Hanging on the Telephone

Belted Blondie blissfully back in 1978, bemoaning her unrequited affection for some poor chap, who no doubt in 2011 would have reported her to the NYPD as a stalker and crank caller. How times have changed, back then a bedraggled Ms Harry could be observed slipping out from her apartment door and crossing the hall to pester the object of her affection. Now this to my mind is a situation fraught with danger, for she could be spotted loitering in the said hall and questioned by the janitor or worse the boys' mother could suddenly return (did she go to work or just to the store? (Who knows, Who cares?). Now there is nothing more likely to dampen a young Lothario's ardour than his mother interrupting with bags of shopping. And on that note I apologise to Mandy P for the infamous Tesco Weston Favell Interruption back in 1985.......

Telephone's do feature in this bloglet today, for they where the means of conveying the news from my renal physician earlier this week.
Since last entry  I have been somewhat perturbed by the internal workings of my new organs, with the kidney particularly showing signs of rebellion. So I waited patiently for the great minds to decide whether this was my kidneys' attempt at emulating the Libyan rebels,and turning into a full scale rejection, not of a mad Bedouin global pariah, but of sweet inoffensive little old me.  As the days marched on, and Monday stretched into Tuesday, and then bloomed into Wednesday, I remained, like a medieval bishop, unenlightened.

 Thursday dawned brightly, and still the long interminable wait continued, as the labours of the week gave birth to Friday. Anxiety reigned supreme and my mind, already prone to hallucinative scenarios, had entered into such a delusional state so acute, I could have quite happily taken over the running of Fiji or Syria.

But the that afternoon, after a pleasant repast of chip butties with Pringles (how very English!), and whilst sipping on some Yorkshire tea, I was interrupted by the melodic tones of my Iphone, and  glancing at the number, was worried to see the Hospital number.....Arrggghhh!

Timorously and with dread, I gingerly answered the call.........

and was most relieved to hear the latest opinion from the font of medical knowledge. Instead of a full scale insurgency, my new organ was having a reaction to the cocktail of drugs that I daily consume.
My previous worries, of a rejection episode, were instantly replaced by a new set of concerns. I told you I had a active and wandering cerebrum, and indeed off it went on it's new journey of exploration...
What if the drugs I was becoming reactionary to were the immuno-suppressants? Then I would be back in anti rejection territory, and having to adjust my lifestyle to accommodate a new regimen of different drugs, which are time specific and quite inconvenient for most working people (oh yes, did I neglect to mention that I have restarted back at work, albeit in a part time capacity, until stamina builds up, but that's another blog entry?).


My malicious-minded ramblings were quickly extinguished by the doctors next statement, no, he reassured me, I was not reacting to the immuno-suppressants, but a combination of a particular anti-biotic and  anti-ulcer drug. Desist from taking these, and we are confident that the inflammation will disappear!
Hooray, hooray, its a holi holi day (Go away Boney M!). After the worries of the last week,that is indeed  quite a relief, so much so that I am almost in (cue Blondie again) Rapture, the Tide is indeed High, and I am pleased to report that my new organs are functioning properly like a Part of Glass (yikes what a pun most terrible)

Adieu and Allez les Bleus, or go the All Blacks, 

depending on your whereabouts

in the blogosphere

for the RWC final tonight at Eden Park!