My tongue was getting better and with the help of family and friends, I was starting to feel a little more upbeat. I received a text from the hospital (as this is the way things are done these days) asking me to confirm my MRI Scan appointment for the 30th of November. This was news to me, but I responded yes and then started googling MRI Scans.
I’m an engineer of sorts, so I like to know how and why stuff works and what it all means, after two hours on the internet, I had a pretty good understanding of what I would be having done.
I told Susie when she got home from work about the text and like me she was nervous, but pleased there was some progress. It was Tuesday the 20th of November so I only had just over a week to wait until the MRI Scan appointment.
The rest of that week and the next was thankfully uneventful, I saw Pippa to get my dressing done that Thursday evening and the Monday and Thursday of the following week, which has become our little routine.
Sometime that week, I can’t for the life of me remember when, I got an appointment letter to see Doctor Stacpoole the neurologist on Monday the 17th of December.
The Friday dawned cold and windy and I nervously waited for Susie to get back from work at lunchtime, to drive me the thirty minutes to Peterborough Hospital.
We arrived in plenty of time and I sat nervously in the waiting area, my appointment time was 2.25pm, but this came and went without anyone coming to collect me.
I’m not one to cause a fuss (yeah apart from writing a blog on Facebook about the whole thing Martin, no you don’t make a fuss at all 
) so we sat quietly waiting for my turn. Then a smiling chap called Liam came at about 2.50pm and called my name.
Susie stayed in the waiting area and I dutifully followed Liam through the doors and round into the MRI consulting room, here I confirmed I didn’t have any metal in me, or pacemaker, etc. I was then given some surgical scrub trousers and one of those fetching gowns that lets the world and his wife see your arse. (Thank the lord for surgical scrub trousers 
)
I went into a small changing room and donned the hospital clothes, I put my own clothes in one of the lockers provided and then made nervous conversation with a young trainee nurse, who was sat waiting to take a patient back to her ward.
She was very sweet and answered my stupid questions with patience and understanding, I think she’ll do very well as a nurse when she qualifies in a couple of years. (I wish I could remember her name and thank her, she really did help to calm me down )
Then another nurse came and collected me and took me to the MRI scanner I was to me put in, I put my locker key in the blue tub on the desk and was shown into the MRI scanner room.
MRI Scanners are bloody huge great things, they remind me of enormous cream coloured thermos flasks that have been put on their sides and had a big tube stuck up their middle.
I was given ear plugs (Liam had warned me it was very loud and in his words ‘you’ll see were they got the idea for that shite drum and bass music’) this is a very apt description, as anyone who’s had an MRI scan will attest too.
I lay back on the scanner bed and moved to where I was told, the radiologist gave me a sort of puffer thing to hold in my left hand, if it all got too much I could squeeze it and they’d get me out.
I put my hands flat on my thighs as instructed and then the radiologist put the frame over my face. Because of the strength of the magnets MRI scanners use, the computers have to be in a separate room, otherwise all kinds of havoc would ensue.
So the radiologist and nurse retreated to the control room closing the huge stainless steel door. There is an intercom system so they can talk to you when your in the scanner.
Suddenly the room seemed very still and quiet, which put me at ease for what was to come.
Then a happy disembodied South African voice (who turned out to be the radiologist) asked if I was ok and told me they would do four scans which would take about 20 minutes.
She then said they were going to put me into the scanner, the motors whirred and the table I was laying on slid smoothly into the Giant Thermos flask.
After a few seconds there were some loud clunks and bangs as the MRI scanner started to do its thing, another 40 seconds or so and I knew exactly what Liam meant.
I’d never been a fan of drum and bass and this experience certainly hasn’t changed my opinion of it, utter shite.
After the first scan had finished, the disembodied South African voice came back to ask if I was ok and to tell me I was doing really well, I had three more scans to go and then we’d be done.
I said I felt fine and no worries or something similar and resumed starring at the inside of the tube I was laying in, which was about three inches from my face.
