Friday didn't follow the Christmas plan - we were up early and into Charing Cross Hospital for my CT Scan - I didn't realise that because of Christmas there wouldn't be any traffic. We got there an hour and a half too early.
I drank my litre of water, got my canula sorted out and got the scan done.
Then I decided to be sensible and I rang the Chemotherapy helpline because my infection came back. This was because earlier in the month I thought I could sort it out and ended up very ill and told off; my immune system has been damaged by a year of chemo, so it was actually a bit too risky.
So with Christmas coming I decided to do the right thing and got myself into the assessment ward.
Really, I've got a right to kill myself but given the amount of care, time and huge amounts of money the NHS has spent to keep me alive it would be a shame to just mess things up by mistake.
Although when they wrote my name up on the wall I did get a sinking feeling that all was not well.
Instead after all the tests in the world I left with some antibiotics, which was what I'd hoped for. I really didn't want to spend Christmas day there.
We'd hoped for a day out in London but by the time we got out we were both tired and hadn't eaten in 16 hours. Mind you, I'd had a litre of fizzy water!
We drove back, bought sandwiches on the way and collapsed at home.
Now we've got everything to sort out on Christmas Eve, which definitely wasn't part of the plan.
(a don't stop till you drop production)
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