Well THAT couldn't have been more awkward

Just in case you’ve not yet heard, I’ve written a book (Prescription for Disaster). Well, you may have heard as I’ve kind of been shouting it from the rooftops with a megaphone. I don’t plan to stop any time soon.

My day was more or less one of those where you start to suspect that the universe is setting you up. It started in the morning on my way to the hospital – a small little old lady full on reached out and cupped my bum cheek in an elevator, then looked me in the eye, grinned and apologized. Having given her the side-eye there wasn’t much more I could do so off I went, continuing on with my journey. I then passed a local charity shop with an actual pirate hooker costume in the window - just like in my book. This was weird.

About half way to the hospital while passing a small park I hear ‘Timber! Look out! Timberrrrr!) and the sound of a chainsaw up in the air. I looked up just in time to see a gigantic tree limb (it wasn’t a branch, it was a full on limb) crashing to the ground and onto the hedge I was walking past. The last thing one expects to encounter in central London is a full on lumberjack.

I made it to the hospital, slightly hesitant about entering for my treatment given the absurdity the day had already started spewing at me. Regardless, I went in, staked out my chemo chair for the day and settled in – quickly heading down to the consultant’s clinic to see Dr. Sarc and his team. What happened there has given me so much pride. I’m quite close to bursting with pride already at this point – like a peacock proudly showing off his feathers of awesomeness that then hits the vanity boiling point in which it suddenly molts and explodes – beautiful feathers strewn about the street as shrapnel of the peacock having thought far too much of himself.

I saw one of my regular doctors, the young rheumatologist with an iPhone. I told him about my book, showing him the copy I had brought with me. I cannot begin to describe the smile on his face when I told him how much he had influenced my experience and that he was in there as well. He asked me where he could get a copy and I assured him that I would post him one to the hospital in the next few weeks, that I would be so pleased to give him one – and that the best thanks I could ever give him was to tell the world what he had done. It was a lovely exchange, and then he wrote me up for some more drugs.

So although it wasn’t a surprise so much as just more weirdness gravitating toward me, that same doctor came up to the day ward I was on after his clinic finished. He wanted to ask me to please sign the book I send him, to his name and with my name. See, he’s having an assessment in a month and wants to bring this to his supervisor to show them that he’s so fantastic that one of his patients even wrote a book about him.

So of course I will personalize it. And I shall sign that one with the greatest flourish I can muster.

So after something like that I was understandably on a bit of a roll confidence wise. It was rather short lived.

My employer’s photography crew showed up at the hospital a few minutes later, ready to take some promotional shots for my book – which the surprised nurse kindly let us use an empty treatment room for. The nursing staff seemed to be so surprised by my sudden spoken Chinese and the small crew of Chinese people having shown up that we more or less got to do what we wanted – though I of course was careful not to have any people or hospital identifying information in the shots. Our awkward photo shoot done they left – back to the office and wishing me luck with whatever the hell I was doing there (erm….. I maybe should have explained things to them first. I assured them that I wasn’t dying and would definitely see them at work on Monday)

and I went back to settle into my chair, chatting with a good friend that had shown up coincidentally (the best kind of showing up, really). Again, my confidence level was preeeeetttty high… so I was going to do it. I was going to make an approach with my book to the hospital gift shop.

And that could NOT have gone any worse.

My plan is to form partnerships with the “Friends of ___” volunteer run shops of hospitals throughout the NHS in the hopes that they will not only stock but include my book on their little cart that goes around to all the wards. This would be ideal for me, as it’s a book designed for sick people and well…. hospitals are full of ‘em. So I made an approach, to a friendly old man running the WH Smith bookshop downstairs. He told me that there used to be a “Friends of Royal Free” shop but it sadly closed about four years ago – he used to be a volunteer there himself. Now it’s just the WH Smith, but the trolley that goes round is run by the Volunteers Office now – maybe I should talk to them.

Great! He directed me to the office and off I went – uber confident that an office of elderly volunteers should be quite pleasant and relaxed to deal with.