Just as the fourth and final scan started, my nose decided it wasn’t going to lye calmly like the rest of my body, but rather it wanted to develop an itch.
And develop an itch it did, but as I couldn’t reach it and I wasn’t allowed to move, all I could do was lye there and try and ignore it.
Now, my body it would seem, doesn’t take kindly to being ignored, so it decided to make the bottom of my right foot start itching, presumably for revenge of me ignoring the itch on my nose.
I was so glad when they finished the scans and the scanner bed started to slide out of the thermos flask, at last I could now rub the bottom of my right foot on the top of my left for a modicum of relief.
Once the nurse had unclipped and removed the cradle over my face I gladly went to town, itching my nose, it was bliss.
I was helped up from the scanner bed and taken out to the control room, where I retrieved my locker key and was told I’d done really well.
The nice South African radiologist said my results would be with my consultant in a few days and I was free to get changed and go home.
I thanked both ladies and went off to get changed and then followed the exit signs out to find Susie happily reading her iPad.
She asked if I felt ok, which I did and then we made our way out to pay for parking and go home. On the drive home I said it was now just a case of hurry up and wait, until my appointment with Doctor Stacpoole on the 17th.
At some point over the weekend we had a conversation, where I remember saying, as long as they don’t bring the neurology appointment forward, there’s nowt to worry about and we’re all good. (Life has a strange sense of irony it seems)
The weekend was actually really nice, the worries of the MRI scan were behind us and I felt pretty upbeat and genuinely convinced there wasn’t much wrong with me and I’d be back to work in time for our Christmas do on the 14th of December. (Sadly my new found optimism was about to crash and burn in a most spectacular way)
Steve popped in for another natter and few cups of tea on the Monday morning, which was a welcome distraction, not only from worrying about things I couldn’t control, but also it stopped me watching day time TV.
Honestly I can feel my grey matter leaking out of my ears and my IQ dropping by the minute, if I don’t resist the temptation of getting sucked into to; Rouge traders or the absolute drivel that is Homes under the Hammer.
The trouble with Homes under the Hammer and where they are very clever with editing it, is you see one of the presenters waffling on about a house and at the end of the piece they tell you we’ll be back later to see how they get on.
You then need to wait until the end of the episode to see what Bob a chartered accountant from Wigan, who’s decided buying a knackered terraced house in Barnsley, is the best use of his life savings.
That’s it your fucking hooked, as you need to see just what an absolute cock up Bob can make with his five grand renovation budget. (As you can probably tell I’m not a big fan 
)
Anyway, Steve and I were chatting away when I got a call on my mobile, it came up caller ID unknown or similar.
Like you dear read I get muppets either trying to sell me stuff, make PPI claims on my behalf or wanting to get me compensation for accidents I’ve never had, so if I don’t know the number it doesn’t get answered.
I ignored the quacking noise, for that is my chosen ring tone. (Its ironic ok, deal with it ) It stopped and then 40 seconds later the phone pinged to say a voice mail had been left.
I got up to put the kettle on and thought I’d listen to the message as I was getting us a brew ready.
It was from a lady called Julie who works at Peterborough Hospital MRI department, could I ring back ASAP to confirm if I could make an appointment on the following day at 4.30pm, as they wanted to do another set of scans with a contrast dye in them this time.
Now, as you can probably imagine the sheer panic and fear listening to a message like that brings, so I called back straight away and confirmed we would be there.
I made the mugs of tea and went back to tell Steve, bless him he did his best to calm and comfort me, but sadly my mind was racing, so he was flogging a dead horse on the calming bit.
I text Susie (who works as a teaching assistant so can’t reply in lesson time) to give her a heads up she’d need to get her boss to let her leave early, in order to make it back here to then drive us to the hospital.
Steve stayed for a bit longer, but had to get off to do some stuff his wife Heather (she is also a nurse at our GP’s and works with Pippa) wanted him to do.
Susie text me back, in her lunch break to say she had spoken to her boss and sorted the time off. I’d love to say at this point, my wife’s bosses have been understanding and supportive about the amount of time she’s had to take off in order to look after me.
