A week of many incidents

 Ann has a new passport. It didn't expire until January of next year, but we'd heard such dire stories of delays that she sent for it early. Miraculously, it only took five days, and the online application was smooth and easy. The only real difficulty was the photograph - their site allows us to upload a photo and reports its quality as a meter reading. My several attempts kept going into the red scale and failing, but finally we got one that just scraped into the amber as "acceptable" and posted the application. We then got a message to say even this photo was rejected! And advising us to go to a proper photo-booth, or a professional. We therefore went to a photo-booth in the post office, but the result was so lamentable we didn't even try to send it. Finally, we went to a more expensive booth in Tesco which communicated directly with the passport office, so we didn't even need to scan the photo to get it to them and, at last, it was in their green band and the passport came through a couple of days later.

On Monday, Ann went into Addenbrookes for her cardioversion. Under heavy sedation, she felt no more than dull blows to her chest as they blasted her with 300+ volts of electric shock. As she recovered, she felt her heart still banging away erratically and, looking at the cardiologist, she said, "it didn't work, did it?" He ruefully agreed, before saying he would like to try cardioversion again in six weeks after starting her on a new, stronger medication with numerous potential side-effects. Ann's heart rate has varied betwen a high of 180+b.p.m. and a low of 35 b.p.m. Luckily, she is still allowed an occasional wine - in moderation - which eases the pain of two great, red burn marks on her back and chest. 

Tuesday took us to the vets for Brontë, who has been "leaking" slightly for a little while.  Ann cut off all her bum-hair to stop it being soaked and Edwin found some doggie nappies on-line, which we sent for. They certainly work and she seems to wear them with a certain swank, as though she has something special which Byron doesn't. The vet couldn't find anything specific, but suggested she may be hormone-deficient, so now we have to add HRT to her food each day.

Last week, too, I had my now annual cystoscopy to check for any recurrence of my bladder cancer. The girls doing it commented, "it's a long way up!" which I suppose to be a generous comment, but it reminded me of the nurses at St Thomas' Hospital when I was a student. They kept a notebook in which they recorded penile lengths of anaesthetised patients, to see who would get the week's record. Happily, though, they also declared that there was no sign of a recurrence, and want to see me again in a year. Sometimes, my body feels like a racetrack between two cancers. At the moment, melanoma is definitely winning while bladder seems to have stalled on the starting grid.

Ann is on the lookout for a new car. We went into Suffolk Trade Centre to see what they had in and Ann got a quote for her car. To my surprise, and, I suspect, to Ann's also, she spontaneously accepted their offer before she found a new car, so suddenly we're down to one vehicle. Now, every day is spent looking on-line or visiting showrooms. Unfortunately, there is a dearth of used cars; after twenty years of being our go-to, even Suffolk Trade has an almost deserted forecourt, and is being put up for sale. We continue the search.