City to Surf -- Half Marathon

I'm still not getting enough distance training for a full marathon but I'm comfortable with the half. So I'm entered in the City to Surf half marathon. I'm not so fit that it's an easy distance but it should be doable.

Wrong!

Deb and I drive and park in the city. My half starts an hour before Deb's 12km. Deb will sit and relax then walk to her own start line a bit later.

It's a beautiful morning. Cool but not too cold. A few homeless people are rugged up in doorways. I'm wearing a light jacket, walking, comfortably warm. The fifteen minute walk to the start is my warm-up.

I leave my jacket at the bag drop. That's a benefit of running the half (or the full) marathon there's a bag drop on the day. Thank you to the helpful and friendly volunteer at the bag drop.I also leave a dry shirt -- I'm a sweaty runner -- and a light jacket for Deb. We plan to meet at the finish, we should finish at about the same time.

I check my race number, see Wave 4, look for the relevant start marker. Can't find it. This is a bad sign.

Not to worry, I join the cheerful crown of starters somewhere down the line.

And we're off!

There are no direction signs. Not to worry, I follow the crowd. I don't see a sign but the crowd turns and I follow.

We are jogging past the bus station, I've seen no start arch, no on-the-ground start recorders.

A glimpse of Kings Park. A glimpse of UWA. The run will go through UWA before turning into Kings Park. I'm hoping the other runners know where to go. I'm certainly seeing no signs. Other than one 6km marker... What happened to the others?

We are turning into UWA.

I am lying flat on my back. People are asking me if I know my name. What day is it. Where am I. I'm surrounded by friendly, helpful people. Not runners. I'm in Sir Charles Gardner Hospital. Information comes in dribs and drabs. That's about as fast as I can handle it.

I was running... somewhere. If I really did pass a 6km marker then I ran more than 6km of the standard 21. Since I didn't see a start barrier nor any earlier km markers -- I was running unconscious. Then I had a fit and started to fall.

A woman running near by recognised a fit and helped me to the ground. Thank you Gemma! I bit my tongue, not badly, and grazed my hands and knees. Could have been worse.

In the hospital an ambulance driver passes, waves, says that she brought me in. Thank you!

I'm dressed in a standard embarrassing hospital gown. Shoes, socks, shirt, in a plastic bag nearby. Still wearing my gps watch and it's buzzing regularly... I set it to buzz when I go too slow. Lying flat on my back is too slow :-)  I press a button to stop the buzzing.

I'm told that I wet myself, though the hospital staff use a more technical term. If I'd been conscious at the time I would have been embarrassed. As it is I just accept it as a situation that medical staff deal with regularly. Part of the job which is probably not included in the advertised job description.

Now that I'm conscious again I can tell people my name, date of birth, today's date... They already know all that, it's just a test to see if I'm back in the real world yet.

My son arrives. He's the emergency contact written on my running bib. First time that has ever been needed! Robbie is my emergency contact because he's a children's doctor and is used to dealing with people who will cry if you hurt them... Also, he answers his phone. Deb (wife) has a phone but generally does not carry it on fun runs.

So the next problem is to contact Deb.

We had agreed to meet at the finish, we should have finished within ten minutes of each other. Deb waited quite a while at the finish, worrying, thought we'd missed each other, took the shuttle bus back to the city and the car. My own first response -- if Deb is not at a meeting point -- is to assume that she fell over. But I *never* fall over :-)

Robbie phones my mobile, a good idea, I'd told him it was sitting in the car. By then the battery is flat, that's why I don't bother to carry it. The battery in this phone is good for a few hours or one brief call. Other phones, I've forgotten to keep them charged then they've refused to recharge. I suspect I shall have to get a phone that will keep on working...

Luckily we had left the car where Deb works. So she goes to her office and phones Robbie... then makes her way to the hospital. Great relief all round! I'm okay, I'm being looked after, I'm more worried about Deb.

So what has happened?! Various scans and tests are scheduled to find out.