But, sadly that’s not the case, I really would like to rant on now about how unsympathetic and horrible her immediate bosses have been, but Susie’s asked me not to, so I’m having to grit my teeth, but they are not on our Christmas card list.
Anyway, I was obviously feeling very scared and confused about the second MRI scan, so I went back to the internet to read up about having a scan with contrast dye injected in you.
I don’t think I slept more than a couple of hours on Monday night, I was so worried (I’m sat smiling at the irony of that last line, as its just coming up to 4.20am as I’m writing this and I haven’t been to bed yet)
Susie went to work and bless him Steve came over again (I think Susie speaks to Heather and gets her to send Steve to look after me ) we sat chatting and drinking yet more tea and around 11am the home phone rang.
It was a Peterborough number but not one I recognised, no message was left when the phone offered, so I ignored it. Then my mobile started ringing with the same number, I said to Steve I’d better take, it so answered the call.
It was a lady from Peterborough Hospital Neurology Department, telling me my appointment on the 17th of December had been moved forward to the 10th of December which was the following Monday.
Would I be ok to make the appointment? I confirmed I would thanked the lady for her call and hit the red end call button.
I looked at Steve and he looked worried asking me if I was ok, I think I said something like ‘No mate I’m shitting myself now’ I went on to explain the conversation I’d just had. I then text Susie to tell her and then sat there quietly for a few minutes looking very pale and feeling frankly fucking terrified.
Steve left me to my misery about an hour later and I just sat in a daze until Susie got in from work at 2.30pm. I don’t think I’d moved since Steve had left at around 1pm, I know I hadn’t eaten, which my dear wife was very cross about.
But she could see I was really shaken up, so got me something to eat and then after a short period of sitting at home we left for my second MRI scan.
We arrived at the MRI department at about 4.15pm so 15 minutes to spare (I like to be slightly early to pretty much any event, meeting or appointment this drives my poor wife insane, as she is very much working on the ‘just in time’ method 
♂️) no sooner had we sat down in the main waiting area than a nurse came out and called my name.
Bottle of water in hand I followed the nice lady back into the MRI department consulting room. She asked the same questions I’d answered on the Friday and then got me to take my T-shirt off and put the hospital show your arse to everyone gown on.
I took a seat so she could put a cannula in my arm ready for the contrast dye injection. I managed not to wince when she stuck the needle in and then when she was satisfied it was properly taped up I was asked to go and change my bottoms for the hospital scrub trousers.
The nurse waited as I put my clothes in the same locker I’d used on Friday and then took me straight into the same MRI Scanner bay as I had been in before. I put my locker key in the blue tub and said hello to the nice South African radiologist, she was surprised to see me again but then checking my notes she said ‘ah yes here for contrast dye scan’.
She took me out to the MRI scanner bed and gave me some ear plugs, I put them in and then lay down where she asked me to, being an old hand at this MRI scanning lark now I knew what to expect.
She explained they were going to do four normal scans and then pull me out, inject the dye and put me back in for three further scans and then we would be done.
The same frame was fitted over my head and they left the room and then the disembodied voice told me they were going to start.
I’m not sure if it’s because of what I do for a living, or if I’m just naturally observant, but this time lying in the enormous thermos flask the scanner noises were very different.
Unlike my previous visit, after every scan the disembodied South African voice would ask if I was ok and tell me I was doing well and then however many scans were left.
Thinking back this made me suspicious that something was up, but I dismissed it thinking maybe it’s because she’s seen me before.
Anyway, after about 20 minutes the first set of scans were done so they got me out of the MRI scanner and injected the dye.
It felt a bit tingly for a minute or two and then I didn’t notice any difference. Once again I was moved into the scanner and the three scans with contrast were done.
They got me out of the scanner, but this time they were a lot more careful, I wasn’t allowed to sit up for a minute or so and then I had to sit on the scanner bed for a few minutes before I was allowed to get up and walk.
Finally the nurse let me go and went with me to collect my locker key; once again I thanked the radiologist and her colleague and went with the nurse to the consulting room.
