Sunday, 10 July 2011

Sunday 10 July 2011

There are still times, despite my history as evidenced on this blog, when I mistakenly believe that I've seen it all.  No.  Oh, dear me, no.  But this is part of the rich joy of my life - the fact that one is constantly challenged by bizarre occurrences.  In fact, I really don't want to depart this life for fear of missing out on what tomorrow may bring.

I refer, of course, to the odd events of a week ago.  Last Sunday found my partner and I beside a local river, supporting friends and colleagues in a charity Dragonboat race - for which we had submitted a team (captained by Ewan's and Fizzy's partner), called "The Knights of the Rant Table"/aka 'Ranters'.  I was the Team Mascot.


The Ranters in action
Alas, as ever, Jasper H. Stafford had a price to pay for his willing support.  That price is humiliation at the tainted hands of his duplicitous partner.  Witness the evidence:

Oh, for goodness' sake...

I suppose I ought to be relatively thankful.  Everyone (including my partner) had a team t-shirt, made by Ewan's and Fizzy's and my partners.  A vest-top had been mooted for me, but it was far too hot to clothe me on the day of the event and my partner limited herself to writing "Ranter" along my spine.  She did not understand the bizarre looks my decorations were attracting - until she realised, with horror, that the team logo of a 13th Century cross had twisted as my fur curled after going swimming (well someone had to ensure that the water was safe) into an exact replication of a swastika.  Hasty concealment measures were applied, thank heavens.

I will endure many humiliating debasements in the name of charity fundraising (and we did, I'm happy to bark, succeed in raising plenty of cash for the day's cause - the local branch of The Samaritans - a worthy organisation, if ever there was one) - but the merest suggestion of alignment with Nazi sympathies is very DEFINITELY unacceptable in anyone.

This, however, is not the bizarre occurrence to which I alluded at the beginning of this blog-entry.

Throughout my day at the riverside I was troubled by almost constant nose-bleeds and discomfort in my cancer-stricken nasal cavity.  My partner endeavoured valiantly to remain buoyant whilst privately utterly distraught at my increasing malaise.  We departed as soon as was decent after the final dragonboat race.  My partner had a heat-induced migraine developing and so we retired to our bedchamber as soon as we arrived home.

Come 3.00am, my partner and I were wide-awake and unable to resettle.  At length, frustrated by her pain and her efforts to get back to sleep, my partner switched on the bedroom light and we looked, together, at a book.

I was suddenly aware of a peculiar sensation in my diseased nostril.  I sneezed once, then again - and on the second sneeze I felt a sharp pain followed by a feeling I can hardly describe.  As I sneezed, something shot out of my nose, accompanied by a small spray of blood.

My partner and I gazed in stunned silence at what lay on the bed.  It was about the size of a lamb's kidney, pliable, beige in colour with two thin blood vessels running along the length of one side.  We were transfixed - it was like the scene in Alien where the beastie bursts out of John Hurt.  In fact, we almost expected the unearthly object to utter a terrible shriek and scuttle off across the floor.

Recovering herself somewhat, my partner took up a paper tissue and wiped the small spattering of blood from around my nostril and whiskers.  After ascertaining that I was not bleeding, she carefully picked up the former contents of my head with the tissue and we examined it more closely.  Most odd.  Deciding that my little 'alien baby' should be submitted to the vet for examination, my partner put the mystery blob in the fridge, to keep it from drying out.

Despite my initial shock, I have to bark that my snout felt somewhat more comfortable.  When my partner returned, I found that I was able to settle and drift off to sleep quite easily.  This happy development continued on waking in the morning and beginning my day.  My partner and I were of the same opinion as to what might have happened, but dared not to discuss the matter at length.  However, our suspicions were confirmed on consulting my surgeon.  I have to admit that this was the first visit to the vets' that I have actually enjoyed.

It seems that I have somehow managed to sneeze the tumour clean out of my nose.  I don't mean to bark that I am completely cured - it may grow back; it may only have been a section of the cancer.  All I know for certain is that I have not had a full-on nosebleed or copious tricklings of nose-juice since that sneeze.  And, more recently, my partner discovered that I am starting to inhale and exhale through both nostrils once again.  I will not be optimistic about my future well-being - but I am greatly enjoying the benefit of this development, however long it may last.

Sometimes, you see, good things can come of snorting out little alien babies...

Good night.
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