was going to say next.
I was about to say I’m going to have to go, when he went into an area with no signal so the call cut off.
I sat on the sofa and thought to myself ‘this isn’t fucking good, get a grip of yourself man’ that was when I started to feel really hot. Those of you who have read all of these blogs can probably guess what’s coming next; I still felt really hot and thought I’m going to lie down now and hopefully I’ll start feeling ok in a few minutes.
Twenty five minutes later, I regained consciousness to find myself slumped against the left corner of the sofa, as I sat up I felt a sudden shock of pain and realised I chewed the shit out of my tongue again. I was absolutely mortified; I couldn’t believe this had happened again.
I had already called my wife for a chat when I first got home, so I think she knew when I called again that something was wrong, as soon as I tried to speak her fears were confirmed.
I think I said something like ‘It’s fuckin happened again and your folks are out’ but in my slurred lisp like speech it was hard for her to understand, so I said it again and she then understood what I was trying to say.
We’ve been together a long time and been through a lot of shit together, as well as this twat Cyril who’s now taking over our lives. I’m also Bipolar and have been for many years, so Susie my long suffering wife, has had to deal with her fair share of shite in the twenty six years we’ve been together.
Bless her, she told me to stay put, she’d get hold of her Mum and Dad and would leave our house straight away and come and get me.
I finished talking to her, pushed the red end call button on my iPhone and just threw it across the sofa, then I burst into uncontrollable tears.
I’m not afraid to admit I’m a soppy bugger and I can and do end up crying for various reasons on occassion, the older I’ve got the more this seems to happen too. 
So many things went through my mind, sitting there sobbing my heart out. I couldn’t believe how shit my luck was, how cruel this all felt and most of all, I was absolutely terrified of what it would mean for my work and keeping my job.
I mean who would want to employ someone who keeps flaking out or keeling over all the time. (A quick note here my company and all the folks in it have been absolutely fucking amazing, I’ve had nothing but support and positive vibes from them all. I couldn’t work for a better bunch)
It was at this time that life decided to intervene, my iPhone beeped to tell me I had a text, with shaky fingers and blurred vision from tears, I retrieved my phone and wiping my eyes and face, unlocking the phone I read a message from my eldest daughter who is studying photography at Camberwell university.
She obviously didn’t know this had happened at that stage, but just seeing a message from her saying hi and she’d had a good day was wonderful and lifted my mood completely.
My in-laws, having cut their dinner short arrived back at about 7.45pm, around half an hour after I had come round. They were obviously concerned for me and fussed around making sure I was ok. I was given a cold drink with a straw and some nurofen, which I was very grateful for, as by now I had a thumping headache.
Susie arrived at about 8.50pm and rushed in to give me another much needed hug, she then busied herself packing my clothes ready to take me home.
My in-laws weren’t keen on the idea of me going home, but Susie assured them it was the best course of action. We would need to go back to see the neurology department at Peterborough hospital, where I’d previously been seen and for me being in my own surroundings has a calming effect.
We set off at a little after 9.15pm and finally arrived home at around 11.30pm, there is a huge road building scheme for the A14 going on at the moment, which means the A1 gets closed after a certain time every night, to allow them to put in new bridges or whatever they are doing.
This means to get to the little town we live in, requires a pretty lengthy detour which adds about thirty minutes to the journey.
Just like after the first seizure, I felt absolutely knackered, the only silver lining if indeed you could call it that, was I hadn’t been dosed up with Diazepam.
I went straight to bed and woke up at about 11.15am the following morning, I was still groggy but came downstairs where Susie got me an orange juice and straw.
She had already called Lee my boss as soon as she’d got off the phone with me the previous night, he was very kind and told her how sorry he was and not to worry about anything. This was as you can imagine a huge relief to me after my worries and stresses the previous night. ( I texted Lee on Friday to give him an update and the lovely caring message I received back from him really helped boost my mood)
Susie and I debated about going to A&E, but apart from my tongue and feeling very tired I was actually ok, I didn’t want to waste their valuable time or resources, so we decided in the end not to go.
I was due to see Pippa on Friday afternoon to get my leg checked, I had been doing my own dressing in the week and had agreed with work I would use my outstanding holiday to take each Friday off to go back home in order to get my leg done.
