A Slightly Less Than Brave Soldier Goes Back To Chichester Hospital By Himself & Ruminates On Mortality.

Despite Linda insisting she would take the day off to accompany me on my hospital visit I decided that I wanted to stare fate in the face alone.
Melodramatic perhaps but I hadn't managed to get much sleep last night having dreamed I was in the back of a taxi singing "We are lost, We are lost in this world, we are..."
Okay, it sounded much more profound in my dream than it does typed out and I'm damned if I can remember the tune.

Another reason, and probably the real reason, for wanting to go alone was riding on the train which, for me, is a thing of joy:

I know how to behave on a train.

I sit up straight, I have my ticket ready for inspection, I avoid inappropriate eye-contact (with my good eye at least), I do not leave my bag unattended.

I enjoy looking out of the carriage window. 

The heavy overnight rains have turned the local fields into huge lakes where swans and gulls bob merrily along probably until they get bored by the lack of food and head for the local land-fill, but in this moment the image seems idilic.

I couldn't be bothered to shave this morning but made up for my laziness by wearing a tie:

OMG! My neck's 'gone'.

Am I not style personified?

My appointment is for 08:45, but so is everybody else's. 

I've mentioned before that I'm usually the youngest person in the waiting room and so it is today.

I begin to wonder if this is what lies ahead for me as I get older, endless hours sat in featureless waiting rooms complete with coffee spoons.

An elderly woman sitting next to me is a reading a book entitled "Internet Explorer 7 for the Over Fifties".

Her partner sits opposite her and glowers at me as I take pictures of myself:

I begin to wish I'd had a shave,  but then notice that the lenses of his glasses seem to be made out of bottle bottoms so the likelihood is he can't actually see me or what it is I'm doing anyway.

The clock ticks round to 09:00 and the consultants arrive in da' house.

I find myself thinking about the kind of funeral I'd like.

I don't want any kind of 'religious' ceremony which means it'll probably be a quick trip to the crematorium and a cold buffet for those left behind that could be bothered to turn up, the majority of whom I hope will be women weeping uncontrollably.

I'd like Morningtown Train by the Seekers to be played as I disappear through the little velvet curtains.

No flowers please.

I'm called.

My eyesight is tested.

It is greatly improved.

I return to my seat but don't have time to get comfortable before I'm called again into the presence of the consultant.

I am shocked when the consultant actually speaks to me (it must be my tie) and says my sight is greatly improved (I knew that already).

He has his smiling young assistant with him who he mumbles something to which turns out to be "imagine you are watching a tennis match and, using your torch, try to follow the ball with the beam of light".

He shines his torch from my right eye to my left eye repeatedly in quick succession.

He can draw no conclusion.

The consultant does the same whist repeating "contract, dilate, contract, dilate.

I notice I've developed a headache.

The consultant speaks to me again (I'm sure it's my tie).

The gist of what he tells me is that I'm now the concern of the neurology dept and I should expect to hear form them soon.

He then explains to his smiling young assistant why it was necessary for me to have an MRI scan.

I realise I am now expected to leave and thank the consultant and his smiling young assistant but the whole situation feels awkward and weird and I begin to worry that the consultant may have been reading this blog.

BTW, if you are, I don't care what they say about you, I think you're a jolly nice bloke, but you might want to work on that 'interpersonal' thing there's a good chap.

So, now what?

I can't find anything particular about brain inflammation on the interweb, maybe I should be using IE 7 for the over fifties but, then again, I'm not dead yet. 

I wasn't joking about the headache.