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12/30/2003: "Fireworks and empty rooms."
So, we roll into another year. I wonder what you'll be doing when midnight comes around on the 31st. I''ll probably be at my computer, looking at the moon through my attic window and reflecting on the ultrasound I would have earlier that day; December 31st, Royal Free Hospital appointment at 1600hrs. No food or drink for four hours beforehand, please.
January is going to be tough. I've bloodtests on the 12th, a renogram on the 14th (an isotope will be injected into me, nuclear medicine staff tracking its course around my body. Very 'Fantastic Voyage'.), then the biopsy on the 15th which will incapacitate me for 24 hours.
It's not brilliant timing is, it? Reminds me of when I had an iron-infusion. The nurse hooked me up to an IV, made sure I was lying comfortably on an examination table and stood there looking at me. "Is there any reason you have to wait there?" "Yes, it's incase you go into anaphylactic shock." "Oh, right," I said cheerily "Why didn't you tell me beforehand?" "Ah, we don't like to scare people."
Wells THAT's ok then. Just hook me up to what looks like HP sauce and hang around waiting to plunge a syringe into my chest incase I start having a seizure. Fucking hell. What will the isotope people say? "Mr.IDgaf, does your penis normally glow a neon green?"
Fantastic Voyage.