So I was back to chicken soup and Raspberry ripple ice cream (Still waiting for an advertising deal Wallis 
) again and I pretty much slept for most of Thursday afternoon.
Friday dawned and Susie went back to work, once again my next door neighbour Bernie was asked to keep an eye on me.
As with a lot of NHS departments these days, it’s very hard to get a direct number or email for someone.
After an hour or so searching various hospital website pages (this was more because I was still very tired and my poor brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders, rather than Peterborough hospitals website is bad) I found an email address for a secretary in the neurology department.
So I sent her a message to explain what had happened and could she please let Doctor Stacpoole the consultant I’d previously seen, know about this new seizure. Within 30 seconds I got and out of office reply, telling me she only worked Monday to Thursday but she would get back to me on the following Monday.
I can’t pretend I wasn’t a bit angry and very disappointed, I read her email again I saw a direct phone number for the neurology department reception. (this was very selfish of me to feel upset with this poor lady and I have to admit I felt rather ashamed of myself after I got off the phone)
I called straight away and with a bit of difficulty because of my chewed tongue, managed to give the very helpful and patient lady who took my call, all the details I thought Doctor Stacpoole would need.
She said she had made notes of our conversation and would pass it on to the doctor when she attended the hospital on Monday for the next clinic. (Doctor Stacpoole is a very clever lady who not only is a neurology consultant at Peterborough hospital but also lectures about neuroscience at Cambridge University, so I really am very lucky)
Sue came home from work and after a cuppa it was time for me to get ready to go and see Pippa. I dug out the green hoodie I’d been wearing on the Wednesday and once I’d put it on, I noticed a trail of dried blood down the front of it.
Obviously shocked, I asked Susie if she knew where it had come from ‘oh that will have been when you chewed your tongue, it was all over the floor in the loo the first time’.
As you can imagine this was a shock and if I’m honest something I found quite hard to take in.
We drove to our local surgery, I signed in on the automated screen system they have and then we walked down to the waiting area next to Pippa’s room.
I think as soon as Pippa saw me, she knew something was up and when I spoke it was confirmed.
I explained it had happened again and I was feeling very low, confused and sorry for myself. Pippa did what Pippa does best and swung into action.
She booked me in for 8.40am on Monday to have a blood test, then booked me in at 5.40pm on the same Monday to see a doctor.
After which she took off the old dressing, cleaned the burn and then redressed my leg all within the space of about 15 minutes. She reassured me we would get to the bottom of this and not to panic, plus she was happy with the job I’d been doing on my nightly dressing changes and said Donatello was healing well.
Like I say Pippa is an absolute angel, I thanked her and as we left I began to feel a little bit better about everything, for the first time since Wednesday night.
The weekend was to be honest pretty shit, I felt tired and very down about everything, anytime I felt even a little bit warmer than I normally do, I convinced myself I was about to have another seizure.
I also had to tell Meg my eldest daughter it had happened again, because of my bipolar both my daughters are sadly used to my ups and downs.
But Meg has always been Daddy’s girl and Gabby has always been Mummy’s girl, so we have a bond that’s difficult to explain. As parents we obviously love both our daughters equally as much, but any parents with more than one child reading this will know what I mean.
I was missing her terribly as she is at University in Camberwell down in London and I was obviously worried about her too, being so far from home in a new place in her first term at Uni. (Meg has asked me to say she is loving Uni and the obvious freedom and peace it brings from having a worrying Dad 
)
So I really wasn’t doing well and I ended up keeping myself to myself for most of Sunday.
Monday came and after a fitful night’s sleep Susie took me to see Pippa, who expertly took what felt like half an arm full of blood (I admit it, I’m a wuss and I hate needles, sadly they are something I’m having to get used to) Susie dropped me back at home and went to work.
Thankfully my mate Steve popped round again on ‘Martin guard duty’ it was really lovely to see him and I actually felt far more positive when he left around 1pm.
Susie got home from work at about 4.30pm and after a chat and a drink, we drove to the GP’s to see first Pippa for my dressing change and then the doctor.
I explained to the doctor what had happened and she said she would send Doctor Stacpoole a letter in the hopes this would speed things up for me, my blood tests had come back all normal, apart from one fats measurement which was just slightly higher, but I was assured nothing to worry about. She also signed me off work until Wednesday the 12th of December, I thanked her and we went home.
