This is not what I asked Santa for Christmas.
This week I have mostly been... in hospital.
Cannula-tastic! I'd almost forgotten how much I hate these things. Almost.
Well, that's not technically true for on this particular occasion I was in hospital for less than twenty-four hours, just enough to get all needled up and experience my eighth CT-scan of the year.
As I believe I have mentioned I have been somewhat under the weather these last few weeks with an ongoing Mauve Revolution against the increasingly totalitarian regime of Mr Vladimir Vladimirovich Pancreas taking place within my innards (what the less politically inclined might refer to as a "mild pancreatic episode"). The masses took to the streets and demanded a rerun of recent intestinal elections (Where The United Pancreas Party won under highly dubious circumstances), and this simmering dispute finally boiled over into full-on agony on Tuesday morning, with much moaning and gnashing of teeth on the part of your humble narrator. After a consultation with the independent observers of my intestines (namely my GP and surgeon), it was decided that the best course of action would be to decamp to a nearby hospital for a series of pokes, prods and scans.
And the outcome of this marvelous trip down gastric memory lane? Well, apparently I have had a mild pancreatic episode for the last five or six weeks.
You see that is what I love about the whole medicine/hospital thingy, they are fantastic at telling you what you already know, but are less helpful when it comes to areas that you don't already know. My chronic pancreatitis is something of a mystery, with no apparent cause and no specific course of action left beyond treating it when it bursts into revolutionary fervor. I've tried asking it for a list of coherent demands but it just shrugs and says, "hey, demands are so last century". If I'm in pain for more than two consecutive days I have to go to the hospital where, as I discovered today, apparently the course of action is to nod and say, "well sir, it appears that you have been in pain for two consecutive days", and send you on your merry way.
To be fair now the pain went away within 12 hours of getting into hospital (luckily for me, if the pain hadn't gone away the hospital visit would have been an awful lot longer and involved a good deal more morphine), but that is the way this has been going these last few weeks, two days of pain followed by a week of normality, followed by a day or two of pain again, as if I am being orbited by my very own moon of pancreatic poison. If I'm still experiencing all the same wondrous cyclic symptoms over the next ten days I'll be heading back in for something altogether more invasive with cameras and magnets and resonance (oh my).
But at least I won't be ringing in the New Year from a hospital bed.
Which is nice.