POLLYS PYJAMAS…Part Two.

I am aware that I’m being watched, no actually I’m being observed, by my doctor who has just come into the waiting room to call me through. He studies me as I brace to push myself upright, stand and then stiffly waddle past him to the open door of his office. Once there, I lower myself into the waiting chair beside his desk with an audible outgiving of breath.
He follows me and closes the door softly, almost thoughtfully, before taking residence in the rather grander chair in front of the desk with its large curved screen computer.
He speaks first.
“This appears to have moved on somewhat since your last visit.”
“You could say that” I agree, in a dead sounding tone of voice that I hardly recognise as my own.
He is tapping something out into the keyboard before him on the desk; he wastes few words,
“Tell me”. So I do.
I tell him of the last few weeks of pain and misery, of ever increasing limited movement, the loss of weight, heavy dead feeling limbs, lava for blood, the constant continuous aching, little sleep and my life seeming to be rapidly closing down around me.
He is still looking at the screen before him but I perceive a slight nod of his head; recognition?
Still sat, he rolls his chair over to face me and grips both of my hands in his, turns them over, and again, before giving them back to me. He looks closely into my eyes as I try not to blink. Can he read my silent plea I wonder? “Please stop this, please know the answer, please have the antidote to it all right here right now.”
He says nothing but rolls back to the keyboard and starts tapping away briefly, before turning to me.
“We’re going to have to do some blood tests to try and pinpoint exactly what’s going on with you.”
I groan inwardly, silently cursing yet more time to wait, more delays, but resign myself to it.
“Where do I go for the tests, will I come back here?
“Go? You’re not going anywhere my friend, you’re staying right there in that chair, I’ll take the bloods myself now, I want this fast-tracked for the results ASAP. If it’s what I’m thinking it could be then I want you on treatment by the end of this week at the latest.”
He gets up to leave but stops, reading the concern on my face, “Try not to worry we’ll get you sorted soon I’m sure of it.”
Then he darts out of the door leaving me staring after him.
Fuck! He’s troubled and this has become urgent, well I did want action, now I’ve got it; be careful what you wish for Mark.
He’s soon back with multiple vials to trap some of the aching liquid coursing through my veins.
Expertly the task is soon accomplished and he is back at the desk and computer.
He speaks whilst typing and looking at the screen. “I’m thinking this could well be a rheumatoid or auto-immune condition but I need to be sure which one before embarking on a course of treatment”.
I put forward my thoughts that it may be Lyme’s disease.
I’m taken seriously.
“Good point, it’s certainly worth checking for Lyme’s. It’s not necessarily an easy thing to identify but you are obviously so ill at present that I would expect antibodies for it to show in the tests.”
He taps away in silence for a while longer as I stare around the room trying not to behave like a patient, but then I realise I am one, and this is all for real whatever I may do to try and wish it not so.
He swivels around to face me. “Right here’s what we’re going to do. Whether you hear from me or not tomorrow or Thursday, I want to see you on Friday afternoon as I’m away for two weeks after that. I’ve not got a surgery on Friday but I’ll be here so come in at three pm, let reception know and they’ll come and find me.
“Try not to worry Mark, rest as much as you can and I’ll see you Friday.”
I rise stiffly like an aging Lazarus from the chair, a bit numb in mind and body to be honest. I give my thanks to the doc’ and waddle out of his world and back into mine. Once again it’s the painkillers etc for me for the next couple of days at least. I inwardly worry what truth my bloods are going to reveal.

