Slept ok yesterday, but had a little phlegm in the throat. I'm becoming quite tuned to my body and am almost able to predict how things turn out. Well my prophesy for the day was that I'd have an appointment with Mr. Wrech. Guess what, just as the doctors came in for their morning round it started again. I tried to control it as well as I could, and managed to contain my self so it didn't last too long, but whenever this occurs the stomach is always a little tender due to the muscle strainage.

Since the engraftment started and the mouth started improving I can only describe it as feeling as though I've got someone else's saliva in my throat. I've felt uncomfortable swallowing the saliva that is normally an instinctive action merely as it feels like it lingers at the top of the throat. This is more so during the night as during the day you can drink and eat and leave the throat feeling quite clear. That's why in the morning I want to try and dislodge what feels like an accumulation of phlegm at the back of the throat, but unfortunately this conjures up good 'ol Mr. Wretch. So I'm trying to condition myself to accept things as they are for the time being, which means not spitting in the morning and waiting for breakfast, as the throat can be cleared by eating. Clearly after what the body has been put through over the last six weeks, you can't expect everything to be functioning at 100%, and it's a matter of being patient.

It's official, I'm no longer neutropoenic! My neutrophil count was 0.55, and all the other indicators were up too. To celebrate, I spent half an hour in the day room at the bottom of the ward which faces the hospital drive and main road, so you're able to oggle at the world passing by. The room was freezing as I'd borrowed the mobile radiator to add extra heat to my bedroom, but it was fun all the same to walk around outside room 3 and feel a tad less enclosed.

Now that I've been feeling quite good and normal, the boredom factor is setting in especially with talk that I could be out by the weekend. One of the biggest incentives to get out is to savour some real cuisine. I know I've been going on about the food quite a bit recently, but the situation is becoming grave. The meal highlighted just this. The Portuguese hostess who is extremely amicable and friendly doesn't have the greatest command over the English language and some how my order for fried chicken legs and chips turned out to be shepherd's pie. She was very apologetic, so I just accepted my fate and dug in. The first few bites were unpleasant enough but by the third I was at the point of throwing up. I had to make do with a bit of toast and kitkat.
Dad came round late in the evening so we both stayed up to watch the qualifying for the Australian GP live on TV. It went well with both Ferraris occupying the front row, except Schumi was second to Rubens. Well he should still win the race...hopefully.

Today had been pretty quiet. Slept in a little but didn't throw up. The doctor came in this morning and told me I'd be going home tomorrow. That was a surprise, but because the news has come a lot sooner than expected, I asked to stay in until Monday so that things around the house could be sorted and readied before leaving the ward. So it looks like I'll be out of here on Monday unless something happens in the meantime. The bloods are still on the increase with the neutrophils now at 0.64 along with all the other signs still on the up.

This evening I met Alison and her husband next door. It's the first time that I've met another patient in hospital, and it was really interesting to talk to another couple and listen to their story and compare our experiences throughout the treatment here. Dad has come over again tonight and we'll both be waking up at 3am to watch the grand prix live.