Having the girls home was fab, made the house sound right again, laughter and song and just general busy-ness. The focus would be Geogia's birthday, eight, where the flipping heck did the time go? Now it's awkward having a birthday in August when you're school age, all the people you want to invite end up going on holiday so parties aren't particularly overcrowded!
George loves pizza and so, as it was her party, pizza it would be. But not any old pizza, homemade pizza dough and homemade pizza sauce and toppings designed by George. Wendy made the dough and the sauce (complete with hidden vegetables for my benefit) and George did the toppings. It's safe to say come my birthday I'd like Wend to make more pizza's, they were fantastic and there was only a couple of pieces left over for lunch the next day.
I made it through the family party on the Friday, I'd felt better but I just put it down to being tired and having done too much.
Saturday came and George was going bowling with her friends that were not holidaying, Carys and us. That soon turned into just Wendy taking the girls down to the bowling and mum and Wend's friend Shelley meeting them there. I was in pieces, Georgie had a friend staying and what she must have thought of this big bloke sobbing into a pillow I don't know. Carys being Carys just asked straight out 'Why's daddy crying?'. I had nothing left, no energy, my get up and go had effed off!
By the evening I'd got worse and my temperature finally hit the 37.5 degree mark that constitutes a phone call, whatever time of day or night, to Weston Park. We both knew what was going to happen so Wendy phoned Mark and I got my overnight bag together, well I picked it up, as Wendy keeps it pretty sorted for times likes this.
You know you're bad when one of your best mates picks you up, looks at you and says "Yep you look shit". Not one for mincing his words Mark says it as he sees it and it's one of the reasons I love him as a friend, you know exactly where you are with him. He stayed with me for the best part of two hours while they tooks some observations and got me to swab for MRSA (one up the nose, one round the groin). It was a support that I didn't know I needed but it kept me together for the time being.
Being admitted was no hardship, I knew in my head and my heart it was the best place to be. Being jabbed several times for blood samples is also par for the course. Being woken up at half one in the morning by a very nice but very quietly spoken doctor and being told you're neutropenic was weird. Now I'm not the best at being woken up and being woken up by someone other than Wendy or mum puts me into an automatic who, what, where spin which was only stopped by the very patient sister. She was great, considering she'd stopped me spinning she allowed me to come round a bit before she put a cannular into my arm for the litre of saline and the intravenous anti-biotics that I had been prescribed.
Sleeping in hospital on a ward is weird as I have mentioned before. You have to get used to four other blokes snoring, farting, belching and the noise of sleeping on a plastic coated mattress always takes soem getting used to. Add to that a drip in your arm which you really don't want to lay on or pull out and it makes for a less than restful night. Having said that the old boys on the ward did tell me of a previous patient who woke them up one night shouting and screaming, they awoke to find this bloke knelt on the floor with his head under a chair bum in the air with no pyjama bottoms on............
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