A scan and hot weather

Yesterday I had my first CT-scan since the diagnosis of cancer last year. The two technicians had beautiful smiles, which I knew would disappear when they tried to cannulate my arm, for the veins are very poor now. Sure enough they missed the vein and I ended with an extravasation of contrast dye, but they did succeed in finding a suitable landing site on my wrist. I had to wear a hospital nightgown and lie uncomfortably on my tummy with arms outstretched while the machine pushed and pulled me through the X-ray device. Every few minutes, an anonymous voice boomed out orders in rapid succession like an American Drill Sargent on the parade ground: "BREATH IN! BREATH OUT! STOP BREATHING!!!" It was so loud Ann and the other patients waiting outside could hear it shouting, leading a few of them to wonder if they could face the voice. Finally it was done and I staggered out in flapping nightgown, a cannula strapped to my wrist and a large icepack wedged at my elbow over a swollen bruise. Those other patients not already discouraged by the voice now wondered what they were in for. Now I must wait for the result when I see the oncologist again in two weeks.

Later I walked the dogs in Clare Park. The heat was intense even in the early evening, and by the river we met a fellow dog-walker who recognised our two from the kennels, where they had played with her dog. This was a golden retreiver called Ellie, that enjoyed diving in the river for a swim. Five girls had stripped down to their bras and panties and began to jump into the water too, leaving their clothes heaped on the footpath. It all took me back to my own boyhood, when in the heat of summer dad would drive us to a large torpid river where we'd strip and dive in from the bank, feeling the mud with our toes and thankful to cool in the shade of the trees over the water, while mum prepared a picnic. 

The front of our house has developed a large crack in the brickwork over a large window which, lacking a lintel, has sagged under the weight of the bricks. We were expecting a builder on Monday to replace the window, fit a lintel, and repair the brickwork. On Sunday he phoned to say the window wouldn't be ready till Tuesday. On Tuesday he phoned to let us know the window makers had suffered a fire in their warehouse, so now it would be Thursday. Tonight he phoned again to say they won't get the new glass till Friday and could he come then? No he couldn't, we said, as we would be away Friday and Saturday. Unfortunately next week is already fully booked for him with other jobs, so God knows when he will eventually arrive.