Yay, 2006. A good year.
Ok, it started badly with a horrible vomiting virus, an early neurological relapse, I went deaf in one ear, got diagnosd with gallstones and, worse, EaZyD got man flu – the flu that caused one male friend to go to casualty and insist on an ECG because no one could ‘feel this bad and not be dying’.
By March, I was one finger typing but intent on delaying the next course of steroids until after our New York trip and then, back I went to the slammer. Ooooh, I am loving this new day patient system at the hospital – speedy. efficient, home every day post treatment – fantastic.
In April, things were improving nicely, when one morning, I woke up and discovered all the muscles motoring my right eye had seized up. Marvellous, yawn.
I spoke to Dr M, we agreed I would have to wait and hope it would settle down. It was like having botox in one eye socket – not a good look albeit one becoming popular with actresses of a certain age. I contemplated a rather fetching eye patch but thankfully the eye began to improve a few days later and, what do you know, summer was good in London.
A post summer relapse began. By November, I was back at the hospital. This time, post treatment, my skin began flaking off all over.
Steroids: the new chemical peel.
As usual, the horrid spots were back along with an extreme popping of face veins giving up the struggle to survive. I also had an angst attack about my crumbling bones. All I want to do is dress up and have fun … but I am just so tired.
On our last day at the hospital not only did I have treatment but we had theatre tickets for the evening.
Having struggled into the car at home, later than usual so as to go straight to the theatre post hospital treatment, we discovered the car battery was flat.
Surprise – no taxis available. We had to knock on neighbour’s doors to find help to jump start our car.
We made it to hospital by the skin of our teeth – the [grumpy] staff were at the doors to rush us in and out (they like to leave early Fridays). I had my treatment and we walked, in [seriously] freezing cold, with me shivering and shaking, to the theatre.
At the theatre, the wheelchair lift had broken down – no access, no play. The lift had been broken for two weeks. I was not happy [read: how unhappy I was] and told the supervisor so:
‘I really do understand how you feel,’ she said.
‘No, I don’t think you do,’ I replied, ‘have you ever dragged your paralysed body from treatment in a hospital bed, flogged across London in the freezing cold, to be told that you cannot see a play that you had booked months earlier because a lift, which had broken down several days ago, was not working?
You have no idea how I feel so let us not pretend that you do.
I can assure you that you would be outraged and livid in pretty much equal measure. However, whatever, I am clearly not going to be seeing this play tonight, am I?’
The supervisor shot me that astonished look that people give when you articulate vehemently from a wheelchair with barely contained fury.
We trudged back to the car and home. Nevertheless, 2006 was a really good year.