Here she made me sit down, while she got me clothes and bottle of water from my locker, I had to stay sitting for ten minutes before she would remove the cannula.
One of the things about having a contrast scan is you have to drink a huge amount of water afterwards (the guidance sheet I was given said at least 2.5 litres so I was peeing like a race horse for half the night 
) to help flush the dye from your system, I had a 750ml bottle of Evian with me which I’d nearly finished by the time the nurse came back to whip the needle out of my arm.
Once she had removed the needle and taped up my arm (I don’t know what sort of tape she used but when I took it off the following day, I also removed a layer of skin and half my arm hair, I yelped like a Husky 
) she said I could get changed and go home.
I was relieved to be back with Susie and on our way home. I stopped and bought us a Twirl each from the hospital branch of WH Smiths as a treat. (Romance isn’t dead in our marriage obviously )
We got home Susie cooked dinner, which I ate some of then went to bed, for some reason having MRI scans absolutely knackers me out.
Waking up that Wednesday morning I had the worst day I’ve had since this whole sorry saga began. I had already figured out this was a lot more serious than just epilepsy (although that is obviously serious enough on its own 
) the combination of two sets of MRI Scans only a matter of days apart, the fact they had wanted to scan me with the contrast dye and my appointment with doctor Stacpoole being moved forward a week, told me they’d found something and it really wasn’t good news.
Now, sadly I have a good imagination, which is fine if your making up bed time stories when the kids were little or trying to write a story yourself.
But, when by the end of that Wednesday, you have convinced yourself that you have terminal brain cancer and only months to live, it’s I think you would agree, got a bit out of hand.
Over the remaining days of that week I managed to rationalise and come to terms with the possible outcomes, I went from months to live on Wednesday to my new mantra on Friday night, which thankfully I’m still going with right now ‘what will be, will be’.
I still hadn’t been told there was actually anything in my head, I was working on my own fears, I was convinced because of the swift scans and appointment change, they had found something, but it didn’t automatically mean it was ‘The Big C’.
So by Monday morning I was calm, rational and ready to face whatever news the good Doctor was going to tell me.
My appointment was at 12.30pm, so Susie had to go to work for the first two lessons and then she would come and collect me and we would go to the hospital.
I showered and got dressed in clean jeans and a tidy T-shirt; I’d been living in tracksuit bottoms for weeks as they were comfier on my burn.
We drove to the hospital and although I was obviously nervous I felt ok, we got a parking space (not always possible) and made our way to the General Outpatients reception where my appointment was.
I booked in and took a seat in the waiting area, I think we’d only been there a couple of minutes when a nurse called for me and we followed her through the maze of passages to another waiting area.
Susie sat and waited there while I was taken to be weighed, blood pressure checked and height measured, I had to smile at this, as I thought, I doubt I’ve shrunk since last time, I had however put on a kilo which I wasn’t happy about.
Then the same lovely nurse took us down to another waiting area ready to see Doctor Stacpoole. I think we were only sat there about ten minutes or so when the Doctor appeared and took us to her office.
We took our seats and the first thing she did was apologise, that this had happened after she had said it 99% wouldn’t happen again.
I couldn’t tell her not to worry enough, everything she had explained to me after the first time and the CT scan she’d shown me meant what she had diagnosed made perfect sense.
She then went on to tell me I am now an epileptic, so I’m presently not allowed to drive, not allowed to work for the foreseeable future (that was a hard one to hear), bath or shower without Susie being at home, drink alcohol (not a big drinker but its nearly Christmas so wasn’t happy) Do any DIY, so no ladders, etc. And not allowed to do any serious exercise or contact sports (no danger of either of the last two )
I was really hoping for not allowed to do any washing up, but sadly apparently that’s perfectly fine. (A side note at a recent dressing change Pippa nagged at me about doing housework, etc as I’m off work, I best be careful as she is now a facebook friend so can comment on this )
She then told me I’m going to have to take tablets for the foreseeable future and explained the doses.
