O is for...

... Outpatients.

Another day at the medical coalface: first up, physio at the local treatment centre, during which new ways of torturing my duff ankle were devised. Back to the Walton Centre afterwards, which involved hobbling a great distance from the only parking space and across a building site, only to sit in a waiting room for 1 hour and 50 minutes waiting to be seen by the neurosurgeon. Daren't go get a drink in case I was called, and the coffee shop closed just before I finally got out, tired and thirsty. Every time someone looked at me I thought I was getting pitying glances for being the only person on my own in the waiting room, everyone else being with supportive partners and friends.

The purpose of the appointment was to discuss the findings of the recent cerebral angiogram, which turn out to be favourable: the second (unruptured) aneurysm is accessible intravascularly, so embolisation by platinum wire coiling is a possibility, although having this done is my choice. The risks of the surgery are about the same as the risk of a further haemorrhage if left untreated - what would you do? No decision can be made until my BP is under control, which means more drugs (sigh), so the fix-my-brain project is on hold for a few months - another MRI scan later in the year is scheduled.

As the consultation drew to a close I shyly asked the surgeon to show me the "prettiest picture of my brain" he had on his computer. He looked a bit puzzled but once I made it clear it was for artistic purposes rather than litigation he found this one, saying it was the clearest 3D image on file. It was actually taken the morning after the first aneurysm ruptured, and before it was operated on, which is why no metal coils are visible as they are in the later but more ghostly images. I said I bet no-one's asked to take a picture of their brain before, and he agreed that was so. He and the nurse exchanged eye-rolling meaningful looks at my departing hobbling person - but hey, blippers are used to that.