"You're a nipple!"

Was announced down the phone with much giggling. Yep, you heard right, 'I'm a nipple'. In my part of the world nicknames are a sign of acceptance, the more bizarre the better. And I'm not even an actual proper Scouser, just a posh woolly back. So to be nicknamed a nipple is nicer than it sounds. There's a point to all this somewhere, honest there is...

Despite my protests to the contrary I gave Gangsta Guy another chance. And maybe a few more after that. He's grown on me, especially once I stopped my over privileged middle class princess panicking long enough to realise this man is no gangsta as gangsters don't tend to play golf unless they are the political kind of gangster. Actually, even if he was a proper real gangster I wouldn't care at this point, but he's not so happily that avoids an unnecessary moral dilemma. I like the name though, and he has agreed to it so Gangsta Guy it is. Not Really A Proper Gangsta Gangsta Guy really doesn't have the same ring to it.

Dr Heart is one of the nicest men I've ever met but appears to be completely devoid of any sense of humour so had to go. Giggles are infectious, giggles from a small, swaying stoner even more so. Don't laugh at that and you probably don't laugh at anything much. Certainly not at middle of the night puking, and then laughter is the only appropriate response. Preferably accompanied by a hand to hold back the hair. 3am vomit hair is grim.

I reduced the Oxycontin by another 10mg this week. I'm not sure where the week's gone, it all feels a bit blurry, though I definitely remember going to see LC. All was fine but I'm a bit gutted to be losing my local consultant rheumatologist at the same time as losing bendy clinic in Leeds. LC is retired and works as a locum now so is moving to another hospital. My local hospital will continue to take care of me, LC was adamant it is vital I remain under the care of a hospital large enough to have all the relevant specialities to refer to. I get the impression that despite all evidence to the contrary LC fears my aorta will just blow up one day. I suspect the wily old boy has been reading this blog too, so I'd better mention how much he will be missed. I've been transferred back to the care of the head rheumatologist who I've only met once not long after I was diagnosed. I'm pretty sure the head rheumy will transfer me to the care of the other rheumatologist so the next 12 months or so had better be healthy for me! There is always freak clinic to fall back on so I'm in a more fortunate position than most bendy people in the UK at the moment.

This was supposed to be a post about dating, so I'll save the dull medical details for another time and just tell you Gangsta Guy was horrified to discover I go to hospital appointments alone and wanted to drive me there. It's not so bad, I did catch a glimpse of 'likely to be my rheumatology consultant in a year or so' and he's very cute. Not so cute as to make him impossible to talk to as a doctor but cute enough to liven up 6 monthly clinic appointments. A girl's got to get her kicks somewhere!

Back to Gangsta Guy. He's surprisingly sweet, and even more surprisingly able to handle not just me but Bendycat. My neighbour spotted him on his knees in the frosty road trying to coax Bendycat out from the shelter of the car she was taunting him from and of course immediately informed me. As cats do Bendycat sauntered back in her own good time making sure Gangsta Guy knew full well who really wears the furry trousers in this flat.

Gangsta Guy was around to be taunted by Bendycat because he came to look after me. I was, um, somewhat not quite with it the other day, in that state where you find your own hands fascinating and no, it was not the weed. I took neighbour's advice and conceded to being looked after for once, so Gangsta Guy came over, tucked me up on the sofa and cooked dinner for me. He also washed up, stopped me falling over a few times and waited on me, thus totally forever destroying his Gangsta Guy image.

After which I was nicknamed nipple. By son of Gangsta Guy. Because I am such a nice cripple. Apparently. Gangsta's and cripples, an unlikely but impressive combination. I shall sell the theory to 'hug a hoody' Dave Cameron as the best way of reducing crime figures and slashing the social care budget. It's a policy with more merit than any of the politicians have come up with so far, and if Freud can get away with complete bullshit why can't I?