For the second night in a row, the pelvic problem flared up.  This time the pain, or rather repetitive painful niggles, was too much.

The cancer ward runs a 24/7 hotline for patients having trouble.  Last time I called I told them this pelvic tumour had returned.  They said to take paracetamol and turn up for my next appointment the following week.  I felt fobbed off.

This time was different.  Welcoming questions.  A quick decision to bring me into hospital at 2am.  £12 on Uber.  The driver even rang me to confirm.  Two minutes later he’d vanished and I was being asked to score him.  One out of five Muhammed. Despite my pain I decided to drive myself.

Blood pressure taken.  A cup of tea brought.  Blood extracted.  And two hours later the doctor turned up.  A few questions and then I’m admitted to a private room where it turned out I’d spend the next twelve hours.

I’m left alone.  I lie down – pain.  Turn over – pain.  Sit up – pain.  Walk around the room – minor relief.  I conclude floating in a vacuum is about my only hope of being pain free.

Eventually I’m dosed up with blackcurrent flavoured morphine.  The staff I speak to are amazed that my four line drug strategy hasn’t worked.  It had been effective on holiday.

Half an hour later I’m groggy.  I can’t say the pain has gone but I’m out of it.  And my mind is wandering all over the place.  Later on a couple of tramadols are delivered for my consumption.  I get some sort of sleep in between letting people know where I am.

Eventually breakfast is delivered and the consultant turns up.  “Looking at your medical notes I think you’re about the least likely candidate to have lung cancer” she beams.  I take it well, but I suppose it could have upset me.  We talk about Utah and she tells me I’ll be discharged later.  I didn’t realise this meant another seven hours!  The chat focuses on morphine.  If the neat stuff works may GP should be able to prescribe a slow release morphine tablet to take twice a day.

I’m left alone.  Update the kids.  Snooze.  Interruption by clattering staff entering my room and then leaving.  Sometimes I’m barely aware that they’re there.  Lunch comes.  A watery Lancashire hot pot.  Unusually, I’m attracted to the vegetables.

The afternoon continues with minimal medical help.  Football kicks off.  Oldham take the lead.  I realise I’ve not taken my naproxen and decide not to until I can discuss it with the doctor.  She doesn’t return so my pain levels rise.

In the end I’m discharged with two tramadol and a bottle of morphine.  A half hour drive home, unpack my bag and collapse into bed.  Oldham survive a late Portsmouth goal to win 2-1.  I take my naproxen and paracetamol and eye up the morphine bottle.  Definitely one for later.  One to target the night pain with.

I am okay, the pain has reduced.  My fear now is that it will return as the night rolls in.  At least this time I have something I can take.

I’m a Long Way From my Best