Odd jobs

Dan, who is my phlebotomist (yeah, my own phlebotomist, enough kudos...) came to see me at work earlier in the week to take my blood samples, my blood pressure, my temperature...to take everything basically....This is obviously not a run of the mill occurrence at work, and believe me some weird shit goes on at work.

Of course my usually quiet studio is bereft of visitors from one week to the next. I've learnt to leave the "recording in progress" light on at all times and generally I'm left alone....until a strange man is a sticking a syringe in my vein with a tourniquet round my arm and a thermometer in my mouth. Then of course it's open season. Colleagues are in and out like it's Piccadilly Circus. Oh? Are you busy? Shall I come back in a minute? Give us a call when you're done...Finally it quietens down enough for Dan to concentrate on the business at hand - or in the arm.

I've perfected the method of looking in another direction when blood is drawn kicking and screaming from me. It's not that I don't like the sight of blood. Just not the sight of mine leaving my body in a glass container. Which is why I didn't notice anything amiss until Dan says...sorry I've dropped blood all over your carpet and down your arm. Sorry? Sorry? Is sorry enough from a man who comes into your office and spills your blood across the floor? Still, thank god he's not taking the piss.

4' 33"

My brother, who insists he is a unique Paul Carey and so won't be joining a collective of like named international artists, was surprised to hear I was feeling fine. Your blog sounds a bit, well, like you're ill quite frankly. Which I am of course...but just not all the time...and so here, for the benefit of all I shall refute and put perspective on all things ill. It's not that I make the blog up, but if nothing happens I don't report it. And there in lies the trouble...it seems like I'm only ever ill.

The problem when writing a blog of course is when nothing happens. If one is writing a blog about being ill and a whole week goes by without feeling ill then the blog gets a bit dull. It is of little interest for instance that on Monday I felt not even a twinge of MS. Of passing news-worthiness is that I forgot to do my injection on Monday evening. Of less interesting news is that EFN (who hasn't left for Southampton yet) said it didn't matter. Just do it Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday then go back to Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Where's the sensation in that? Things got worse on Tuesday when after a long and suspenseful wait I discovered I didn't have diabetes. Later I went to Birmingham where there was a fridge to keep the hamsters in. I remembered to inject. I didn't react. There was great excitment on Thursday when I crushed my finger whilst moving a mixing desk. It wasn't broken, but quite badly bruised...well it's gone a bit red.

My hands have stayed stubbornly pain free. There are no pliers attatched to my toes. The only song to drive my mind insane is James Brown's I feel Good. Unless you count Fridays hangover, which was entirely self inflicted by too much red wine at an evening reception featuring free red wine, I have to report that I felt and feel...well...not at all ill....A.O.K...Tip-top. I'm sorry. I look forward to boring you with more tales of feeling well next week.

Davy's on the road again

I have to admit that touring isn't such a good idea. Touring brings on stress. Will the sound work? Will the audience turn up? Will I turn up? It turns out that stress brings on 'pseudo-exacerbations'. These aren't relapses. They absolutely feel like relapses but they aren't. They are 'pseudo-exacerbations'. Pseudo? Pretend? There is nothing pretend about this. It's seems bloody real enough to me. My legs still hurt, my hands still sting, the pliers are still attached to my toes and all I really want to do is sleep.

Then there are the practicalities. Backstage in a theatre is not the ideal place to inject hamsters into the system. Most theatres have a cat for a start. Then there's the dressing rooms - full of dancers. There's nothing like a musician slipping out the back with a syringe to raise a few eyebrows. I was going to try doing it in the lighting box but all the technicians wanted in on the action...yeah man..is it good shit? Well as oriental rodent ovary cells go it's top stuff. In the end I just casually pulled out the needle in the dressing room. No one even bloody noticed. I dropped my trousers, stuck the needle in my thigh, counted to ten, winced a couple of times. Nothing. Not even a casual remark from anyone. Bloody performers. Too into themselves.

Next week we're off to Birmingham. That means taking a weeks supply with me...and finding a fridge to keep the medicine cold...must ring the theatre...have you got a cat and a fridge?

All shook up

Sometimes it feels like one illness leads to another and leads to more and more problems. MS? Of course Sir. and would you like diabetes with that? ...but...and whisper it quietly, mumble it discreetly - the week started well. Nothing to report. I was ok. No numbness. No irritating music in my head. No pliers attached to my feet.

Then out of nowhere last night was really bad. I did my injection as usual, went to bed, land of nod. Then about 1.30 I woke up. Hot. Burning. Tremors, shaking, pins and needles, uncontrollable. Fi began to worry. The plier man reappeared, this time with four friends and applied pressure simultaneously to all my toes. Involuntary shaking became so bad Fi wanted to cover me in day glow paint, stand me in the corner and call me "feature lighting". Have you had your paracetamol? She said. Paracetamol? I said. Are you joking? Paracetamol can't help me now! I need urgent care. No she said. You forgot to take paracetamol with your injection.. She was right. She normally is. A couple of paracetamol later (with ibuprofen thrown in for good measure) and everything calms down. I feel exhausted the next day but symptoms have disappeared.

