Knitting Conference Day 2 – now with added needles

Day 2 started with an early rise to go and pay for parking. I didn’t mind, though – I was already awake and it was GLORIOUS out. I did the five minute walk to the car park doing deep breaths and wishing I was a runner. It was the first outing for my new pretend converse, and I’m LOVING them. I had forgotten how much I like wearing them.

new shoes!

new shoes!

And Ludlow was looking lovely.

Bull Ring, Ludlow

Bull Ring, Ludlow

I headed back for breakfast and the first conference session – reading Lorna’s latest copy of The Knitter. the BBMR nurse (Rosie) was due to come at 10am. At 9:30 she called with the update “I’ve just gone over the bridge – how do I find you?”.

Um… you might need to narrow it down. In my world The Bridge is Runcorn Bridge over the Mersey. I’m guessing you mean a bridge closer to Ludlow. I directed her to the car park by the castle, and we found each other there. It turns out, Rosie is coming from Sutton Coldfield each day. That doesn’t seem *very* handy, but who am I to question. They’re sending me to London, after all…

I had to do a pregnancy test first, just to check that I’m not pregnant. Steve, you can relax, I’m not pregnant. Technology has totally moved on since last time I did a test, though – none of this relying on liquid soaking up the stick past the picture – DIGITAL display no less, with flashing egg timer symbol followed by a CLEAR “Not Pregnant” message on the screen. I can’t help thinking it’s over engineered and a bit wasteful… Rosie also took my blood pressure, pulse & temperature which were all normal.

This is my drugs before being mixed together.

drugs!

drugs!

There are three vials which were mixed into two injections – one in each arm. The nurse went over possible side effects which apart from feeling very achey as though you’ve done a day’s gardening include headaches, stiffness, general flu-like symptoms, hot flushes, hot flushes in the night and sleeplessness.

I never signed up for sleeplessness. I’m very much hoping I don’t have that one.

Lorna, clearly in a spirit of participation, has been developing flu-like symptoms all day. I asked if the nurse minded me taking a photo for the blog of the medical stuff, and she asked if Lorna wanted to take a picture of me being injected for same.  Lorna very quickly said No as if she was made to watch, there was every chance she would hit the carpet. So we don’t have a picture of that.

Then we waited while Rosie filled in paperwork, and I failed to develop allergic symptoms. When Rosie was satisfied we weren’t going to need the oxygen she’d brought in from the car “just in case” and double-checked by BP, pulse & temperature (I was colder & more relaxed than before being injected) she headed off with the promise of coming back tomorrow. Apparently she does one of these per week, and she has colleagues who also do this. I’m wondering where the people all go for the harvesting – I only saw one machine and do they send *everyone* to London?

So, after Rosie had pottered off, we decided that some light sightseeing and lunch-buying was in order.

Lorna buying cheese

Lorna buying cheese

The market was in full flow outside, so we acquired a smorgasbord of loveliness. I have to take full responsibility for saving the buying of yummy cakes until cake-o’clock, rather than getting them there & then. It’s a decision which didn’t work out well.

However, look at Lunch!

lunch

lunch

We wondered how anyone who lives here isn’t the size of a house. We ate, and knitted more. I finished Steve’s first sock of a pair with kitchener bind off. We both tried the sock on to check that it will go over someone’s heel. It will. It remains to be seen whether it will go over Steve’s heel.

Before long again it was cake o’clock so we pottered out again. We went to the local yarn store and each made a bit of a purchase. Lorna got sock yarn. I got some Noro Silk Garden which I’m planning to turn into a small decorative scarf.

noro

noro

We went back to the market and here is where my earlier decision came crashing down on me. We returned to the market, and THE CAKE STALL WAS GONE.

why is the rum gone?

Oh dear.

We had to fall back on the resources of the fudge stall and a local cake shop. There was another classic moment where, junior shop assistant was half way through processing our transaction when older shop assistant barged through and took over the till. Junior was standing RIGHT THERE – it’s not even as if she had stepped away to get more cakes or hand Lorna her change. This led to another grumpy old lady conversation about how nobody has any manners any more.

For knitting variety, I cast on yet another project after cake, a lanesplitter using yarn very kindly donated by Deb. My colours are darker, but the concept remains the same.

Dinner tonight was provided by the Golden Moments curry house on Broad Street, as recommended by a random passer by who said it was better than the one 8 doors up the hill. It was indeed very tasty, and not un-bargainous.

So, we’re back knitting again with the delights of Ice Road Truckers Deadliest Roads and celebrity big brother. Here’s my progress…

Lanesplitter

Lanesplitter

…and here Lorna is approaching her second set of decreases, starting her second skein and hurtling towards being able to do exciting cabling.