It was not.

The volunteers office of the Royal Free Hospital is run by an intimidatingly efficient yet very pleasant woman, and is an office of about 10 or so people… not really what I had anticipated. The receptionist is an elderly woman with terrible hearing, so kept asking me why I was there. I really need to practice how I explain these this to people – as I stammered and stuttered and told her that I ‘wanted to get involved with promoting the hospital and fundraising, I’ve written a book and would like to speak to someone about how I can get involved.”

“What?”

“Oh. I’ve written a book –“

“WHAT? This isn’t the library!”

“I don’t want the library. I’ve written a book –“

“Oh no dear, we don’t sell books here.” 

"No, I've WRITTEN a book! WRITTEN!"

"Oh! Good for you dear!"

She was interrupted (thank God) by the uber-efficient woman running the volunteer office, who gave me forms to fill in while she told me about the 57 volunteer positions currently open. I told her I wasn't interested in volunteering my time so much, but that I was looking more into getting involved in fundraising and promoting the hospital, spreading a message of positivity in chronic illness.

"Oh, so you want to do fundraising, that's great! We are always in need of more collection tin volunteers!"

"What? No, you misunderstand. I don't want to hold a tin"

"Oh, well, we have table positions for collections as well."

"No, I work full time. I'm not going to walk around with a collection tin."

"Oh, well you could take it to the station closest to your work? Where do you live?"

"I'm not here to do a collection tin."

"You could do a collection tin here at the hospital?"

"Enough with the tin! I'm not here for a collection tin!"

I decided to try a different tactic. 

"Okay. Here is the form, I've finished filling it in. Is there a contact person that I could talk to about getting involved from a 'higher level' fundraising or promotion opportunity?"

"So you don't want to do a collection tin?"

In the end I left my email for her boss, spun my IV pole around and got the hell out of there, back up to the ward and to relax. That was the most awkward and frustrating attempt at 'getting involved' I've ever experienced .Drained from the day and sure that the weirdness of my day was at least over I sent Paul a text asking him and the kids to come up to the ward to get me when they arrived. This is what I got back:

Alas, the weirdness of my days is never, EVER over.

Oooh! But I did get to have those satay noodles for lunch!

Wait, who says NO to something like that?!

Wait, who says No to something like that?!

Alright, I think we can all agree that hospital food is ranked right up there with airline food and the last half-hour of a decent restaurant’s salad bar. I have found, however, that there is indeed an exception to prove the rule.

The Royal Free Hospital in London has, in its basement cafeteria, an Asian stir fry bar. Oh yes, an actual stir fry bar within a hospital cafeteria that is cheap AND delicious. And fresh. And all kinds of wonderful. You fill a bowl with vegetables of your choosing, select a ‘meat’ (they have tofu!) and it is stir fried in front of you in a warm, nutty satay with chilies and garlic. It is so heavenly that it seems as though people not even associated with the hospital flock there for lunch, making the cafeteria a busy, busy place.

Now, as a day-patient on the chemo ward you get perks like a comfy chair and a free lunch, the vegetarian option being some sort of mushy mushroom and onion pie with mushy peas (we have teeth you know!!) and something equally vile intended for dessert.

So can you blame me for sneaking off to the cafeteria?

Under the guise of going out to find phone reception so I could make a quick call I maneuvered my spindly IV pole out of the door, down the hall, past security (if I don’t make a big deal they don’t make a big deal), into the elevator and on my way to the cafeteria, salivating with anticipation. I was in a hurry, they don’t like it when patients disappear with their IV’s.

I made it to the cafeteria and got in line, my IV pole being guided with one hand and my other loading up a bowl with green beans and julienned carrots – clearly the only IV connected idiot within the entire cafeteria. I was getting some strange looks, sure… but the stir fried noodle bar was so worth it.

“Eating in or out?”

Oh, in please. I couldn’t very well take this back to the ward – they’d surely never let me out again. I’d have to sit down here, wolf it down and then head back up before either someone started to miss me or the stupid IV pole thing started beeping that Jermaine Steward tune again.

