So it seems that treating my internal double infection has made no difference to the infernal spasming that I get.

Today, it has been going on all day. At the moment my right foot is kicking every single second

As it always gets worse at night,  I can hardly bloody wait for nightfall.  I now dread going to bed every night. I remember when bedtime was a  good thing.

To say that it drives me to bloody distraction would be an understatement. Nothing that I do makes any positive difference. Not understanding  how my f’d up body works is highly dissatisfying. Pre injury I was totally tuned in to it. Yes it would break down now and again and I’d know the work around, which helped me a lot. The contrast  now couldn’t be greater -as often as not I have no idea at all why things happen, and therefore can’t fix it.

Tonight im going to try having a lot to drink.

Could be one leg or both

As I lay spasming and sweating and pissing myself in my bed last night, I had it all planned.

The note, the last blog post, the knife into my femoral artery ( obvious place as I can’t feel my legs ) and a fairly swift bleed out, by myself, alone,  as I’ve mostly been for 2 days.

My cycle of hot and cold has been joined by coughing up blood and retching regularly.

When a person is actually happier in a hospital ward, that’s quite telling. It’s apparent to me that I’m better off in there, with all the other sick people.

I was sad to come home to realise that my children have so very little time for me, stuck in bed and feeling desperately low. Two or three minutes at best, or until one wanted her phone fixed, when suddenly more time was available.

I’m tired of the excuse that it’s what teenagers are like, to be honest. I struggle to think of anything charitable that either of them have ever done, and on current form neither will ever do anything. If they’re too busy to spend a little time with their disabled dad, who has just come out of hospital, and is desperate to see them, then what hope is there?

On the subject of giving, thank you to Sima, my lovely colleague and former student, in Sel’s practice, who took on the fund raising for Selcuk’s coffin transportation, and did so well. She put the word out and raised quite a lot. It’s struck me over the years how those with far less so often give, relatively, so much more generously, and sometimes how those who absolutely should contribute, don’t.

Before my accident I did all sorts of athletic endeavours for charity, but don’t recall my remaining  business ‘partner’  ever donating anything. I thought that on this occasion she might, just might have though, professing recently to ‘ have been like a sister to Selcuk ‘. I’ve not talked on this blog about this woman, but on this occasion feel I should.

My feverish state led to a vivid dream about me kayaking from a disused industrial estate as well as ‘finding’ all this  stuff that had been ‘ left’ there –  it definitely wasn’t mine to help myself to, but in my upbringing in South Wales, if it wasn’t tied up then it  might not be there when you came back 5 minutes later. ..

When I was in Kentucky last year, I wheeled past, and then observed for quite a long time, a fully loaded toolbox, along with ipad, that a tradesman had just wandered off from and left on a pavement

If you think the USA is the crime capital of the planet, then think again.

I got there.

I was able to make a speech, to suggest a pub for all to go to afterwards and talk to old colleagues, and put my cars behind the bar.

No alcohol for me.

Terribke spasms, bad sleep, and all day in bed at home. Headache and very hot again.

So glad I made it. Was very moving.

Feel like crap

They are promising to let me out, in time to get a taxi to Selcuk’s service, where I’ll meet Dani.

I had lost hope of going, and Dani was going to speak on my behalf, but now I get to do my own talking.

They will discharge me with quite a lot of drugs for the next 2 weeks, which should sort out my double infection that I have going on concurrently.

Me and my ward buddy opposite will stay in touch I’m sure and maybe collaborate on some future Zorb Ball enterprise.

Watch this space.

The vacated lorry driver’s bed has been filled.

The gentleman appeared, amongst other things, to have some difficulty walking.

He was here a few hours before he asked the nurse to help him visit the toilet. As he is directly opposite me, I  pretty much have to turn my head or close my eyes not to see him.

He is wearing a standard hospital gown. They cover the front of you and are tied at the back, but  also open at the back too.

I was treated to the view of him bending over, with his back to me, and his feet planted firmly apart, with no underwear on.

I could see the reason for his odd gait.

He’s got bigger nuts than I have!

And that’s why he’s here…

So now I’m not only paralysed and bed bound, but also not even the bloke with the biggest bollocks on the ward!

Andy Rod Stewart Murray has now left, with his fiancée.

I fear for her prospects, once he hits the big time.

Next time I see him, it’ll be in the Daily online Mail, wrapped with Gwynneth Paltrow, or some starlet.

If Gwynneth, it’ll never last.  She only eats Oxygen and the gluten from gluten free bread.

Or something like that.

The chances of Gwynnie having a fridge full of  strobberi  jam , to keep him from going after someone more racy,  are almost zero.

As half expected, I am told that in fact I’m in for another day ( at least ).

The microbiology team ( and no, they’re not in charge of testicle measurement – that’s the local surveyor ) has decided that my blood tests show way too much sign of infection, and my  intravenous drugs need to be changed again.

Thanks to Dani and Amber and Pia and Mark P and Irfan for visiting.

As anyone that has come so far has been sent to totally the wrong ward, it’s Bed G4 on the Riverside Ward in Charing Cross. And don’t let the various people on reception tell you otherwise.

The surgeon has just done his round and seen the  two other guys, who have both had their appendixes out.

‘Rodney Stewart’ just had to say, had to … ‘ I’m a singer. Will having my appendix out have affected my vocal chords?’

I had to stifle a laugh, to be honest.

Wa you wont for breakfast?

Some tea, some orange juice, and bran flakes please.

You wont sugar ?

No thank you.

She appears to write it all down.

Few minutes later..

She puts a tray ( with tea, small carton of juice, and   tiny bowl containing about 20 bran flakes, full to the brim with milk ) out of my reach on a table to the side of my bed.

I ask her to pass my the tray, which she kindly does.

I no put the sugar in yet.

I don’t want sugar, thank you.

You wont sugar – How many?

No sugar at all, thank you.

Maybe I’m the first person in this hospital not to request sugar?

I know now find myself strangely pleased when I hear strobberi jam  …. from behind the curtain – which of course I did 3 times.