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Battling against the behemoth that is the underfunded NHS to get the treatment I require for my new exciting medical condition. Yesterday I got a letter that was composed on the 19th May advising me to get in touch with the secretary of my haematologist regarding the results of my scan.
Not only did I have no contact details (and none were provided on the letter) but I wasn't super happy that they knew two weeks ago that I needed to speak to someone, but I only found out yesterday. Why are some things done by text and some things done by letter? Really, why is anything done by letter? I found this wryly amusing (though wasteful of money and time) when I got letters telling me about upcoming appointments that I had been texted about and that happened two weeks ago, but it's less funny when it's about actual results.
I had spent yesterday afternoon trying to get through to the correct person, but just been trapped in a loop of hold music, then occasionally going back to the switchboard, then being put back on hold. In the end they gave me a direct number, but that seemed to go through to the wrong person, who was on holiday anyway and said not to leave a message.
I managed to find some email addresses that I hoped were right and tried phoning again today. It was a similar story, but eventually I got called back by a super helpful nurse who brought me up to speed with what was going on, what the scan had revealed and in what circumstances I should go to A and E. I was hoping I might get my treatment next week, as there is some recovery time involved, but she thought that was unlikely, but diligently took down all the dates that were convenient and inconvenient for me.
She told me I have an enlarged spleen and asked me if I had noticed that it was bigger. I wasn't sure what the spleen was or where it was, but I was pretty sure it was somewhere inside me, so I hadn't spotted anything wrong.
I was fairly certain that the spleen was one of those organs that you don't really need anyway, like an appendix or a testicle, but I looked it up and it turns out it's pretty important. Who knew?
It's all part of the underlying condition and should go back to normal once I am treated (and what I have is not curable, but is eminently treatable so long term I should be OK - or short term anyway. Not sure it's wise to talk about long term when you're nearly 59. I'd say I have a maximum of 59 years left), but hey, would love to have had a text about this on 19th May rather than a letter that arrived on the 1st June and also it'd have been cool if they'd got in touch with me rather than expecting me to try and do a sort of escape room where I had to find out who I needed to talk to.
I think the lack of urgency means that I don't have to worry too much (I first got wind that something was up back in October, but there's been a couple of instances of me waiting for them to get in touch with me, assuming all was fine because they hadn't, only to find out that there was stuff to think about, but no one had thought to tell me). My spleen has held it together for eight months, so another couple of weeks should be fine.
And I've heard that ladies love a large spleen, so it's not all bad. If that's the kind of stuff you're into then let me know and I'll see if I can get hold of the scans. If you're into massive cysts on single testicle then
you can see a scan of that on my latest DVD.
I love the NHS, but if I was in charge I'd move a lot more stuff to email and text and save a lot of money on stamps and envelopes - though maybe if things all take two weeks to arrive it actually saves money for the service because a few people die and so no longer need treatment. If my spleen had burst in the last two weeks I wouldn't have realised that it was a potential problem and would have probably just tried to walk it off. Saving you, the UK tax payer, tens of pounds. And you the UK comedy consumer a lot of sub par jokes and puppetry.
All is fine with me. I feel really well, though of course the minute I heard my spleen was enlarged my spleen started hurting. Even though I wasn't sure where my spleen was. But the more I found out, the more the pain started recentering to the correct location. Apparently it can press against your stomach and curb your appetite. Mine is choosing not to do that though, the fucking bastard. This could put Ozempic out of business.
I'm splenetic with rage about that. Luckily if my spleen pops I won't be able to be that angry any more. I'll have to be kidneyic with rage which isn't as effective.
And however frustrating the waiting can be, I would have no idea anything was going on if it wasn't for the yearly checks I get after my ball cancer. I have zero symptoms and am outwardly in rude health. So again, immense gratitude to the incredible people, working in underfunded conditions, still looking out for their patients. Let's face it, it will be a much easier job for them if all of us die, but they still go above and beyond to keep us alive.
This should all be dealt with soon and then I can leave my body to conspire to see if it can finally come up with something serious enough to actually kill me (and it). Typical of my useless self-assassin of a body that it can't even do me in with an incurable disease.
Anyway, keep checking your spleen everyone. Wherever it may be. And whatever it might do. On I fucking plod.
Episode 70 of Newsround and some surprising (to me) questions about Cinderella's feet from young Ally Sloper. I don't know how he comes up with this stuff. But he was in very good form today.
I am doing 14 RHLSTPs in 12 days at the Edinburgh Fringe this year (evening shows in different venue on 8th and 9th August). Will be booking guests very soon, but weekends selling fast so
BOOK NOW
And it'd be lovely to see a few more of you at the late show at
St Albans Roman Theatre on Sunday. I'll almost certainly reveal what is wrong with me. If I didn't get ill I'd have no material these days!
