New floors and animal magnetism.

We are up early again, around six o'clock, as the fitters are coming by half past eight or so, and I have a busy day ahead. The two days of lovely warm spring weather have ended and the cold east wind has returned, it chills my bones when I let Norman into the garden. He has Bakers for breakfast, whilst I have soft boiled eggs with rye toast soldiers and my usual Italian coffee, before reading the paper on my iPad. I am shaved, showered, shampoo'd, dressed and ready to go for eight o'clock, in case the workmen come early, but in the event, it is nine o'clock when they arrive. There are two of them, both about thirty years of age, and they seem friendly and pleasant. I make a teapot of tea for them and then leave them to it, while I take the dogs out, telling them to drop the key through the letter box, if they are finished before I get back. On our way to Cherry Burton, we call in to Beverley, as I need to buy a birthday card for Felicity, it is her birthday tomorrow, she will be 77, and I have said I will call in to Ward 21 to visit her after my MRI scan at lunchtime. A shop called Paper Chase has the best cards, I almost never buy specific birthday cards, except for small children and find a lovely card of a butterfly vase, with two butterflies adorning it, it is Alice's 16th birthday on Thursday and I am giving her some money, so I buy a decorated envelope for her as well. All of this takes longer than I had planned and it is a quarter to ten before I collect the terriers and take them on the Westwood, ideally I should be leaving Tickton for the hospital by a quarter past eleven, as my appointment is at noon and there are still roadworks on the bypass between Beverley and Castle Hill hospital. The dogs behave beautifully and return on request, so we complete our walk without incident and I am back home just before eleven. The two fitters are just finishing off, the hall looks much better now the old carpet has been replaced by smart wooden flooring, so I thank them, change out of my dog walking trousers and then give Norman some water and biscuits, before driving to the hospital. The improvements to the bypass are almost completed, at least on the section that runs to the hospital, so I am there by half past eleven. I make my way to the MRI suite and hand in my letter and a completed proforma, that lists any relevant operations or bits of metal that I may have in my body, and then settle down in the waiting area, where I start to write out Felicity's card and then intend to read a book I have brought, until I am called. I haven't even finished writing her card out before a rather diffident young woman comes to collect me and then asks me to follow her down the corridor, where I am shown a changing room and asked to undress to my underwear and put on a gown, the kind that ties at the back and is almost impossible to fasten. Having completed this task, I emerge into the MRI waiting area in the gown and my shoes and socks, the diffident girl has disappeared, so I wonder up the corridor looking for a door that says MRI on it, the other waiting patients watch me with bored indifference. I ask a man nearest to me if he thinks the gown is this years fashion, but it doesn't go down well, I expect they, like me, are having scans to find out the extent of some probable bad news. The diffident girl emerges from a door and asks if I have put my clothes away securely, I reply that I have left them folded in the cubicle, she tuts, indicates for me to follow her and returns to the changing room, where she grabs my clothes, screws them up in a bundle and then sticks them in a steel locker and gives me the key. "You are supposed to put them in the lockers for safe keeping", she tells me as she walks off in the direction from which we have just come. The words " I am not bloody telepathic!", die on my lips, as I realise that there may have been instructions about this, that I was about to read, before she called me forward and should have read in the two weeks they have been sitting on my desk. The radiographer is a friendly woman in her forties and she tells me that I am to have a variety of scans on my pelvic area and that it will take about forty five minutes. She asks if I have had an MRI scan before and I tell her I have had two, one for a ruptured vertebral disc and one before my prostate was removed. The one for prostate cancer took place a day or so before Xmas 2004, and was conducted by another nice woman, a professor Turnbull, who agreed to tell me what she had found, when I asked. This radiographer says she can't do that and that the results will be sent to Mr Cooksey, my urologist, before the weekend. It is now time to climb onto the plattern, a narrow cot like structure that transports you inside the scanner, I am given a hoop, that feels like something metalic covered with fabric, which is placed over my pelvis and then given headphones to wear. Before the scan starts, I am asked if I would like some music, but decline as I intend to use the time as an opportunity to meditate. The scans start and the machine makes its familiar thropping hum, after a short while my lower stomach starts to feel pleasantly warm from the radiation. MRI stands for magnetic resonance imaging, and I suspect the noise is caused by rotating opposing magnets within the scanner. All radiation is electromagnetic, some is at differing wavelengths or frequencies to others and anyone with GCSE science knows that passing a conductor through a magnetic field, will induce a current and conversely passing a current through a conductor will create a magnetic field around it. There are about eight separate scans and different parts of my anatomy warm, as they become the focus of the radiation. The last scan warms my pubic area and I think I can feel something, a couple of inches above my testes on the left hand side. This might be wishful thinking, but the two most