Trippy Man as Tarantino might say.

So seizures. First thing I know is a headache, then the smell of jossticks, sandalwood if I recall correctly. Then a space shuttle launching from the tennis club at the end of our road, and an anticlockwise spinning fireball outside the window. Trippy man! Even this dumbo realised all was not well. I was chatting to a mate on MSN she noticed my typing was worse than usual. I managed to type words mixed up. She told me to switch on the webcam – she witness my face in a variety of grimaces before I fell off the chair and banged me nut. Meantime (shes in Yorkshire ) she fones a friend in wales to get my address then fones an ambulance.

I am lying on the floor peeing myself and fitting. Sort of wake up before realizing my daughter is screaming, and the ambulance men are calling for help to move a heavy guy in an awkward space. I decide to fit again they give me diazepam IV. I am out the game I wake up in the Royal feeling like a bag of boiled shite (same colour too). My mate visits in a surreal fashion, I remember that my pressing concern is not for my health but the fact Shakespeare our rabbit is wild in the garden. Seems easier to fit again so I watch my heart rate decorate and wake up spitting blood from a bitten cheek.

They aren’t sure whats gone on, they home in on the fact I like drink too much and recently gave up ( as a prelude to my Lenten promise). The first night was mad my head hurts and I cant see out of one lens of my glasses – when fitting I had rubbed them against an abrasive surface. That strangely is one of the worst bits.

Next day I am prodded by the top gaffer nice bloke with an entourage. He wants to do a CT scan. His junior boys think I am an old soak who has dried out too quick. They compromise and do a CT scan and ask the “lifestyles” nurse to see me.

She diagnoses a tremor – I always have one its due to the fact that I am on a shed full of medicine for my Bipolar Affective Disorder (more of that later). She sees  this as damning proof of my alcoholic status. She says stay in and go home see you in 4 weeks. I am not convinced (but I acknowledge I would deny it all).

I am trundled off for a CT scan that’s scary bit common now but knew to me. The radiographer obviously doesn’t know I have wanton lush written on my notes so strangely treats me with respect. She understands that I may have some insight after nearly 30 years in the NHS. 11am this was, will get reported on 3.30 (tis Friday). Hear nothing and you are laughing kiddo. My head feels like a girder has collided with it. They give me paracetamol.

About 7pm get to a ward staffed by a nerd I knew years ago who delights in subjecting me to sub human treatment. Headache Mr Clare?? Hangover?? Here’s two paracetamol. Now let me see what you in for ah….seizures following alcohol withdrawal.

Bloke in next bed is a decent geezer gulf war 1 vet with gulf war syndrome and post traumatic stress, and high blood pressure. I buy him a paper I am the only one deemed fit to walk. I come back to the room and feel like death, obviously a lazy lush. My head is bursting can I have something yes Mr C…paracetamol they are not touching it says I. I want to see a Doctor ….they inform one apparently by second class carrier pigeon. This goes on till Sunday night I am getting pissed off now the boyy in pain is not pleasant. Wife demands a doctor he sees me, does a competent neuro exam and then hey presto looks at the CT scan report. Hes to scared to face me so sends his boss. Both nice guys he says what do you thinks happened Mr Clare, I can tell from their tone I have been upgraded and I no longer flying in Lush class. I have had a brain bleed says I, but I am pessimistic hypochondriac I jape. Nope you’re right, we better transfer you to the Neurological Unit in another hospital you have had a subarachnoid haemorrhage. Oh shit…………………………………………………………..