It seems that I have "something" in my brain. A lump, a lesion, an infection... Whatever it is, it's surrounded by oedema, I think of it as bruising, the thing causes damage, the body responds by padding the area with... fluid? The fluid causes swelling, the swelling exerts pressure on the brain. In this case the pressure is near the visual area of the brain -- it may cause vision difficulties. Well, I certainly had trouble seeing the start arch! And Deb tells me, I was in Wave 3 -- so seeing Wave 4 on my bib is... interesting. And seeing -- or, at least, remembering -- only glimpses of the course that I was following, that could indicate a problem :-)

There's one bright note: my running may have exacerbated the problem by pushing blood faster that usual through the brain. If the problem was bad enough to knock me out while sitting still -- it could be a whole lot worse.

Then there's another question... Readers who object to "too much information" should skip the next section...

=== start skipping here... though I'll refer to this later, anyway

Do you, I'm asked, have any other odd symptons? Funny you should ask: my right testicle has gone hard. It happened within the last month or two.

I have had the same GP for many years. My older brother had a heart problem -- calcified aorta -- so I thought I should have my own heart checked. But my GP has retired! And I only visited him two or three years ago. I decide to visit the GP that my wife has visited for the last few years. A woman doctor. But, as I tell her (the new doctor) I don't have any embarrassing diseases to discuss. (Not that I would be any less embarrassed with my previous GP, an older, overweight, bearded man. Excellent doctor. But embarrassing is embarrassing, no matter who the doctor.)

So I take up with a new, female GP. And, just weeks later, my right testicle goes hard. And I did not rush to have it checked. Yes, I say to the neurologist, I do have something odd: a hard right testicle. No pain, no obvious swelling, just harder than it was.

=== okay, you can start reading again...though the embarrassing issue will become obvious anyway

I'm listed for more scanning.

My sons are here. My wife has been found and turned up. They are worried. I'm in ignorant denial. Bolstered by being surrounded by caring family and competent and caring hospital staff.

Finally I'm out of emergency -- I guess that's where I've been -- and into a ward. I'm regularly asked, do I know where I am, do I know who I am, do I know today's date? Once I make the mistake of saying that I'm in the neurology ward. It seems that I'm the only person who read the sign on the door... The correct answer is, I'm in SCGH.

Care and treatment is excellent. An incident that makes me think, these nurses are caring people: a woman being assisted, walking, to the toilet, a nurse walks with her -- and holds closed the revealing hospital gown.

So I spend a night in a ward. Sleep like a log. Woken up every four hours by a nurse asking if I know where I am, who I am, etc. I must give the correct answers because I'm allowed to go back to sleep.

There are regular pills to be taken, including an anti-fitting pill. Despite a life-long inability to swallow pills -- I get these down. Easily enough. After a bit of focus. In the knowledge that these are essential. The things we can do when we have to :-)

A nurse gives me a new name band for my wrist. I look... it's not my name. Just as well I've had practice remembering who I am :-) The nurse gives me the correct name... First mistake she's made in umpteen years, she says. I rest happy in the knowledge that one mistake will ensure that the next umpteen years will be equally mistake free.

The neurologist appears again, doing hospital rounds with a couple of hangers-on. Do you remember me? he asks. Nooo... By which I mean, I am never sure of names but my best guess/memory would be that you are the neurologist from yesterday. Not remembering the doctor is no good at all, when the doctor is a neurologist who is concerned with brain damage and memory... Oh well...

Later in the day I am moved from the ward to a private room. I'm in a public hospital but elected to "go private". There's a brief questionnaire, Why did I elect to go private? Only because I'm paying the health fund. I have no preference for a particular doctor, as far as I'm concerned, the public service doctors are the best anyway. None of the other "benefits" had any extra appeal.

It turns out that Deb can get -- because I'm a private patient -- $10 of coffee and snack. We use that. Mind you, a discount on parking would be equally attractive.

Now "my" specialist appears, a neurosurgeon. He's been flat out at another hospital. He outlines possibilities. They range from infection to damage(?) to cancer. Though the word used, is "tumour". I've had a CT scan which -- according to the earlier neurologist -- was not particularly detailed. I'll be having an MRI scan to get  more detail.

Meanwhile, on the too-much-information situation:

Tumours -- cancer? -- may spread. Does my hard testicle have a spreading tumour? Testicle tumours are highly unlikely to spread to the brain. (Despite the claim that a man's brain is driven by his testicles.) But it needs to be checked. An ultrasound is added to my check-list.

An orderly wheels me to the CT scan area. Another person wheels me inside. After the scan I'm wheeeld back outside, where I wait for an orderly to wheel me home again. Seems inefficient... Not the wheeling, I would never have found my own way there or back. But three separate people for the journey?!