likely areas for an escaped prostate tumour, are in the prostate bed, from where the prostate was removed, or in the vas deferens, the tube that connects the prostate to the testes. The prostate's main function is to produce a hormone that liquefies semen, the PSA test measures the level of this hormone in the blood stream. If I could have a choice of location for the tumour, it would be fairly low down in this tube, as it could be accessed and removed laparoscopically or killed off by radiation or ultrasound, without much risk of burning the rectum or the bladder in the process. In any event I should know the results in a week or so. After the procedure is completed I am told I can get dressed and leave, so I retrieve my clothes from the locker and dress in the cubicle, when I put on my watch I am surprised to find it is only half past twelve. I have an hour to kill before visiting starts on Ward 21. I cross into the next building and make my way to the hospital restaurant, which is only a few yards away from Felicity's ward. There are queues of people waiting for food, so I pick up a pre packed BLT, (bacon, Lettuce and Tomato sandwich), and make myself a cup of tea with a tea bag and some hot water in the self service area, before giving the cashier £3.90p and making my way to a table. The sandwich is quite edible, the tea less so, I could have stood in line at the Costa Coffee shop counter, but there were about twelve people already queueing there and it would have taken an age. There are about thirty medical students sat all around me, all bright young things in their early twenties, predominantly girls, who look far more assured than their male counterparts. When I have finished eating, I pull out my book, a series of short stories by the Irish author, Colm Toibin, it is called "Mothers and Sons", and read the first story, about a Dublin art thief, until it is time to visit Felicity. There are notices on the ward doors warning of the Norovirus outbreak and enjoining people to use the hand gel on entry and exit, which I do. Felicity has been moved to a different room and I eventually find her lying on the bed, in her pyjamas, I hand her the card and a book of Japanese poetry and wish her many happy returns for tomorrow. She tells me she is fed up and so I suggest we walk to the day room, which is not far away and where we can sit in comfortable chairs and chat. The poor old girl has been stuck in here for two weeks now, the last week purely as a result of quarantine, and tells me once agin that she doesn't know what is going on. This is more or less a reprise of my last visit and she admits that she hasn't actually asked anyone recently, so once again, I find her allocated nurse, who is about to come and explain things to Felicity when the staff nurse intervenes. "All being well, after a final deep clean tomorrow, Mrs Redfearn, can be discharged", she tells me. I relay this news to Felicity, who promptly credits me with her imminent release, I assure her that I am just the bearer of glad tidings and not its author. To celebrate we walk up and down the room together, a student physiotherapist, wearing a badge that says "The University of Huddersfield", comes in and asks Felicity if she has a Zimmer frame at home, she says she doesn't and he tells her he will arrange for her to take the one she has been using in hospital. Yet more positive signs of discharge, but despite this good news, she is still not happy about going for respite care to Molescroft Court, I promise to collect her on Wednesday morning and take her and Annie to the Poppy Seed and also tell her that her friends are arranging a lunch at Norwood House in her honour, once she is back home. I leave her at half past two, she is still in two minds about whether to be optimistic or not and another setback could really see her spirits drop again. I drive home and recover the white washing from the garden where I hung it this morning, first thing and then hang out some shirts and socks, Norman is scampering around the garden, oblivious to the freezing wind that progressively numbs my hands, as I peg out the socks. While I am in the garden I fetch three large green bags from the shed, that are used for hedge and garden clippings and then proceed to load up the old underlay and pieces of metal and wood, detritus left by the fitters at the side of the house and then drive the mile and a half to the municipal tip at Weel, where I dump it. When I return home I put on the oven and take the lasagne from the fridge, that I made on Saturday, and pop it in to cook. While it is doing so, I knock up a tossed salad with Parmesan shavings and butter some slices of ciabatta bread and eat this as a starter with an accompanying glass of Shiraz. As soon as the Lasagne is cooked, I take a portion and put it in a bowl to cool for Norman, and then serve mine. It is hot, cheesy and delicious, with a hint of Basil, as I put leaves of the herb between the layers of sauce and pasta to infuse while it stood. After our meal Norman and I lie down for an hour and soon we are fast asleep and we stay like this until woken at half past five by Sarah, who asks how the scan went and then tells me that Alice was expecting me to collect Louis at three. Sarah and I have crossed our wires, I normally collect Louis from school and take him for swimming lessons, but school doesn't restart until tomorrow and I distinctly remember Sarah saying she would be home for three, when I spoke to her last night. When we get up I see that there are several missed calls from Alice on my iPhone, probably wondering where I was. The postman has been while we slept and delivered a pair of navy blue swimming shorts, that I bought on eBay for half of the usual £15 that they normally cost. I shall christen them tomorrow, when Swimathon training resumes in earnest. Later I text Hanne with the news about Felicity and then read until bedtime. To bed around midnight.