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Things are looking a bit tight with the scriptwriting. We are convening for a read through next Wednesday and I have to concede that I will not have six scripts by then. I am hoping I might have five though (and with a bit of luck have had had time to tidy them all up a bit). The recording dates have been moved back two days due to actor availability and I have so much to do that that is like being given a Christmas present.
I came up with a bold idea for episode 4 today which I am hoping will also make it slightly easier to write, but I still have to let it percolate in the cafetière that is my tired brain. I have to remind myself that a month ago the idea of having four and a half scripts written felt like an impossibility, so I should be able to get it all together in time. But it’s going to hurt.
This evening I went to the Lister hospital for my 6 month torso and pelvis scan. This is precautionary and will be happening at regular intervals for a good while so they can keep an eye on whether I am managing to stop my body from growing stuff that will kill me. It is very reassuring to have these regular services. Even if the news was bad then it means it should be caught quickly and be easily treatable. Though now I am down to one ball I have to be a bit more protective. When you have two you can afford to lose one (that’s why there are two of them). You can be quite careless with your balls with this knowledge. This is why men are so devil-may-care about their bollocks and keep slamming them in doors and inviting their pals to kick them as hard as they can. Don’t worry. There’s two of them!
But when you lose one, suddenly all your hopes are invested in the other and if that one should drop off or be absentmindedly rested on a railway line and be sliced off by a train then you’re down to zero and full eunuch status. It would give me a sequel to my next book, I guess, but apart from that it would be a fairly negative thing.
So although I am still checking my remaining nad for lumps and bumps, I find that quite a difficult thing to do. After all I’ve been through there’s a part of me that wants to keep my head in the sand and not check, just in case it’s bad news. And there’s another part of my brain that convinces itself that something is wrong on the occasions I summon up the courage to check.
So it’s good that the NHS are using their expensive machines to check everything for me. I am fairly confident the results will be good - my blood tests were fine a couple of months back. And it’s probably best to know if the results aren’t good!
Last time I had the body scan I was in a state of the art room in the hospital, with the technicians in a little booth in the next room, like they were launching a space craft. Today I was in a little mobile unit out the back of the hospital and the technicians were just through a doorway in the next room. But I’m not complaining. They were super efficient. I’d been told the process would take an hour and a half, but I was asked to come in half an hour early and was seen immediately and if I hadn’t had to wait for the cannula to be taken out of my arm afterwards I might have been in and out in time to have free parking (sadly I was there for 42 minutes which meant I had to pay another £3.50 to the parking company who I hope are happy to be profiting from other people’s cancer).
It felt a bit back street and rushed in some ways, but I enjoyed that edginess. The technician reminded me that the iodine in my blood stream might make me feel like I’d wet myself. I told him that I was annoyed that this had never been the case before and that I felt I was missing out. “Maybe this will be the time you get lucky,†he joked. I hoped so, but alas, I only got a very mild warmness in my throat. Next time I will get the full immersive, Total Recall, soiling myself experience.
I was given no clues about whether it was good news or bad news and I suspect the technicians aren’t allowed to say either way. So we wait to see if anything has gone wrong and any relief that it has not will be tempered with the fact that it might do the next time.
Why can’t we live forever?
Or watch (in return for a charity donation to help the hospitals that are treating me- and maybe get another indoor scanner)
here
