Another one got away. No chance again of eating turkey this Christmas, "it's boooorrriiiiinnnggg" says the old man... but it's not fatty I plead "it's really boooorrriiiiinnnggg" but it's better for you I beg "it's really really boooorrriiiiinnnggg". Arguing with the old man who has become MasterChef overnight is pointless. As he fries his black pudding in butter whilst trying to hide the liver underneath the ever so streaky bacon, I suddenly remember, I have an escape route. The drugs, ha ha.
I'm still on various amounts of warfarin with lovely Queenie, so I can't eat liver and they've stopped the clot forming tamoxifen, a bit too late unfortunately. Instead I have years of anastrozole which I have to take with 3000 mg of calcium with vitamin D, to help avoid osteoporosis. (Anyone fancy a bet?)
My doc arranged for me to have a bone scan at a private clinic... Wow, what a difference. Given all the rubbish they have to endure, the NHS are amazing but until some of these rich MPs also have to endure A&E in an emergency, when they are too ill for a private clinic, nothing is going to improve. At least I won't get clogged arteries, not sure about MasterChef though.
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