A Ginsters a Day

Mar 7 2010


Having just made it through the weekend without being admitted to hospital I was tentative to say the least about making the four hundred mile round trip to my office in Bournemouth on Monday.


My meeting wasn't due to start until lunchtime so I left a reasonable time to make allowances for the Monday morning traffic on the M25. As I expected, the M25 was a standstill, so I decided to follow my satellite navigation on a diverted route. A little tip for you, don't follow your satellite navigation, ever. As I drove past Madame Tussards, licking the outskirts of the congestion zone, I realised I had been sent the most inappropriate way to the south coast.


The meeting began on time and luckily enough for me, I had given myself enough time to take a diversion through our nation's capital and was able to start the meeting as planned. Throughout the afternoon I was well aware that I needed to be home as close to 8.00pm as possible as tonight was the Clairvoyant evening and Hayley's brother James was going to sit with the girls until I got home. The meeting was taking longer than expected so I managed to make my excuses and leave, only giving myself four hours to get home. I made it just, and managed to snaffle a Ginsters en route after stopping for fuel. On my arrival home. James and the girls were downstairs awaiting my return. Camille had been asleep but had woken up in a bit of a state and James had managed to calm her down and get her playing at the kitchen table. I dropped my laptop bag, hung my jacket on the mirror and immediately looked for the thermometer. Beep, beep, beeeeepppppp. I hardly dare look. 38.3c, and within minutes of getting home I was already loading Camille into the car on a one stopper to Ipswich Hospital. By the time we arrived her temperature had gone up over 39.0c so in many ways it was perfect timing.


Hayley arrived a bit later to relieve me of my hospital duties (oh yeah, after commenting last week on Hayley's inability to peel herself out of bed, she did want me to mention that the majority of the nights in hospital are covered by my good wife).


The infection caused Camille's chemotherapy to be delayed a few days. The infection was located in her Hickman Line. This in itself caused us some concern as the last time this happened it ended up in her having her line out and undergoing a couple of weeks of doctors struggling to insert cannulas into her little veins. Luckily, at least so far, this option hasn't been uttered from the mouths of the doctors, so fingers crossed it is something that antibiotics alone can cure.


Over the past few weeks we have been making an attempt to get in contact with Justin Fletcher from Cbeebies fame. The hope is that we could make Camille's birthday really special by getting Mr Tumble himself to be there. We are some way off making this happen, but whilst we were in residence at Ipswich Hospital this week we were made aware that Camille is known to Mr Tumble and he would like to meet her. Let's hope our people and his people and get around a table to put this together, Camille would love it. The only way to get Camille out of the playroom at Addenbrooke's is to tell her Mr Tumble is on the TV, and then she runs like Benny Hill back to her bed to see Justin at work.


Hayley and Camille headed off for Addenbrooke's on Thursday evening ready to begin chemotherapy the following day. On Friday morning I boarded the 8.18am train to Liverpool Street, sadistically knowing that it was the wobbly train once again. I positioned myself carefully, initially on the platform to ensure an optimum seat when the train arrived and then on the train itself. My tactics were simple, face forward, do not have a seat with the potential of someone facing me and sit close to the toilet. The risk of puke city was magnified by the couple of days of a dickey tummy prior to the journey, but like the brave soldier I am, I boarded the train and I wobbled all the way to London.


Lucia and I went swimming again on Saturday morning and all was well at the pool, Lucia pretending to be Ariel from the Little Mermaid (I had to be Sebastian the crab). All was well until we got out to go and get changed. My key refused to turn in the locker. I tried and tried to force the key to turn without success, so I did what any man in this situation should do, I paced up and down in front of my locker wondering who on earth could help me. Eventually a swimming teacher came along and helpfully attracted the attention of a skinny little lifeguard barely out of nappies. “What's the issue?” he questioned in the style of a policeman. “I can't seem to turn the key” I replied, whilst demonstrating the problem. With a quick wiggle of the key, a Fonz like slap to the side of the locker and she was open. “Just a little bit sticky” he proclaimed before moseying off back to poolside.


I swapped with Hayley on Saturday afternoon so she could have an evening with Lucia. Camille and I made good use of our time by playing in the playroom for pretty much 27 hours non-stop. She did go to sleep, but as soon as her eyes were open in the morning, she was already remonstrating to “go do some sticky bits”. I left Addenbrooke's tonight a broken shell of a man, a man that was all played out, a man that has had to stick like his life depended on it. I consoled myself on the way home by having another Ginsters for my dinner. Lucia has had a temperature too today and is really not feeling very well at all. A day off pre-school tomorrow will hopefully see her back to her best in readiness for her sister coming home.


Wednesday is Camille's next scan so our fingers are crossed already in the hope that we are making steps towards our main goal.