So there I was, having paid for my beautiful lunch and ready to eat – I just had to find somewhere to sit.

I couldn’t see a single empty table.

Alright, find. This is a huge place, there is probably an area around the corner that is empty. I balanced my tray in both hands as I nudged my IV pole forward with a combination of my elbow, hip and foot. It was slow going but totally manageable. I made it around the corner – all tables were full. Not a free table in sight.

Okay, I needed to sort something out. I was drawing much attention with my IV pole and tray shuffling around the main corridor of the cafeteria like a confused mental patient. I looked to the outside terrace and to my relief saw a group of empty tables – it was only drizzling outside, not actual rain, so I went for it – only to find that I couldn’t get my IV pole over the lip of the doorway to actually get out there.

I turned around, at that point quite desperate to sit down. This was like high school all over again – looking for a place to sit in the lunch room and every person with a spare seat keenly avoiding eye contact. I’d have to just go for it, we’re all adults now, this isn’t like high school and people are mature and understanding. Especially to someone connected to an IV pole.

I took a deep breath and shuffled my way over to a table with a friendly looking woman sat at a table with three empty seats.

“Sorry, do you mind if I sit here?”

“Oh, I’m saving these seats. Sorry.”

Wait, what? She said no. No! What kind of person says no to that!? 

Horrifically embarrassed at the exchange I shuffled away as quickly as I could, my IV pole nearly getting away from me in the process. I really needed a place to sit down. I approached a second table with a lone diner – an even friendlier looking woman who snapped at me in Bulgarian. This was not going well.

I was getting desperate. I was so hungry, I was in a rush and I was already so embarrassed. I made a third approach – a man this time. He didn’t look all that friendly but hey – that hadn’t worked out too well for me the last two times.

“I’m sorry, do you mind if I sit here? The cafeteria is full and I can’t seem to find a place to sit.”

“No.”

Oh. My. God.

I just wanted to shrivel up into the floor and die. I gave him a dirty look, repositioned my tray onto one hand like a skilled waitress, took hold of my IV pole and aimed for the back of the room close to the kitchen. I didn’t even take my chances this time, I just saw a friendly looking nurse (nurses have sympathy, surely!) sitting at a table by herself and went for it, sitting down in the chair across from her, apologizing with a ‘sorry, all of the other tables were full’ and then started eating as quickly as I could. She looked uncomfortable, until her two friends then also joined her at the table and a fourth (who’s seat I was now in) did an abrupt U-turn and went to find another spot.

This was made so much worse by my inability to eat with any grace since having had a stroke (a good quarter of every meal ends up on myself or on the floor), slurping up noodles with chopsticks and my IV pole starting to beep. I looked like I was in their care.

Fantastic.

One of the nurses at the table reached over, pressed a button on the pole to stop the beeping and they then continued their conversation in Tagalog – hopefully not (but probably) about me.

It was the most uncomfortable lunch ever and I ate with record speed – only to see as I scurried out of there that the first lady was still sitting alone.

Rude.

My kids forgot we even HAD iPads!

My kids forgot we even HAD iPads

There is nothing quite like camping in a virtual monsoon to bring a family together under a cheap blue tent with a floor that isn’t quite attached. I’m not certain why it isn’t attached – but I do know that we stayed up and chatted from either sleeping end of the tent with a small river flowing between us and past our cooler. I also realized this camping trip that you don’t actually need all that much to really entertain kids when they are presented with the great outdoors – that when left to their own devices our kids had a pretty good time.

We had ventured down to Cornwall – having always wanted to go there but not quite being sure of why. It was a ‘why not?’ kind of trip, which often turn out to be the very best kind. Something about the end of the world, I don’t know. My husband dragged us out in the pouring rain without rain coats to see some signpost out in the ocean that we couldn’t make out through the rain. I squinted so hard I hurt myself.

But back to the actual camping.

