The World According to Bob

sorts of problems, particularly coronary ones, strokes in particular.
    Given all this, I was on edge over the next week or so while I waited for the ultrasound appointment. Bob and I carried on going to work but I was only going through the motions. I was terrified to do something that might trigger a stroke or heart attack. I even stopped interacting with him when we sat on the buckets together. He’d look at me every now and again, expecting me to produce a treat so that we could start performing for the commuters. But more often than not my heart wasn’t in it and I’d turn away. Looking back, I was too wrapped up in myself. If I’d looked I’m sure I’d have seen the disappointment written all over his face.

    When the appointment day came I dragged myself to UCH on the Euston Road and passed through a room of expectant mothers waiting in the ultrasound department. I seemed to be the only person who wasn’t excited to be there.
    I was led off by a specialist who slapped loads of jelly on my leg so that he could run the camera around, the same as they did for the mums-to-be. It turned out that I had a massive, six-inch-long blood clot. The specialist sat me down and told me that he suspected it had started as a small clot but had thickened and clotted further along the edge of the vein.
    ‘It was probably hot weather that set it off and then you’ve exacerbated it by walking around on it,’ he said. ‘We will prescribe you a blood thinning medicine and that should sort it out.’
    I was relieved. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite in the clear.
    I was prescribed an anti-coagulant that is used a lot to thin the blood of potential stroke victims. But I didn’t pay any attention to the leaflet that came with it. It didn’t occur to me that there might be side effects.
    A few nights after I started taking the tablets, I got up at around 5am to go to the toilet. Outside it was pitch black, but there was just about enough light in the flat for me to find my way to the bathroom and back. As I walked down the corridor I could feel something trickling down my thigh. I turned on a light and was horrified to see that my leg was covered in blood. When I got back into my room and switched on the lights, I saw that the sheets of my bed were soaked red as well.
    Bob had been fast asleep in the corner, but woke up. He could tell there was something wrong and shot up to stand at my side.
    I had no idea what was happening. But I did know that I had to get myself to a hospital – and fast. I threw on a pair of jeans and a jumper and ran out of the flat, heading towards Tottenham High Road where I figured I had a chance of catching a bus.
    When I got to UCH, they admitted me immediately. I was told that the anti-coagulant had thinned my blood to such an extent that it had started bleeding from the pores of the weakened skin where I used to inject myself.
    I was kept in for two days while they sorted out my medication. They eventually settled on another drug, which wouldn’t have the same effect. That was the good news. The bad news was that I’d have to inject it into my stomach myself for a period of up to six months.
    Having to inject myself was awful, for all sorts of reasons. To begin with it was painful, injecting directly into my stomach muscles. I could feel the contents of the syringe entering the tissue. Secondly, it was another reminder of my past. I hated the prospect of having a syringe and a needle as part of my daily life once more.
    Worst of all, however, it didn’t work.
    Even after I’d been injecting myself with the new drug for a couple of weeks, my leg was no better. I couldn’t walk more than two paces, even with the crutches. I was now beginning to despair. Once again, I began to imagine losing my leg altogether. I went back to UCH and explained the situation to one of the doctors I’d seen previously.
    ‘We’d better have you back in for a week. I’ll check to see what the bed situation is right now,’ he said, picking up the phone.
    I wasn’t best pleased about it. It meant I’d not be able to work and I’d already lost two days in hospital. But I knew that I simply couldn’t carry on in this condition. I was told that they had a bed the following day. So I went home that night and explained the situation to Belle. She agreed to look after Bob, which was a huge comfort for me. I knew he was happy there. The following morning I got up and packed a small bag of stuff to take to