Wednesday October 6th and it is Tim’s birthday. Thursday October 7th is my birthday. I always say that Tim was an early birthday present and he said “Why couldn’t mum hang on to me for a bit longer.” I told him that it was he who couldn’t wait. Irene was due to be induced but when she got to hospital her waters broke getting out of the car soaking her slippers. She went into labour almost immediately. Tim’s arm came out first the midwife pushed it back in but it just came out again. Tim was born waving – not the two fingered wave he is so fond of nowadays. Once his arm, head and shoulder appeared everything stopped. “What’s the matter?” asked Irene anxiously. “We’re just waiting for you” and that’s how he came into the world.
So Tim likes to think he can celebrate his birthday and then celebrate mine so it becomes a two day event. Except that he is thirty this year so it’s off down to Nottingham with the Chuckle brothers for an evening of wenching and debauchery. They asked me to go but I don’t want to show them up with my prowess on the dance floor! Besides someone has got to be sober to bail them out.
Thursday night and I went into tut club for a likkle celebratory drinky-poos. Tim turned up followed by Irene and then another couple turned up and a barmaid who was off duty with her gay friend who were both worse for wear. What ensued was a tad surreal. Tim was singing Muppet songs. Says a lot about him I suppose. Anyway everyone left having had one of those drunken little soirees that only those involved can understand.
Saturday October 9th is the first anniversary of my surgery – the day when I got out of the shower and patted my arse dry for the very last time. I would have kissed it goodbye but I couldn’t reach it. Probably for the best, eh? Six months on from October 9th 2009 and I never thought I would ever be in the position that I am now but I’ll tell you straight, dear reader, it has been an unbelievably difficult journey. I never thought I would ever be able to sit down again, but a little TLC from the medical team and our wonderful district nurses and here I am. Not exactly pristine but nevertheless a fully functioning human being. I have already had two oncology reviews and grumpy is very pleased with my progress. When I went for my second examination he got me stripped off and laid on the couch and proceeded to whack my gonads from one side to the other looking for a leak from a piece of skin graft that hadn’t healed. Wimbledon was on at the time. After he had bounced them around several times which was becoming monotonous but more importantly, uncomfortable, I asked him if he had been watching the tennis. “No” he replied. “It’s just that I thought maybe Wimbledon had given you the idea to bounce my bollocks backward and forward like you are.” A lesser man would have smiled but not my onco. Not a flicker. Grumpy by name. Grumpy by nature. But I wouldn’t change him for the world. My stoma nurse stifled a giggle and he turned and gave her a look that was intended to turn her to stone.
This Monday I am back to the surgeon for my anniversary review. I can feel an MRI scan coming on because I have ruptured my stoma from when I had a lung infection and was prone to coughing fits. Irene says she is coming with me so that the surgeon knows the truth. Would I tell him any different? I’ve got the cataract consultant Thursday and my diabetic review starts this week with a blood test on Tuesday. Life in the fast lane eh?
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