Love in a (Hospital) Elevator

Morning to thou all.

So, valentine's has been and gone. And what better way to spend it than cooped up in the Hallamshire with your lovely new boyfriend? Why go for a meal or watch a film when you could be slushing it up watching people have blood transfusions and staring lovingly at each other being swabbed. I really shouldn't tell you all this, this time next year people will all be breaking arms and legs just to get a romantic getaway in Yorkshire's finest hospital, but you know, it is pretty damn good...

... So, yes, I should probably clarify here. The new (well, new-ish. I didn't just pop down my local man dealership on Friday afternoon) associated male of Constanze is also one of the world's faultier bunch. I didn't meet him in hospital, rather, through the Cilla Black like forces of Marc's terrifying mind. He had a brain tumour and then some titanium and then some infectiony-ness and so he's now an in patient at my wonderful hospital, which is all really rather convinient. I mean, I can get my nebuliser done of an afternoon and he can accompany me and it's all terribly simple. I mean, it's not that I don't want him to get better or anything, but I am considering puching him down the stairs a bit to keep him in. In a nice, loving way. Just a gentle push. I hope he's not reading this and phoning the police. Sorry dear.

In other news, my eye has been swabbed. Again, but this time for both viral and bacterial infections. The Polyphemus look still isn't much working for me, so hopefully next week at my proper haemo appointment I might get referred to an eye doctor ar some super strong eye drops. Hopefully not too potent though, I don't want any eye nitroglycerine or ojo napalm. Not sure they're commonly used in pus related treatments anyway, but, still. Actually, I think they use the former in hearts, but my eye and my heart aren't really that close together. Please don't make any jokes about my eyes being so oversized that they're next to all my organs. I don't even have one aye aye gene, I swear...

So incredibly tired at the minute. Not to mention all my pains when I walk. I have one in my foot that feels like I'm being stabbed every time I put weight on it. Perhaps I am. Perhaps it's the new man stabbing me in the foot in a premature pushing down the stairs revenge attack. Eep.

Speaking of walking, I had better give my feet some rest, as in about three weeks I am off to the "Find your sense of tumour" young person cancer conference thing in Sherwood Forest. Photos and exciting times shall surely happen, I suppose they will mainly be revolving around me robbing people in the name of history and socialism, like its other famous resident. I personally find the 'sense of tumour' title very discriminatory against us leukaemia types as I don't even have a tumour to have a laugh about. Perhaps I could glue one on for the weekend? Thoughts as to whether that's in good taste or not below please.

That's the update from the Cancershire. Out, over, under and in.

Constanze.

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