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I went to the doctors after a restless night, of attempted distraction. It had weirded me out goodstyle with my own Doctor performing that particular examination. But, she had been efficient in what she had done and told me, perhaps thankfully; “It could be a cyst, but a scan will tell me more...”
It'd been a Full Moon and a taxi-driver telling me it'd be a wild night had not surprised me, at all. Then... On Thursday the phone extension to the backroom went us [or ceasing working] and that's where my connection to the internet is.
So Dad had got to fiddling, as he does.
Unfortunately, this had led to a piece in a piece in the equipment losing a piece of plastic, which would mean that calling out an engineer would cost me £85, as if it would suggest meddling. But in truth, my Dad had not fiddled, until the darn connection had ceased working.
Either way, it left me without the internet until Monday, at the earliest...
And as I say, that had taken some getting used to, particularly when Dad tried to be helpful, deciding that a green light might indicate that I might have internet connectivity.
As it happens, I'd found this a piss-take,as it didn't mean what I'd intended, while I had tried to rest my knees and right hip.
It had been strange beyond strange, getting used to not having access to the internet and annoying; when Dad kept saying 'this should work', or this will work', while I knew full well that it would not.
He had wanted to be helpful, yet did not know how to be...
As it was, I'd retired to bed, seeking distraction, dwelling on the letter I'd received early afternoon Saturday, telling me of my appointment at Arrowe Park Hospital wherein I'll be having the scan on my testes, as it says on the letter.
In fear of the unknown, I had sought distraction even more than usual, with my audio stories, the collection of which I could not update, because I did not have the internet.
On Monday housework was interrupted by an Open Reach engineer Dan, who arrived to attend to my lack of connectivity. That error had led to another and another, until aid was called in.
Finally they had left, with the blue light on my modem showing blue. With connection made, I'd spent the late evening acquiring a Doctor Who audio I'd been seeking for weeks. My download speed had been slow, very slow. Yet I'd eventually acquired what I'd bought.
Tuesday had found me lying abed, listening to one part of the story, then another, until I'd finished listening to the entire story-arc.
On the Monday the Open Reach engineer had called as arranged; with one error turning into another, as the day had progressed. Come the evening I had sat before my laptop and accessed the Big Finish website, to acquire some audio's that I wanted. Unfortunately, I'd found my download speed to be very slow still and I'd not been able to acquire all I had wanted.
More calls had been made and another engineer had called, with one object in mind, fixing a noisy line. His objective had been fixed; but mine had not, as I'd still not obtained the Broadband connection that I'd wanted.
So another call to BT had been made, that had lasted almost an hour; at the end of which I was told he would phone back at about ten, on Saturday morning, with a plan of action, for me. As I typed away awhile later, I had remained dubious.
On Thursday an Open Reach Engineer called, to see to ‘a noisy line’, not the Broadband, as I’d requested on the 16th October. When he’d left I could use the phone in the back, but not in the kitchen, if I wanted a clear signal.
I phoned BT after tea and spoke to Declan from Stockport, not happy. At the end of about an hour, he’d said I’ll do what I can now and phone tomorrow, to do as I can. On Saturday Declan had phoned at about 10:30 as he said he would, saying “I’ve a meeting to go to, but I’ll phone you back on my return.”
I’d suggested 11:30. He’d said ‘alright’ and I’d retired to my room to listen some ‘Jago & Litefoot,’ (Doctor Who related audio).
He had rung back twice as arranged, at agreeable times, finally arranging a date and time for an engineer to call to fix the mess. The date given had been given as November the fifth – an, for some reason that had amused me somewhat.
Prior to leaving the house to go to hospital I had begun a download. The speed had been 3 mbs, instead of the 0.28 I’ve had of late.
Early Saturday evening had found me travelling to Arrowe Park Hospital, still panicking somewhat, aware of what was to follow.
I'd travelled to the hospital vis Birkenehead via the Birkenhead Bus-Circular, where I'd learned what was my bus to be and, stopped for a smoke, while I'd waited for the next one.
I'd got to Ultrasound with minutes to spare, pleased with the the manner of Eric the Radiographer, a coloured fellow wide a wide, wide white smile.
The fellow had been respectful and efficient.
He'd dealt with me speedily and in as comfortable a manner as possible, for me.
Before I'd begun to dress he'd told me, "It looks like a cyst."
His manner had suggested it wouldn't be a problem, unless it became one.
On my way home I'd looked to where the bus stop had been, then sought directions to where it is, over a new taste to try, at the Arrowe Park Hotel.
On my return home I'd made another download and this time the speed had been over 2 mps, instead of the 0.28, that I'd been having for the two weeks prior.
Eventually after days, I acquired the speed I wanted, albeit knowing that I'd soon have a BT engineer on the premises, seeing to the wiring, yet again.
Anyway... I ended up with my doctor giving me a new tablet to take, for my arthritis. I then thought I'd lost my prescription, which may have been a form of distraction therapy for me; but I'd found it and taken the tablet. There'd been four in a packet and one a week.
Then I'd eaten a meal I'd wanted to enjoy, before the side-effects of the pill got to me, early the next morning and throughout much of the day.
Having endured the side-effects of that damned pill, that'll be yet another anti-arthritis drug I can't take.