After returning from Carlisle having seen Oldham dumped out of the FA Cup, my mind turned to big toe care.

They’re both a mess.  A worry and an infection risk.  Despite giving them salt baths daily, nothing seems to be improving.  And getting your landlord to apply a tubular bandage isn’t a request you like to make.  Fortunately he did a fine job.

Tomorrow sees another medical challenge for me.  A CT scan seems to be easy.  Into the polo mint.  Adjust your breathing in line with instructions.  Out you come and wait for the results a few weeks down the line.

MRI scans are a tad more challenging.  Into the long tube.  Trapped like a rat.  Screeching noises.  Time.

Given the choice, CT for me.  So Oncobabe has chosen MRI.  Worse still, given a choice of hospitals, the luxurious wide bodied MRI machine in Huddersfield has been ignored.  Halifax may be nearer for me.  But the MRI machine is a tight fitting evil.

At least I can eat before this one.  Revels for breakfast?

Oh Good – More Drugs to Take!