It’s been quite an eventful week.
I was released from hospital on Wednesday, just in time to enjoy a BBQ and a game of boules in the garden back home. I also fancied a new look so called my stylist round to get to work – as you can see from the pictures, I’ve gone for a more rugged look, channelling my inner Pie Face.
Getting my hair shaved off was a good laugh, but it’s also a practicality. Better to have my girlfriend Emily buzz it than to wake up with half of it lying on the pillow!
A word of advice: my mum’s been good for lots of things, but don’t trust her with a razor after half a bottle of wine. (In the end I decided that no sideburns was better than one – not that I had a choice).
Brace yourselves, this next bit contains scenes of nudity and is rated 18. The pathways for chemotherapy delivery are wide and varied: I’ve had it orally, intravenously, and this week, intra-bum-ily. I believe that’s the technical term.
I lay face down on the bed with my pants down and my little raisin arse on show to the world. My bum was numbed with a cold spray, and I waited for three seconds. Two nurses, attending to one bum cheek each, then simultaneously jabbed my rear end. They even treated the affected area to a brief massage afterwards. I do not believe there was any medical reason for doing this, but it was rather nice.
I don’t just have affections for the female members of staff – I’ve been getting on very well with one of the male doctors. Being a Fulham fan, he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knows his stuff and we’ve struck up a bit of a bromance. The other day, he did a ‘sensation test’ on me to ensure there were no numb patches on my face. This involved him gently caressing various areas of my face, finishing with a brief stroke of my nose. It was cute – we had a moment.
Later that week, the same guy took me down for an MRI scan as I was having quite severe headaches, and there were concerns I might have a blood clot on my brain. We waited anxiously for him to return with the results, and when he did, he said he had good news and bad news. We braced ourselves, and opted for the good news first. There was no blood clot, he said. And the bad news? I’ve got a really tiny brain. The bastard.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in hospital, it’s that things can change quite quickly. Two days after getting home and enjoying boules, BBQ and buzz cut, I went straight back in with further headaches. A scan showed that this time there really was a blood clot on my brain. Treatment has already begun, and it involves anticoagulants to thin my blood and in turn dissolve the clot. From butt-rub to blood clot – hospital life eh?
I’d like to extend a big thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has read my blog and signed up to the Anthony Nolan register. I’ve had an incredible 16,000 views on the blog, and 210 people signed up to the Anthony Nolan register within the first weekend of me posting. Comedian Jack Whitehall has kindly shared it with his 5m followers, and Sir Matthew Pinsent and Everton Football Club have done so too.
In case you missed it, I’ve posted a video below on how to sign up and what’s involved – it’s super easy and painless. And if you were thinking about signing up but didn’t get round to it, please consider doing so now as it is World Blood Cancer Day!