I’ve been in bed for 3 hours and my right leg has kicked every 2 seconds for all that time. Normally that’s a sign that the UTI is in full swing, but I m not getting any of the other symptoms, and I don’t feel depressed again.

Blimey, it’s all confused, and I can’t see myself sleeping through the constant kicking.

As the CORRECT antibiotics took effect, so my morbid depression started to lift. I have no control over my negative thoughts when I have a UTI – everything is bad, nothing is good, there is no optimism.

All i notice are things that I cannot do – steps, stairs, cyclists, runners, rollerbladers etc etc. These things I normally can almost blank from my mind, but whilst in the grip of an infection, they all seem to taunt and torment me.

Using cable ties – an awful lot of – the Triride is going to not fall off. I do have a problem with the motor too, so it may yet break down and stop working.

I thought of a way of detaching it from my chair without loosening any bolts that wouldn’t then go back in, by using 2 stacks of magazines to incline my chair backwards, which enabled Stella to get me into bed ( no, not in that way ).

In theory, it should be possible to reattach it in the same way, but in reverse.

I feel about as depressed as I imagine it’s possible to feel, and I have restarted antidepressants as well as being on the antibiotics for my UTI.

Providing we can reattach it, we should be able to visit some places today. Yesterday we went into Notre Dame, and the Pantheon. These monuments to God and the dead of France are beyond impressive. The city is full of churches that really now are just tourist attractions rather than places of worship. The age of religion is past,  for sure.

Having made headway with the UTI and the drugs, the next minor disaster is that my essential Triride attachment is breaking. The vital joint under the most pressure is shearing apart.

Ive used my last 2 industrial grade zip ties to secure it, but I daren’t try to take it off, as I’m sure it won’t go back on again.

That means that getting into and out of bed will have to be done without taking the front off, which may prove impossible for Stella.

If it all breaks, then the option is for Stella to push me around Paris. The hotel is up a hill, so will prove a massive challenge. Coming back to England may be the only option.

Now in bed.

Spasming.

Stella and i stoppéd to have some wine in a pavement cafe. I relaxed my no drink rule on the basis of f*** it.

My abdomen feels very uncomfortable – even though I can’t really feel it – maybe the deeper nerves still transmit something to my brain.

The French hospital has prescribed a 21 day course of antibiotics. That’s 3 times as long as they give you in Britain. Maybe that’s what someone like me needs to actually be rid of an infection? Perhaps my suicide last week was more to do with a lurking UTI than I thought?

What do I know? It’s all very unclear to me.

Having gone straight from the Eurostar to a french general hospital, ive seen a doctor who has confirmed a UTI.

She seems hesitant about treatment. I don’t know why she can’t just give me the drugs that I ( really do desperately ) need to avoid a repeat of last week.

On the way here I wheeled past so many incredible French icons, but they went almost unnoticed, and definitely unappreciated.

I’m currently waiting in an empty room, for the doctor to return.

She has just given me Cipro, which in the past has worked very well.

As my hopeless GP has yet again supplied me with a drug ineffective against my UTI, I am now in a French hospital, in URGENCES… A&E.

I have to wait to see a doctor, but I have seen the nurse already. I don’t know how long I will have to wait for the right drug. I’m trying to  hang on,  mentally , to suppress the Dark Thoughts that always accompany a UTI. I feel nauseous too.

I’m currently cursing poor Stella for keeping me alive, though only inside my head.

Myself and Stella are currently on the Eurostar to Paris. It’s a fixed fare for the wheelchairists, which  is helpful, though if you try to change the companion/ carer name, you can’t. You have to just buy both return tickets all over again, which is a little unreasonable, to say the least. After all, it’s not as though I could possibly, in a hundred years, come by myself, so I’m at the mercy of my companion’s actions.

Overall it’s a safer bet coming with Stella, than with say, an internet date, because 1) she’s ever so level headed 2) understands that my ‘ happiness levels’ aren’t stable, and doesn’t judge me or most importantly take offence, and 3) she deserves a treat like being taken to Paris ( albeit with a suicidal maniac like myself )

I went to the wedding on Sunday. Asian weddings are quite different to the ones that ‘ we ‘ have ( us white peeps from Britain ). It was explained by the very nice ‘ aunt’ of the groom that it follows the pattern that would happen in India – a ceremony in HIS village, a separate ceremony in HER village, and another one ( or more ) after that, when the bride and groom are actually in the same room!

