arkessian

They have sent me the 'stay in jail free' letter, which may enable me to access supermarket delivery slots. Eventually.

They have not yet responded about my heart transplant assessment, or all the other outstanding appointments I have.

But they have copied me on a letter from my cardiologist to a specialist scanning department in Oxford to do one of the scans that would have been done in London last week if they hadn't cancelled. With a new variant possible diagnosis.

So.... in the last two-and-a-bit years I have been to or have scheduled (for the same condition): Great Western Hospital Swindon; my GP; Bristol Heart Institute (several times, including insertion of a pacemaker and disabling my hearts electrical conduction system); my GP; back to Great Western; referral to the Royal Free in London for an amyloidosis assessment (cancelled because the lock-down had kicked in the day before I was to go); more Great Western including a CT scan and a bone marrow biopsy; referral to the QE hospital in Birmingham for a Heart Transplant Assessment; referral to the Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford for one of the scans that should have been done in London; GP for weekly blood tests; phone appointments in the diary with a haematologist and a cardiologist; a lung function test; and for light relief, an assessment of my tongue(!) as a result of a referral by my dentist who is blithely ignorant of all the rest.

All I can say is: if stuff gets scheduled during the lock-in, at least I'll be able to park.

Also, I am celebrating tonight by ordering a takeaway delivered from my local Spanish restaurant. Long may they continue!

So, I had the phone call from the GP surgery today notifying me that I am now officially classified as very high risk/extremely vulnerable... However, no advice possible on whether I should turn up there for a blood test at the end of the week, and no response to the message I left on the QE Heart Transplant Team's phone asking if they ought to cancel the appointment they've sent me for May. I expect they might be slightly busy, so will give them a few weeks. And if they insist I go... I'll know they're serious about assessing me sooner rather than later.

More annoying: there is no way to contact my gas and electricity supplier to cancel a smart meter installation (coincidentally on the same day as my Heart Transplant Assessment, if that goes ahead.) They're only taking calls about prepayment meters and broken boilers. Their website denies that I have any appointments so I can't cancel it there. So they'll either send somebody out or they won't; and if they send somebody out I won't let them in.

On a brighter note, the gardener has been -- yes, I know, how the other half live! But I cannot mow my own lawns or deal with the weeding and pruning etc. And K is a lovely practical woman -- we communicate via email and sign language through the window. She has volunteered to empty the two compost bins that have been gently rotting down for about five years -- I would not have had the nerve to ask her as it will be a filthy job. She reckons coming to me every two weeks qualifies as supporting the vulnerable as well as getting her daily exercise -- she travels alone, works alone, so it's not putting her at any risk either.

And, as a coda to yesterday's 'discussion' on Facebook, the Parish Councillor in question has conceded that they've drawn the scope for what they're offering too narrowly, and intends to widen it in line with my suggestions! So I'm off the hook for that. (And knowing the man in question, he'll take the credit for thinking of it at the next virtual Parish Council meeting.)

Some people have more first world problems than others... it must be a trial to them.

So, the local Council have suspended garden waste collections -- not enough staff to maintain a normal service for all waste collections, and garden waste collection is not a mandatory service they have to provide. And the refuse tips are closed, because going to the tip is not a valid reason for being out of the house. 'Please compost your garden waste at home'.

Me: Shrugs. As long as they keep taking food waste (not that I generate a lot, but my neighbours do, and rats are no respecter of boundaries) I'll cope somehow. I have a couple of composting bins, but they're in a place which is too dark and cool for them to work correctly, so I've stopped using them. Will have to start again for pruning and weeding and stuff like that, I suppose, plus get the lawns mowed once a month and hope the collections restart before the garden waste bin overflows: lawn clippings do not store well, I know from bitter experience. And if the worst comes to the worst I shall re-christen the lawns the front and back paddocks, and invite in local sheep and llamas.

Somebody else in the village [X] via Facebook: It's an OUTRAGE. (Yes, in capitals). The Council have REDUCED the frequency of garden waste collections and PUT UP the cost. (Yes, in an attempt to minimize and cover the cost: do keep up). And now they're WITHDRAWN the service altogether. We should WITHHOLD our Council Tax (which doesn't go towards the Garden Waste collection, which they've stopped charging for at the moment, but don't let facts get in the way of a good rant) and ALL WRITE LETTERS OF COMPLAINT. (Because the Council doesn't have enough to deal with at the present....)

At least he hasn't received (so far) any support on the Village Facebook page, or else I might feel compelled to go out at the dead of night (observing social distancing) and apply weedkiller to his immaculate front lawn in a pattern that says: Something honest but not kind.

Here in a small village, some things are immutable.

The monthly Parish Newsletter is delivered by hand to all homes in the village.

The Village Community Shop and the Post Office open every day; and a gaggle of cheery volunteers pass on all the gossip.

The skies are criss-crossed with contrails from East-West flights.

The local (USAAF) airbase has planes taking off and landing at all hours of the day. As an aside, nobody who heard a B-2 gaining height over my house would ever call it a stealth bomber. It is however, quite entertaining to see one doing lazy loops over the village to the delight of all the local children, as one did last week.

The traffic starts at 0530 for maybe 2 or 3 hours, and then again at 1700 for a couple of hours. (There is a local peculiarity that the traffic for the first hour or so past my door has the ghostly sound of an an electric car -- the local headquarters of Mitsubishi is 11 miles down the road, and they have made electric cars available to all their employees on short term leases at very favorable terms, to create a second-hand market when the leases expire. Even my plumber drives one as his wife works there. It took me a while to work out that what I was hearing was not denizens from the underworld continuing to commute -- why would they? -- but flesh and blood individuals with a tenuous link to the Mitsubishi headquarters).