I relate it all to Marilyn on the phone that night. She tries to be upbeat but her concern swims on the surface of her words. I know again how alone I would feel if she had not come into my life or had not wanted too, or worse still, if I had been foolish enough not to let her.
The following evening we go to a local pub for their bi-monthly steak night. Again I’m dosed-up on pills to help me get through. It would be easier not to go but it’s been booked for some time and I’m hoping it will help take my mind off things for a while. Amazingly it does, as Marilyn is great company but I cannot sit comfortably for any length of time and directly after the meal we leave and return to her house.
She goes upstairs to change clothes, I’m stood in the kitchen trying to manage the least painful way to take off my coat when my phone bleeps, a text comes through, its’ just after eight o’clock by now.
I swipe the screen and see the text is from my doctor and my heart momentarily drops to my boots.
“Hello Mark, your bloods are back, no sign of Lyme’s but you are showing all the indicators for the condition Polymyalgia rheumatica, it’s treatable, stick to our arrangement for Friday and we’ll soon have you up and frisky again.”
Frisky! Bloody hell.
I’m staring at the screen as Marilyn comes into the room.
“What is it?”
“A text from my doctor.”
“And?”
“It appears I’ve got something called….”
For the life of me I can’t remember what I’ve just read, and I’ve somehow squeezed the side button of the phone and it’s turned off.
All I can recall is the ‘Poly’ bit which stupidly makes me think right then of Elaine’s one-winged metal parrot that still sits on its perch in the garden. She got it at one of the last boot sales she ever went to and it remains with me still.
Marilyn is looking at me, “Mark, you’ve got what?”
“It read something like Polly’s Pyjamas.”
“Polly’s bloody what! Get the text back up.”
I fumble about with the phone and eventually the text re-appears before us; we read it through together several times aloud.
Marilyn looks up at me. “Polymyalgia rheumatica, sounds exotic, lets’ look it up”.
And so we spend the next hour or more with Dr Google. Rather than explaining what we read there it’s probably easier for me to jump here to my next meeting with the doc’.
**
Friday afternoon and I don’t have to wait too long before I find myself seated by the now all too familiar desk.
“You got my message ok I assume?”
I confirm that I did.
“There’s no sign of Lyme’s but Polymyalgia looks to be the culprit, I expect you’ve been looking it up online.”
“I have but I’d rather hear it from you.” He leans back in his chair.
“Polymyalgia rheumatica causes severe pain, stiffness and inflammation in the joints and muscles of the body. No one really knows the true cause of it, but there are a number of factors that may be involved.
“There is a train of thought that it’s caused by a virus, but as far as I’m aware none has as yet been identified. It may be genetic, anything similar in your family history?”
I shake my head, “Nothing that I’m aware of.”
He continues. “It nearly always starts off in the upper body, shoulders then elbows before moving to the lower joints, it was the other way around with you which threw me off the scent on your first visit.
“Those that get it are nearly always older than you are and more often it affects women than men. The weight loss is also another give away sign.”
I interrupt him, “I read of other possibilities also.”
“Yes, there are other things as likely causes. Trauma from injuries, sudden shock often associated with bereavement or prolonged periods of high stress.”
We look each other directly in the eye and I break the quick heavy silence between us.
“I know where I’d place my money.”
I catch again a slight nod of his head. He must witness so many scenes of anguish and despair throughout the year, surely it has to harden your outlook on life, but now there is more than just an edge of sympathy to his reply. “You have been under a considerable strain for some time now.”
I know that sympathy is not wholly directed at the reason for my being here today. This man was not Elaine’s doctor but he did see her on occasions when her own was unavailable. He knew the situation she was in and how mine stands now.
“Is it always so painful doc’?”
“Not always, some people experience it more as a general aching of the muscles and an overall feeling of discomfort, in others the pain is more severe as you are finding it, there are no set rules to these things.”
“I believe it can become quite serious too” I continue.
“Not in every case but it can lead on to a condition known as Temporal Arteritis, or Giant Cell Arteritis as it’s also called. The arteries in the head become inflamed, you may experience headaches particularly in the temples at the side of the head, aching jaw, and maybe vision problems. Has any of that affected you?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Good, it’s not progressed in that direction and we’ll make sure it doesn’t get the chance now, it is serious if it gets that far as it can lead to a stroke or blindness.”
Marilyn and I read this on Google, it being confirmed now as a possibility makes me feel suddenly very fortunate that the pain and misery I have been experiencing has been so bad as to force me to seek help. What if it had been to a lesser degree and I had just tried to live through it then woken-up one morning to a life of permanent darkness and disability?”
He swivels back to the curved screen “Whatever the cause the treatment is still the same-steroids!”
I knew this was coming, bloody steroids, I’ve had the bastards before. Years ago I had a severe lung infection and one afternoon Elaine had to rush me down to the surgery to get me onto a nebuliser as I could barely breathe at all; it was frightening for us both.
To relieve my lungs I was put on a decreasing course of steroids, they worked ok but steroids have a range of side-effects and in me one of those effects is that I get extremely bad and quick tempered.
You know what it is but you just can’t stop it and it’s no fun believe me.
Half to myself I mutter, “Fucking steroids.”
He gives a little laugh, “I’m afraid so, you’ve had them before.” It’s not a question and I tell him of my past experience with these tiny pills.
“The mood swings are something you’ll have to learn to control and live with. You’re going to be on them for some time. We’ll start you off on a high dose to get it under control then we’ll gradually reduce the dose to a level that keeps things ticking over so you can live normally without the symptoms you’ve been experiencing.
“I must stress all we are doing here is treating the symptoms, there is no actual cure as such but in most cases the condition rights itself in a couple of years or even less.”
As well as the steroids I’m prescribed Alendronic acid tables and Calcichew+Vit’D3 tables. These are to protect my bones as prolonged use of steroids can cause the bones to get thin leading to Osteoporosis.
I’m to take a half dose of steroids as soon as I get them then start the full monty tomorrow. We work out a plan for me to gradually reduce the dose and I am to keep in touch with him as things move along; I feel I’m in good hands here and being well cared for.
“If there is no improvement in you by Monday at the latest, then get back here and seek help, don’t wait!”
With that final warning ringing in my ears I slowly take my leave. Seems like I’ve sat with him for hours and I’m glad to go but even more glad that relief is now, hopefully, on the horizon for me.
I collect the prescription from the a-joining pharmacy. The guy goes through it all thoroughly with me like I’m some older citizen who may not understand what I have to do, perhaps I’m looking older than I feel, if that’s possible. He emphasizes that I must not stop taking the steroids suddenly or run out of them. I nod my understanding like the good senior that I am.
Slowly I make my shuffling way back to the car. I’m aware I’m clutching the bag of pills like a drowning man who’s found a rubber ring in an empty ocean.
I’m praying that the answer to the hell of these last couple of months or more is in my grasp.
I don’t fancy taking steroids, but to honest if I was told to take eye of newt and horse shit tablets I’d do it, all this pain is bad enough but stroke or blindness is not to be risked, so I’ll welcome in the tiny tablets with the, hopefully, big punch.
Right now I feel tired, want to get to the car and get back home, and sanctuary!

To be continued soon…