So i saw the groom, and heard some blessing rituals, and talked to a few people on my table. There were no speeches, no music, lots of food brought around, and no alcohol. The whole thing obviously costs a fortune to stage, lasts for hours, but not an awful lot seems to happen. Everyone dresses up of course in traditional Asian wear ( except me and my friend ) so it is a spectacle. The mole that I’ve recently grown in the middle of my forehead could actually be mistaken for a bindi, but is just a mole actually. I think my date could only take so much without having a drink, so we departed and found a nearby accessible seaside bar, and then drove to my friends ( Damien and Sal’s ) house 10 miles away, for more non drinking ( or at least for me ). Driving and not drinking is obviously the wisest combination, so that all made sense. I did get flashed by a speed camera in Sunningdale, doing about 5mph over 30. Unbelievably it’s the same camera that flashed me a few weeks earlier, when I gave someone a lift home after a party, from a completely different location. What are the chances of that? Ive only ever once before been flashed by a speed camera, and now 2 in 2 excursions in a car, in 3 weeks, by the same camera, on an empty road, after 1 am …. I’ve already had one letter inviting me to court for doing 35 in a 30, and now I’ll get another, no doubt. I’m not exactly a danger on the roads, but ive obviously transgressed.

I have another UTI, and also my left arm is becoming very painful where they had a drip into my arm last week, after my death. The vein there is very hard suddenly, and painful. It would be too much to expect for this trip to go well, without complications, so God knows what will happen next. I’m already on antibiotics for the UTI, so perhaps that will help, and have taken Paracetamol, so maybe that will sort it out.

Or maybe I’ll die from some vascular complication, soon.

Who knows.

I just opened the microwave, to find that’s where Stella has hidden all the very sharp knives and scissors……

Fair enough really – the chances of me ever cooking something were ever so, ever so slim.

It’s getting out of the flat that I live in which is most essential to me, as a method of distraction ( survival ) I’m typing this from the bed in which I died a week and 6 hours ago. I’m going to a wedding today. I’ve no idea who they are, other than it’s Bengali. I’m a ‘ plus one’ of a lady that I met recently. She’s not Bengali either. I’m wondering whether there’ll be tigers?

Last night I spent at Pia’s house. We watched that film ‘ The Hangover ‘ . Everyone has seen it, I’m sure. The stag party go to Vegas and get into a LOT of trouble.  The thing for me, is that really there is little in that film that couldn’t have happened to me personally – probably other than going to Mike Tyson’s house and stealing his tiger.  That part was a bit far fetched. Those sorts of things really don’t happen to you when you’re paralysed – it’s just impossible.  I do miss the fact that now I’m condemned to never having the possibility of very crazy things happening to me. To most people what I’ve just written might sound ridiculous, but most people haven’t led the life I’ve had, or got themselves into the situations that I have ( repeatedly, over and over )

So I’ve started to write my book, or i should say continued it, since I started a while back, then stopped.

Funny things do still happen to me, but admittedly not as funny as the things that used to. Last night I went to Pia’s house, as I said. I’d been out all day on my Triride attachment and wheeled here and there, before going the 5 miles to Pia’s.

At 11.45 I left her house, knowing that my battery was already at half full, and having 6 miles to go. I had the option of trying to get onto a bus, which would have guaranteed my getting back. Obviously I didn’t do that, instead opting to chance my luck at midnight, on the roads.

With about 2 miles to go, the charge indicator had dropped to the last bar of quite a few bars, and i still had hills to go up. Worse than hills, i had to get over the Hogarth roundabout, one of the busiest entrances into London, and still very busy after midnight. As I approached it, I had the option of going under the subway, or over the roundabout. Had I gone under, and run out of charge, i’d have been stuck underground with no phone signal, and totally unable to push myself up the steep slope to get out.

The traffic lights went red as I neared the roundabout. I didn’t know if the battery had enough power to accelerate me from a standing start, into the roundabout, through 2 sets of lights, and then through to Chiswick, or not…

As I waited for the light to go green, and knowing that if the motor failed I’d be stuck in the middle of the road and almost certain to be run over within a few seconds, a bloke pulled up beside me in the next lane in a white Ferrari. I looked sideways at him, to find him looking at me..

When the lights went green, he did actually tear off. Was he really trying to beat me off the lights? Did it really count as a victory for him? I don’t know…

The motor got me through the first light, but by the time I got to the second it was turning red. Had I stopped, I reckon I’d not have started again so I effectively ran a red light, at past midnight, on the Hogarth roundabout. People were actually beeping me… I don’t know to what effect really – I mean what the f*** was I supposed to do at that point?

To my amazement I made it back the remaining half mile to where I live, where Stella was waiting.

I reckon that’s another life used up?