Yes, I remember it well.

I have been meaning to blog about a dream I had for weeks now, but I just kept forgetting to do it. My memory is so bad these days that I have to get Mike to remind me to write a list and then make sure I’ve got it and then make me use it while I go round the shop and then check it’s all out of the trolley and, oh I forgot before we leave the house make sure I have my purse. I think you will all have the picture by now. It turns out that it is all because of my “little op” last year. I had tried a couple of strengths of the standard HRT tablets issued (turns out they are 60 years old and based on the urine of pregnant mares from Kentucky.) They really hadn’t suited me at all so after only a month I gave up, thinking “it’s only hot flushes I can cope!” Well after 6 months I decided I couldn’t cope and it wasn’t just the sweats that were a problem, it turns out that the lack of hormones has caused a communication breakdown between my brain, which thinks it is still on honeymoon, and the relevant area responsible with such things. So back to see the doctor who looked EXTREMELY embarrassed at the thought that I might have such depraved thoughts and came up with a prescription which I duly took away. All might have well had I not read the word “bromide” at the end of it’s long chemical name. I reckon he thought if he could just keep me quiet…….

So Mike decided that obviously the NHS wasn’t going to help me and so we searched for someone to see privately. Eventually we found a female doctor who specialised in gynaecological endocrinology. The Australia fund took a hit, but she soon had it all sussed. It was she who told us about the horse’s pee and that not everyone’s liver can process it into the right hormone. She asked how my short term memory was and Mike piped up “well she goes to make me a cup of coffee and 45 minutes later I’m still waiting because she’s forgotten what she went to do.” Yes it is bad. I might remember to make it and then forget to carry it through. At the end of the consultation she wrote to my GP telling him what to prescribe. I went to see him the other day and he duly gave me a prescription, typically enough there is a manufacturing problem and Boots (our national chain of chemists for those outside the UK) cannot get hold of any. Good old Mike rang around all day yesterday and finally managed to track some down fifteen miles away. Why didn’t I get the doc to change the prescription? Well he only knows what to prescribe as he was given the name and there is a seven day wait for non-urgent appointments and changing your prescription is non-urgent by definition of the receptionists.

Back to the dream. Mike and I are off to the Myeloma UK infoday in Birmingham at the end of the month and I dreamt that we had been joined by Paula and Bernard. It was very busy and Mike decided as he had an awful lot of writing to do that he should sit at the table while P, B and me sat on the floor with our backs against the wall, a bit like being back at school. Dr. Mark Cook from the QE in Birmingham was up first to talk about current treatments. He stood there in an orange Myeloma UK T-shirt and started to play his ukulele. It was at this point I noticed how his underarm hair was visible at the edge of his sleeves and how his hair and beard seemed to be become more bushy and ginger, so much so that he eventually looked like an orang-utan. Mike kept saying how informative and knowledgeable Dr. Cook was and how he was learning so much. Meanwhile P turned to me and said “Gosh he’s furry.”