And the local postman will go that extra mile.

And now?

No Parish Newsletter until further notice -- much of the info will be available online but we have a number of elderly residents who wouldn't recognize 'online' if it hit them several times with a 2x4, and don't feel able to learn.

The Post Office will open one morning a week; the Shop will open every morning with a one in - one out rule. Which may discourage the gaggle of elderly gentlemen I encountered earlier this week, who had no notion of social distancing but I rather suspect in the face of 'pressure' the shop volunteers will cave. I hope not.

The skies are clear -- I always been able to see the constellations out of my bedroom window if the sky is clear enough, but can now longer judge the time in the early morning by the lights and directions of the planes passing over. As light dawns, the skies are totally blue -- no contrails at all.

The airbase is quiet -- so quiet the village can hear the US National Anthem being played every day, which has caused some consternation on Facebook. I haven't seen a plane taking off or landing for several days -- and they all go over my house -- last house before the runway. The cats are singing It's oh so quiet... Little Madam in particular is channeling björk.

There is no traffic, at any time of day. I may need to drive my car every few weeks, to keep the battery and the exhaust alive and will stick out like a sore thumb.

But the postman -- yes, the postman, bless him, is still going that extra mile.

Doorbell rings. I open it warily with a mask on. Large box on the doorstep and postman standing at the furthest reach of the front garden. "Don't pick it up -- it's heavy! Go into your living room -- and take the cats so they don't escape! I'll lift it into the house without coming inside and shut the door. Bye!"

And I did, and he did, and I now have some wine for the evenings.

I'm certain that almost nobody following me wants to read 'a diary in the time of plague on the Wiltshire/Gloucestershire border'.

In which case, I'm sorry but that's where I'm at. Please avail yourself of the handy unfollow button or just skip my entries.

Right then -- I shall proceed on the assumption that you've consented to listen to my medical and other witterings. I promise mostly I won't witter about medical matters except where the NHS is not covering itself in glory. (And at the moment glory is cascading down on NHS staff -- I just wish that glory made their lives better)

This post is going to set the scene -- later posts will hopefully be more cheerful, or at least amusing (due to small village politics).

Fact the first: I have a bucket load of known medical conditions, most of which are very well controlled by drugs and do not affect my daily life much. (Come the apocalypse, I may be close to the head of the queue to shuffle off, but if the apocalypse arrives, that may be a blessing).

Fact the second: In that bucket load of conditions, I include asthma and atrial fibrillation. In 2018 I had a pacemaker fitted, plus an AV node ablation (which made me 100% pace-maker dependent) which means I don't suffer from the AF symptoms any more even though I need to take blood thinners because the AF is hidden but hasn't gone away. Still nothing to worry about.

Fact the third: Joy unbounded -- I have heart failure, according to my new cardiologist. Heart transplant time! At least heart transplant assessment time. In the meantime, drink beetroot juice (amazingly it works, plus when you're having a bone marrow biopsy, a description of the side-effects can make the nurses collapse with giggles). I suspect the heart transplant assessment is on indefinite hold.

Fact the fourth: Yes but.. no but..... yes but... we don't know. Some routine blood tests intended to rule out really rare stuff... suggested something rare should be ruled in instead. Cue referral to the local hematology department plus the only really 'rare stuff centre' in the UK, which is in London.

Fact the fifth: I do not recommend having a bone marrow biopsy to any one. Full stop. The doctor and nurses do their best, but... let us draw a veil.

Fact the sixth: Scheduled to go to London starting Tuesday 24th March for various tests that can't be done elsewhere (the necessary equipment and expertise doesn't exist elsewhere in the UK) to confirm diagnosis and stage the disease.

Fact the seventh: Well, rats, that virus. London appointment cancelled (woman with suspected nasty disease should not take 4 taxis and 2 train journeys to an overwhelmed hospital). The specialist centre will contact my cardiologist and local haematologist to discuss treatment options. At least I'll get the train fares refunded. Scant comfort -- I'd rather have the disease staged in the circumstances. Plus there were some lovely local restaurants the like of which I'll never see around here -- I was looking forward to developing a meaningful relationship with JustEast and Deliveroo.

Fact the eighth: Phone appointment with hematologist scheduled in early April... but requires a blood test beforehand. Must ring my GP's surgery to ask whether I should brave the hospital blood test department, or a nurse at the surgery. Likely to be a weekly event, so the answer is important.

And so, here we are. Treatment for 'really rare stuff' consists of chemotherapy, so there's a balancing act between 'make her more vulnerable ' and 'make her better'. I await the deliberations of the Eurovision juries...

On a practical plane, I have canceled the cleaners while still intending to pay them (why wouldn't you, if you can afford to do it?) and perhaps commissioned them to deliver my regular monthly medicines. I have asked the gardener to continue coming, as we don't have to interact physically and I don't want to spend my isolation looking at lawn creeping up the windows. I have a garage full of cat litter, and a utility room full of cat food; and of course they can dine out on me for a while if I succumb.

I have 3 weeks of meals in the freezer plus some dried and tinned stuff;I have a random set of delivery slots booked -- and by the time they run out, I hope arrangements have been regularized for those of us who really should not be queuing in supermarket cat parks.

Tomorrow's installment: I will share with you the local village response.

I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up

The NHS loves me....

Officially high risk

First World Problems

The world changes... but some things don't

A diary in the time of plague

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