We had stayed at Franchis Holiday Parks (http://franchis.co.uk/) as part of AFF and I’ve got to say, we had a pretty great time. The camp had a separate area for tents which greatly reduced the chances of our kidlets getting smoked by a motorhome while running about like wild howler monkeys in the open play area – which was much appreciated. This also, however, introduced us to our very first proper ‘hipsters’. At least, I think they were hipsters. At first Paul thought that they had come from a wedding as the couple were dressed so nicely, flowers in her hair and a flower in his coat pocket, she had brought a blow dryer tenting and they sat on blankets in their elaborate retro clothing to cook stew with rocks. I’m pretty sure they were hipsters.

As usual with nearly anywhere we go (like expensive hotels in Norway!) my kids loved the bathroom more than anything else. I do not profess to know why. Something about the bathroom at this place completely captivated them – it functioned as a sort of communal hang out area for campers like we were part of some backwoods broccoli farming commune. There was the little girl outside the bathrooms making ‘magic potions’ with leaves and bugs. The friendly and understanding woman my three year old followed into the shower, asking the lady for help with her coat zipper. There was the outdoor dish washing facility attracting local gossip like an office water cooler – though this was still Britain and full of Brits so really all we talked about was the weather. Then there was the other friendly woman that my dog followed into the bathroom and right into the stall. It’s a good thing he’s reasonably cute. And evil.

We had warm bread in the morning fresh from the camp store and I darted back and forth between the library/tourist info room to our tent like an excited flamingo – lifting my legs high as I ran to avoid puddles and flapping my arms in excitement; Paul! PAUL! We can go deep sea fishing! Get your stuff! Or Paul! PAUL! There are these giant cliffs we can go hike on! Or PAUL! PAUUUULLLL!!! SEAL WORLD! SEAL WORLD! Start the caaaaarrrr!!!!!

All in all, despite having given ourselves food poisoning with veggie burgers (I didn’t even know you could do that), having run down some painfully slow senior citizens on my way to the loo at a rest stop, having gotten completely lost time and time again AND having camped in a near monsoon we had a fantastic time, and can’t wait to go again.

Except this time we’ll bring Paul’s mom to take better pictures as we deface a local street sign.

I have a dirty, dirty mind

So I'm at this Sarcoidosis support group the other night and we're all sitting around a hospital boardroom table talking about everyone's issues, as you do. I got hopelessly lost within a strange hospital and came in late so I missed all of the introductions.

We're sitting there and this posh-looking business guy at the head of the table says "Look, I need some advice on medications. I'm having serious issues with my performance." and makes circular motions toward his lower abdomen.

Immediately I stifle a grin. No WAY are we about to hear about some stranger's bedroom issues, right?

So he goes on:

"I can barely perform at all right now. It's really affecting my life"

I can't believe the turn this conversation has taken.

He continues:

"I build up slowly and strongly but when it comes to the grand release...nothing" and makes explosion motions with his hands while thrusting out his chest.

Oh my God I am dying. HOW is nobody else giggling at this?!? How can I be the only immature one in the room? I made eye contact with my friend and was shocked to see that she didn't seem too phased by this.

He continues:

"My self esteem is shot. My performance is even affecting my home life now."

ZOMG is he talking about sexual problems OUTSIDE of his marriage?! With US?!

I let out a teeny giggle of discomfort and awkwardness- looking around the table but NOBODY else is blushing and giggling like a 14 year old boy. How is this possible?!

He continues:

"I'm afraid my career is ruined."

OMG what does this guy do for a living?!?!? This has quickly become the BEST SUPPORT GROUP EVER. I am DYING in my chair. I had to turn my head away because I absolutely could not keep a straight face and then-

An elderly woman around the table kindly asked him how The Adams Family went. 

Wait, what?!

Turns out he is an actor in London's West End. Musical theatre. He's currently playing Lurch.

I turned to my friend and whispered "wait, so none of that was a sexual reference?" and she was like "what is WRONG with you?"
Yeeeeaaaahhhh.