They're what get you through, they're the ones that keep you going when it's pants. Mark seems to cop it when I need to go to hospital, both times I've been kept in he's taken me up and both times he's been shocked at how sh*t I look. But he comes and he sits and waits with me, averts his eyes as I swab my groin for MRSA and generally talks b*ll*cks with me while they sort a bed for me.
Mum and Dad have been amazing. Without their help with the girls this summer would have been awful. They've been supportive without being intrusive which is a hard thing to do.
The Neutropeonic thing that Wend posted about was basically my blood didn't have enough soldiers in it to fight out of a wet paper bag let alone a cold. I felt cr*p, just laid on the bed Saturday before my temperature spiked forcing me to ring the hospital again.
It's still a humbling experience going to one of the wards and listening to other peoples tales. Seeing people with terminal lung cancer hacking up every five minutes and spending three hours a day on a nebuliser but still being cheerful and laughing a joking is inspirational but emotionally draining too.
So I'm home, knackered but home. Humbled by positive attitudes and just getting on with it.
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