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Autumn/Winter 1999: I enter a period of endless plateau - no worse, no better. Yes, yes I know I should be grateful ...but I'm NOT! EaZyD and me resolve to be off on some kind of holiday before you can blink - wish us luck!
I did have to do a stint in hospital the week before we went away – in my first NHS ward for two years (Private Healthcare Providers – Pah! I spit on you!). The doctors were planning to submit me - for the third year running - to all the usual tests, and were most put out when I said I had to be home on the Sunday morning to watch the Man U and Leeds match, and I was off on holiday the following week. Getting a life, guys, get used to it!
We found a compromise: they let me out for the weekend, I went back in Monday to finish up. They want me back in eight weeks, and I said I would but I may not. I am really LOATHING hospitals now. I seem to be a unique case in the UK - doctors kept coming in saying, ‘we've been waiting for you to come in,' and doing stupid tests on me. I have now realised that I am a lab rat. They are not trying to help me, they are just looking at me as a curiousity. Why do they always come when you are peeing or eating? I was totally losing my rag and got a bit short with them.
March 2000: two days after leaving hospital, we set off for Canada. And, more good news, our planning application was approved, so we can get this going finally. Our house is a wreck: it looks 20 times worse when you've been away, and I'm not joking!
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