Post 29: Mr U (Unlucky).
Vital statistics:
Temp: still normal
BP: 125/82/57
Hair: needs a wash
Mood: a little tearful
Anything else: feeling netizen love 
️
I will indulge myself in this first instance and tell you how I’ve now realised I’m not as mentally screwed together as I thought I was.
Associated with that, I will start with an apology to the readers who posted on yesterday’s blog, for not thanking them. I was in bits.
Normally, after posting the daily blog, I’m finished with it; the therapy is done, I can move on. It’s the best thing about this new online world—well, it’s new to me anyway. Blogging or reading blogs seemed to me a youngsters’ type of thing, an entrepreneurial thing, something to do instead of working for a living. But I realised as soon as I wrote my first post that it’s for anyone and about anything you want it to be. That suits my unconventional ways. I’m happy.
But I’ve grown up being able to see both sides of any situation, and sometimes when I’m feeling a bit frisky in conversation, I can switch sides to encourage a reaction from the unsuspecting verbal partner. I try my best with my blog to be as honest as possible—which is hard sometimes, but also helpful. Helpful for me initially, but also in the hope it helps readers feel like they’re not alone, especially if they happen to experience similar feelings?
But I digress.
I was in bits because…
After reading those replies, I felt hopelessly loved and understood, and not at all alone (alone: which we all feel at times).
My vision blurred and I carefully put down my mobile on the bedside table, laid my head back on the pillow slowly and quietly, and tried to silently hold in the emotion bursting inside. My Darling, who I thought was sleeping, gently asked if I was crying, even though I’m sure I’d made no noise. I just snivelled; I guess she’s telepathic.
She held me tightly and gradually I felt her warmth melt the emotion away. It took a while, but I was touched. I’m still touched.
So I couldn’t write a reply directly that had the eloquence needed to say how much those messages meant to me.
Please accept this as my grateful thanks. 
It’s clear the punishing last two weeks are still affecting me more than I thought. I had already encountered the anger and shock, but there still seems to be a long way to go.
———
Hydration. My Darling has always picked me up on my poor water intake. She happily drinks three litres of water daily, but I struggle to reach half that. Yesterday, the doctor mentioned this very issue during that three-hour chat.
“Your lips are dry, you say you’re slightly constipated, you don’t urinate often, you don’t wake refreshed, the back of your hands show your veins are flat; you need to drink more.”
After that list of horror, My Darling pipes up and says, “I keep on at him, he doesn’t listen.”
I hang my head in shame and reply, “I’ve never ever really drunk too much,” but I know deep down I need to try harder.
The Doc says, “Listen to your wife!”
“I will,” I say, rather reluctantly.
On the way home, so as to ensure there’s some level of accuracy in this brave new world of water I’m about to plunge into, My Darling stopped in a big superstore and bought a new one-litre glass measuring jug, just for me. Great. It’s just what I’ve always wanted (oh no! Yet another song from the time-vault—1982, Mari Wilson; that girl with the iconic beehive hairdo).
So now I’ve no excuses not to be completely hydrated for the benefit of my recovery and overall good health. Two big jugs of water a day, OMG!
I hope that you are doing the same out there—you have been warned.
Day one saw a successful two jugs consumed 
I’m definitely visiting the loo more but I feel so full all the time. Too much information I know—sorry.
———
Back onto matters of medical appointments.
The MBPE was on the 25th April (12 days ago), which was also when I was referred to cardiology for an echocardiogram.
This morning, as I was at a loose end and My Darling had gone back to bed to rest, I chose to ring the cardiology secretaries and see if they’ve booked an appointment for me.
Ring ring.
“How can I help you?”
“What’s your patient number?”
“Oh.”
“The booking has been cancelled for some reason.”
“I’ll email Dr Thingamabob (the cardiologist) and CC in your oncologist.”
“I’ll ring you back if I find out anything.”
Click!
I really don’t know what to write following that piece of depressing news.
Facts:
I’m holding off the second tricycle of Carboplatin chemotherapy.
I’m awaiting the echocardiogram heart check-up appointment.
I want someone from cardiology to tell me that I’m fit for chemo.
I want to restart the chemo.
Yesterday the referral was in the NHS e-searcher booking system and today it’s cancelled. What on earth is going on?
This is history repeating itself—like the hospital discharge letter, with addendum, that failed to materialise at my GPs inbox, holding up the prescription of my new tablets (Apixaban, which I now have ) as I mentioned in previous blog-post. Together with the problems three years ago, when the same cardiology department struck me off their list and cancelled my anticoagulants without including me in either process.
I feel that Mr U is suffering some pretty bad juju right now.
I need to stay calm.
I need to let the hospital referral process do its thing.
I need to distract myself with a big hug from My Darling—but she’s sleeping soundly and that’s what she needs. I’ll have to wait for that.
I’d better head down on the stair-chair and flick on the TV to watch the C-Drama I’m nearing the end of. The LM and LF have now kissed and the word-is-out about their going-steady relationship.
Ah, that’s the ticket.
I will relax.
Anger won’t help me; being patient won’t either, it seems!
Calm down, Mr Unremarkable.
I’m sure the only reason this crap happens to me is because of this blog.
Maybe I should change my name to Mr Unlucky—that’s more accurate right now.
I need to drink some lovely refreshing water, take a few deep breaths, and grab a chocolate biscuit or ten, while Mr Vicious acts as a perfect petting-pet on my lap—keeping well away from his sharp bits, of course.
———
After a good rest, My Darling woke with a headache—but the bit of blurry vision in her right eye she suffered with earlier had gone, much to my relief.
I’m so wobbly in my head just now, any little thing changes my mood from OK to disaster, instantly.
This is not good, but it reminds me I’m not so good physically—and not well in the head, definitely.
But when a text from a good friend of hers asks her out for lunch, I put some money in her hand and push her out the door (so to speak). She deserves a break from me and a natter and catch-up with her pal—and to book her nails in for a service. Apparently, they’re that bad only the TV experts on The Repair Shop could do the full makeover necessary.
A long while later, the doorbell rang—which woke me up from watching tv with my eyes closed—and in came My Darling with a smile and a big hug.
That’s my girl.
“Lunch was great, but we had two mugs of tea so there’s not much change.”
No worries. I didn’t expect any, I honestly replied.
Shall I spoil her day and tell her about the echo booking issues, or not? I choose not to, and I’ll take the heat tomorrow when she reads my blog.
But the good news is that the cardiologist’s secretary did ring back.
She told me that the echocardiogram form is now signed and being passed over to the appointment secretaries for processing.
“Thank you so much for calling back,” are my last words, as another click creates a nervous silence.
Nervousness about how long an urgent appointment really is?
At least I’m on the system now.
But it’s a shame it took me to find it out and nudge it on (after 12 days of wasted time I haven’t really got).
Be positive, Mr U, I tell myself.
We’ll get there in the end.
———
I forgot to say:
My little brother that visited the other day told me that he still hasn’t asked for a prostate test from his GP! Crikey O’Reilly, bro.
Note to self:
Ask bro every week until he arranges a prostate test.
———
Seven days till the chemo.
I’m still waiting for appointments.
Will I ever get lucky?
My cancer is laughing at me.
I’m tired of the admin for Mr U.
I remain positive mostly for My Darling. ️