I then said ok, so I’ve had two sets of MRI scans in quick succession and you’ve brought this appointment forward, so I’m guessing you’ve found something. She took a deep breath (never a good sign) and said yes we have, would you like to see it?
I said yes please and that’s the first time I came face to face with that vicious little 23mm long twat Cyril. She showed me various different scans, first without the contrast dye, where although you can see Cyril he’s not very clear. With the contrast dye however you can see the fat little bastard clear as day, just sitting there festering and grinning at me (that may have been in my imagination, but you know what that’s like now 
)
The good doctor explained she had already sent all the MRI Scans, CT scan results and all my notes to the Neurosurgery department at Addenbrooke’s Hospital in Cambridge, on the previous Wednesday.
But, she had issued them with strict instructions not to call or send me any letters until after she had seen me. I thought that was very sweet of her, as knowing what I’d been like on the previous Wednesday, having someone from Addenbrooke’s neurosurgery department call me up, would have had me sticking my head in the gas oven for sure.
So she gave me a prescription for my epilepsy meds, my dose instructions and wished me good luck, she said I will likely see her again but not for six months or so.
We thanked her then headed off to get my prescription, it was busy so there was a thirty minute wait, so Susie said lets get a drink or something.
I didn’t fancy sitting in the hospital branch of Costa, so I suggested going to sit outside for a while. There are benches around a huge scuplture right outside the main entrance to Peterborough Hospital, thankfully it was a clear blue sky and not too cold outside, so we sat on a bench together.
Susie held my hand and asked me how I was feeling, she was obviously worried how I was taking this, rather large piece of news I’d just been given. It was at that point a kind of strange calm washed over me, I replied honestly I was actually really ok with it all.
I think as I said earlier, I’d already figured out this was going to be something pretty serious. Being told about Cyril (although we hadn’t named him at that stage) was as strange as it sounds, a relief, it explained what had been going on.
I think I was relieved that it wasn’t, I had just become epileptic and that was it (Folks reading this who have epilepsy, please don’t think I’m making light of what you are all suffering from, believe me I can imagine just how hard your lives are ) rather it was Cyril who was causing me to have these seizures.
This meant depending on what happened with my surgery, I might be able to get better fully and not have epilepsy for the rest of my life. Allowing me to drive again, do track days in my little MR2 roadster (Don’t bother I’ve heard all hair dresser jokes already 
) play paintball, just generally live life like I always have done I guess. I asked Susie how she was taking it, she replied ‘well at least we know what it is now’.
There is a huge sculpture outside the hospital, three or four steel tubes reaching up into the sky with what look to me, like ears of corn on their tops, with different coloured glass segments attached to them. I have no idea if thats what its supposed to represent, but sitting there after my appointment it was a strangely beautiful and calming sight.
We collected me meds and then headed off to break the news to everyone of this new life adventure.
Now, those who have been following my little blog will doubtless have seen my picture of my Addenbrooke’s appointment confirmation letter for Thursday the 20th of December.
Here I will meet the surgery team and my consultant, find out what the options are and when they are going to operate. Last but not least how long I’ll be in hospital after the operation and what I can expect once they have evicted that little twat Cyril.
So dear reader these last couple of blogs you’ve waded through have been long and sadly not very humorous, but you are now up to date until Thursday where I can fill you all in with the next instalment.
I really do thank you for reading my ramblings, it is helping me come to terms with this and deal with it in a rational way. Hopefully its making you giggle in the funny bits and if you are some poor soul who is going through something similar right now, it’s giving you some hope and humour, because believe me when I say I know how scary all this is.
I used this picture to remind me and hopefully help any of you, who are struggling with either a similar unwanted tenant in your body or something like depression or anxiety (especially hard at this time of year I know) that no matter how utterly shit it all feels and how much it hurts now, just like the little sapling in this picture life always begins a new.
Your mind might be weighed down by dark and stormy clouds right now, but remember the sun is still shining brightly above those clouds, just waiting for you to let it burn through and lift you spirits once again. 
️
Martin, Cyril’s current landlord
