A Call to Arms

Some of you might be confused, as I had been half- (well, three-quarters-) expecting to go home today, but I'm still at the Hotel St George (excellent facilities, easy transport connections, friendly staff, 2am alarm calls). I have, as previously mentioned, finished the chemo, so there's not too much going on, apart from the GCS-F, which I think is why the doctors want to keep me in: rather than send me home and have to get me back to check my stem cell count, send me home again, get me back again, etc, they're keeping me here until my stem cell harvest. I think it's actually because they'd miss me too much, but don't tell Dr Al-Jehani I said that. The sentimental old booby. Anyway, the mention of hotels is apt, as Samar has told me to treat this place like a hotel, since my neutrophils are fine and there's no reason to keep me locked up in my room, let alone in bed. So I've thrown the TV out of the window, left my towels on the floor and stolen the soap.

Actually, it means I can come and go as I please, including going out into Tooting, and perhaps even further; I can go out for meals; I can even go out overnight. So friends, roamers, countrymen who have strayed into the city please come and see me if you're bored, or come with me to Ferrari's or somewhere similar, or whatever. I'm surprisingly energetic, but not at full speed, so bear that in mind. It's mainly Tuesday and Wednesday now probably, though if my stem cell count isn't up in time for Thursday, the harvest won't be until Monday, so then there'll be plenty of days to fill. I'm here! I'm here! I've even been wearing clothes...

Big love to all.

(19 days until we manage to ditch Tom!)