The CT scan covers my torso... I think. Which means that my brain must have been scanned early, while I was still unconscious? Either that or my memory is confused... Not to worry, I can leave all worrying to the hospital staff.

Back to my private room -- then to another location. I have scored a hospital corridor :-)  I'm mobile, I'm reasonably compos, I'm happy to be anywhere. The level of care is excellent -- plus I get apologies for the corridor location.

I have the bed placed so that my view is across to the new children's hospital. The window also reflects the corridor behind me. When I'm ready to sleep I close the window blinds. I also put up a screen behind me, to stop the reflections. And, again, I sleep like a log.

I still have a "private" bathroom/toilet. Up the corridor, turn right, first door to the left, ward 16. I use the first toilet in that ward. There's no "private" sign but I do seem to be the only one using it. Perhaps because it's signed as "men only", does ward 16 have only female patients?

Further up the first corridor is the nurses' station. There's an instant-coffee machine which I can use at any time. Which I do. With a nod to the nurses on duty who presumably wonder why I'm shuffling along the corridors.

Yesterday I noticed that while reading, odd words would not appear, I needed to look again to see them. A side effect of the brain swelling, I guess. Today that problem has disappeared... I mean, the words have *not* disappeared... :-) One of my pills is to reduce the swelling in the brain. Must be working.

Yesterday, another scan: ultrasound. Embarrassing stuff again. An attractive young woman scanned my testicles. I enjoyed the experience but not in the way that I would have expected. Sigh... the problem with being in hospital and not in the best of condition. Though I have noticed more interest, this morning, in watching my nurses :-)

This morning, a visit by a urologist. He asked questions about testicles and unination. It seems that I do have strange growths in the testicles. So, out with the rubber gloves and lubricant. A very recent PSA result was negative, but that does not guarantee that I am clear of prostate cancer.

Interesting: Having fingers poked up my bottom gives me a feeling of going to the toilet. From habit, that leads to a related feeling that I should pee. I think, no, better not, and make sure that I do not.

Results of the rubber-glove test? I'm not sure... The doc did not say anything specific. I read it as, no worries, but I could be wrong.

Side note: My son has looked at the earlier body scan. He says that my bones are showing signs of damage from hard running. So much for my careful running to avoid injury!

This morning, the MRI scan. I'm warned that it can be noisy. Not as noisy, I discover, as flying a light plane. No worries at all. Almost fun. Deb waits outside, then it's back to my corridor. The only downside of this scan is that my leftover breakfast has been cleared away... Luckily I ate half before the scan. And I share the muffin that Deb buys for her own morning tea. Compared to my hospital-grade cakes, Deb's bought muffin is huge!

Deb has brought the tablet and the hotspot, so I can email and blog. I warned Wil that ther rogaine newsletter could be delayed... The way hospital staff are talking, I may still be in hospital through the planned print date. Luckily the next event is not immediate... but I will need to look at a fall-back plan.

As far as I can tell: The neurosurgeon (who has Gaye's tick of approval:-) will probably drill into my brain to get a sample. The urologist (proctologist?) is likely to want a sample from his own special area. I have lots to look forward to! And I could be here for quite a few more days :-(  Ah well.

This morning Deb brought in the tablet, keyboard, hotspot, mobile phone, so I can communicate. Except that Deb just made one phone call -- and the phone battery is dead. I'll try to email though it may not make sense. The tablet is down to 20% battery, far lower that I would have expected. Robbie and Deb are, between them getting chargers for me.

Tim came by yesterday. Gaye may drop by tomorrow. Always great to see them all, but I do remind them that they have to look after themselves. As far as I know I have a serious problem but it is not likely to be suddenly terminal. And I am enjoying what is, for me, an unusual experience... not every hospital patient gets the corridor location... :-)

Down to 18% battery... Time to stop blogging.

A different theme for my blogs. I was smug when my brother had heart problems and I was cleared. I was smug when all my blood tests were absolutely clear and normal. Now my smugnesss is under threat. But the name of this blog -- says it all :-)

Enough. For now.

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Dr Nick Lethbridge / Consulting Dexitroboper
Agamedes Consulting / Problems? Solved.
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"Wow, I never thought of it like that before." … Joan D. Vinge