Life Is a Roller Coaster... Part One

Hello all. It’s been almost exactly four weeks since I last updated you, and what a four weeks it’s been! Ronan would be proud. I’ve produced enough green phlegm to power an industrial scale microbial fuel cell. Gross but true.(If you aren’t sure what a microbial fuel cell is you can get your geek on here).

So much has happened over just a few weeks and I think it is important to share the ups and the downs. Some of it has been very public and some more private. There is too much to fit into one post so I will be sharing a few more over the coming days. I hope you enjoy them, even the serious ones…   

You may have noticed I use a variety of things to support my head. What you perhaps don’t know is that a lot of that improvised scaffolding is actually to support my jaw rather than my neck. Since I am wedded to using a ventilation mask that only provides air through my nose (diva), and I am unable to keep my mouth shut literally as well as figuratively. If left unsupported my jaw will hang open, and the air from my ventilator will come straight out of my mouth without going into my lungs. Which is a problem… 

This makes sleeping particularly risky and my solution is to use a robust neck pillow, along with a home made Velcro strap. The strap is fastened around the pillow to keep the jaw support provided by said pillow secure. The night after I published the last blog this strap was put on as normal, however what I didn’t realise at the time is that it was slightly too tight… When I awoke after a twelve hour sleep my throat was sore, my voice (what’s left of it) had dropped several octaves, and my breathing was laboured. Which was a problem…

Shortly after waking I felt some secretions in my chest which needed to come out. This isn’t unusual and the team are well used to the process, which involves using a device called a cough assist. This device inflates my lungs and then provides suction mimicking a natural cough and helping to remove unwanted secretions. Unfortunately on this occasion when the high pressure airflow, delivered to inflate my lungs, met the irritated tissue of my windpipe… my windpipe spasmed shut. Which was a problem… 

I’ll spare you the details but needless to say I was taken to hospital (it's a big building, with patients). My expectation was that I would be there to be monitored whilst my windpipe healed sufficiently for me to clear my chest safely. One night at most - right? 

Those pesky doctors… they had to go and test my blood didn’t they? Which of course revealed that I had somewhere along the way picked up a chest infection. Chest x-ray and sputum samples (less fuel for the fuel cell) along with the obligatory intravenous antibiotics follow. No problem, 3-4 days for the antibiotics to kick in and for my infection markers to come down, I’ll still be home for the weekend, right?

Those pesky doctors…Not content with finding an infection in my blood, apparently it has got too much sugar in it as well. I am not by all accounts, sweet enough. After a few more tests a new doctor arrives at my bedside to let me know that it’s official: I have Diabetes. Pop it on the list I tell her, and add twice daily insulin injections into my still ample belly onto the daily job sheet. All those years of committed heavy drinking along with fervently supporting local take-aways and curry houses…  my pancreas was fine with that. Spend a few years sitting down and it decides to join in and take some time off too! Let the injections commence!  

Apparently it takes a lot of trial and error to find the correct dosage of insulin. My fingers have been pricked every 4-6 hours for over a week. I need regular visits from the vampires to try and drain some life juice from my rapidly retreating veins.  The backs of my hands, inside of my elbows, and both ankles have been identified as potential extraction points, and then skewered with varying degrees of success.  I feel like a pin cushion, I am bruised all over and my fingertips look like they have been defending themselves from the world’s tiniest minigun. At least it is only an international weekend I’ve missed. 

Throughout this journey I am glued to my eye gaze and one web page in particular. I am tracking Paul Robinson in his incredible London to Paris, Arch to Arc, Worlds Hardest Triathlon attempt. It takes a lot for me but in all honesty I was pretty fed up in the hospital. Watching the little dot relentlessly progress as Paul ran, swam and cycled a total of 288 miles in a new record of 67 hours was awesome. It was a perfectly timed reminder of the power of determination and helped me summon some much needed reserves of my own. He's made an incredible video of his challenge which you can see below. Thank you Paul.

 I am ultimately released just in time to get home to witness those beautiful Garibaldi clad men deservedly take three points from Anfield. It’s a roller coaster and I am just going to ride it. Now I need to rest up before we head down to London town in three days. I have an awards ceremony to go to. But I’ll tell you all about that in part two…

As always thank you so much for reading and for your incredible support

 Sam