Lorna with her knitting

Lorna, featuring Debbie Bliss

NB it’s a Debbie Bliss pattern, not Debbie Bliss yarn.After all, Lorna’s not made of money.

Symptoms so far: a little bit achey and a little bit headachey. I’ve had 1 paracetamol before tea, but I might take another couple before bedtime to try to avoid the alarming sleeplessness that’s been touted as a possibility.

Small amount more knitting for me, then some zees.

Ooh, yes please… EH???!?

Given my nonchalant assumption so far that the big finger in the sky would eventually point elsewhere, you can imagine my shock when I opened this letter.

20120709-165230.jpg
Dear Mrs Hanlon, you’re our best bet. Please rush to London to have a medical. Thanks, BBMR

My second reaction was ~ really? Can no-one in the north west perform a medical? Turns out, in this case, no they can’t. Specialist machinery & knowledge & blah blah.

I established at this point that they are after peripheral blood stream harvesting, not big needle in the hip under general anaesthetic harvesting which is by far preferable from a time-taken /recovery /general inconvenience point of view, I gather.

So they sent me to the London clinic on Marylebone Road in That London where they took nearly a pint of blood, x-rayed my chest, did an ECG and established that I’m 83kg heavy (I think) and 173cm tall, and politely served me water and orange juice.

HOLD ON A MOMENT. I’m 170cm tall, where did the extra 3 come from? And yes, I was wearing flat shoes. Since I stopped growing, I’ve been 5’7″ (1″ too short for catwalk modelling and yes, that is DEFINITELY the reason why I’m not in the twilight years of a very successful modelling career with a little acting & one-hit-wonder number 1 thrown in) or, in metric, 170cm.

But wait, the plot thickens. Not ONLY am I not 170cm tall, but 170cm does not equal 5’7″. My plan is to go downstairs at work and get a research nurse to measure me once and for all (they know how to measure properly, or at least, I’m told they do) and then once I’ve had a definitive answer, re-set my brain.

Anyway, blood tests back in 4 days. Bone marrow donation prospects are almost incidental at this point…

Hold that thought…

The conclusion of the blood tests was going to take a couple of weeks to come through, so I mainly put it all out of my mind.

The next letter I got from BBMR was quite thin.

“The doctors haven’t decided yet, but ask that you be held in reserve still for 2 months. Please don’t donate blood in the meantime.”

I can manage that. After all, someone else will be chosen anyway.

…it could be you

When I remember, and get in a routine of making follow on appointments, I give blood. My last donation brought me past the 10-pint mark and as the next congratulations point is 25, my competitive streak instantly started itching.

As part of being a blood donor, one is persistently invited to be on the bone marrow register. Clearly, one can say no. However, having seen several hospital dramas where a little bit of bone marrow would have been helpful, I chose to put my name down. After all, what are the chances of being singled out?

To be honest, when I got a letter saying I was a potential match, I didn’t think a great deal about it. Given that I’ve been on the register a couple of years, the main thing I thought was “that didn’t take long” follow by “they must send these out all the time”. The first step was an invitation to go for a blood test.

I work in a major central Manchester hospital, just over the road from the regional blood donation HQ, so I arranged to have the blood drawn there. When you go to give blood, generally everyone you deal with thanks you for giving up your time and stresses what a kind thing it is that you’re doing. Multiply that by 2 and you’re getting close to the rate of thanking I had from Darren who carried out the detailed but still very slightly unclear instructions about what to do. I asked if they had much to do with the bone marrow donation process there, and he said that they’d tested one other person but hadn’t heard anything more about it. I promised to let them know the outcome of this process, at least.

Blood duly drawn, I went back to work and carried on without giving the process much thought… After all, they will be testing loads of people, probably, and so one of those other thousands will be “the one”.

Tony Hancock eat your heart out. Or your bone marrow.

This summer I’ve been percolating some news which some of my friends-and-relations already know, but (strangely for me – I’m usually a total blabbermouth about me) others won’t know about.

A few months ago I was identified as a possible match for bone marrow donation for an anonymous donor (by the British Bone Marrow Registry). I thought it would be helpful to “document” the process and how things have gone, but I didn’t want to put everything out there and then have to say “sorry folks, it’s not happening: my fingernails are too long”. So I’ve been storing them up. It looks like things will be going ahead soon and it feels like “live” blogging the actual thing might be helpful.

So I’m scheduling the stored posts to be put live through this week, and (so long as I’m not having too much fun and forget to) will post about the process as it’s occurring.

On some levels it’s been really bizarro-world (as explained henceforth), and on others it doesn’t really feel like it’s actually happening. Hopefully the potential recipient feels the same, but in a good way.

See you (live) on the other side…