I need to warn Florida Dave Carey about this though. Florida Dave is about to become the second Dave Carey to take Rebif Interferon beta 1a. I wouldn't mind betting we're the most popular name on Rebif's books...hey...we could get sponsored by them. Now this could work....MS vs Dave Carey (feat. Interferon Beta 1a). What's more I've found a New York Dave Carey that's a video maker. We could become an internet art collective. We could be called the Virtually Dave Carey Collective. VDcc for trendy short. No, hang on, sounds like we've all got Gonorrhea. That's an illness too far. We'll stick as a duet.

Music of my mind

It turns out I couldn't handle the hamster after all. Just as I thought it was safe to go back in the water the big hamster came and bit me to pieces and triggered a relapse. It started during the night when my hands started to heat up...and up...and up...as though someone had put thermal gloves on me then dumped in the Sahara. Worse was to come - a Bruce Springsteen song got stuck in my head ...whoaa. whoaa, whoaa I'm on fire. Now I don't mind a bit of Bruce occasionally but stuck in my head for hours while my hands spontaneously combust is too much. Illness is bad enough - repetitious songs stuck in your head is far worse. Illness can be controlled with drugs. Songs in the head can't. And it's always the annoying ones. Kylie's nah, nah, nah. nah, nah, nah-nah, nah. Get out of my head will you.


The following day and my feet had joined in. MS had cunningly attached pliers to all my toes and pressure was being exerted to all of them individually in some sort of weird toe/pliers relay...all this to the accompaniment in my head of heads, shoulders, knees and toes. Of course the lyrics gradually morph to suit your needs. Heads , shoulders, my toes hurt (my toes hurt). Round and round and round. Heads,shoulders....Suddenly I'm missing Bruce.

That evening I hobbled round the kitchen trying to cook dinner ....until Fi could take it no more. Sit down will you. You're driving me mad. It was time for Bruce - Baby I was born to run....hopefully tomorrow.

Small world

Well it's all gone pear shaped now. Everyones Favourite Nurse is leaving the trial. I've become a bit choosy about who stabs me with a needle and EFN is pretty much top, second, third and last on my list. I guess a mutual dependency exists between you and your nurse. I depend on her and she depends on a new job in Southampton...cos she lives there...what sort of excuse is that eh? She's fed up with four hours commuting a day. Where's the dedication?

Her parting gift to me is 3 months supply of hamster serum in its max strength - 44mgs. Heavy duty. Dr. G pops in to check I can handle it. Can you handle it...can you handle the hamster? Is not what he says at all. In fact he says I doubt you'll even notice the increase. Generally speaking if 8mgs doesn't do you in then nothing will. Nice. He's amused to hear that my twitching has stopped. Nothing to do with the hamster serum he says just co-incidental remission. That evening we're at a play in London and my hand starts to co-incidentally twitch as that familiar numbness starts to make its way down my arm. A healthy dose of beer in the pub after seems to numb everything else enough to make the arm feel at home. The following day and I'm back to full limb feeling. My mind is just playing tricks on me.

Back at work and a colleague introduces me to a scrawny fifteen year old kid who is joining the Youth Theatre...Dave Carey my colleague says...meet...Dave Carey, it's a small world isn't it...what are the chances of that eh? I look this kid in the eye...d'you wanna join a band?

Ten-a-penny

Well I don't know about Britain but Dave Careys have definitely got talent. Turns out there's loads of us. Dave Careys are playing in bands in Pennsylvania, Boston and New Jersey - New Jersey Dave has even recovered from Leukemia which makes him leader of the band in my book. And...he plays the trombone! I'm a bit rusty but my trombone is still in the loft...I could get it out again...little bit of practice....Then it turns out that another Dave Carey had a #1 HIT in 1957...Bingo! Bingo!! I'm in love...Should this be our first release? A cover of Dave Carey's Bingo! Bingo! recorded by Dave Careys....it could start with a trombone duet. I need to check it out with Florida Dave first as he's been in the band from the start and really it's our band.

Meanwhile the diabetes jury is still out...the blood specimen was 'unable to be processed'. But what the hell does that mean? Unable to process because they've lost it? - because they accidentally heated it in the microwave with some tomato soup? Or did someone mix in half a pound of silver spoon granulated and I'm technically speaking dead but they haven't got the heart to tell me...but no...Don't worry they say, we'll take another sample when you're next here.

This means next week as I'm back for tests to see if my blood is ok for an increase in hamster serum injections (up to 44mgs). The injections are now leaving their familiar red marks at the injection site. On my stomach two red patches sit above my belly button like eyes and I'm definitely getting some odd looks a the gym, particularly in the sauna where the heat seems to exaggerate the red blotches. In fact if I position my hands correctly my whole stomach does a reasonable impression of Edvard Munch's 'the scream'. Good enough to go on Britain's got talent I think.