Diabetes Insipidus Testing
February 11, 2008 at 8:55 am | Personal | No comment
It’s been a fair old while since my last journal entry.
Partly because nothing much related to the journey has happened, partly because I’ve stopped thinking about it, as even though my departure date draws inexorably closer, anticipating it prolongs it and makes the days grind by unbearably.
My doctor scheduled an appointment for me directly after one of my travel jabs at the beginning of Jan to discuss the results of a blood test I’d taken in December.
Apparently I’d had slightly lower than average results on a particular hormone that instructs the kidneys how to process water correctly, and as a result I might have something called “Diabetes Insipidus”.
Essentially that would mean that should I be in a situation where I did not have ready access to water, I would die much faster than a normal person, a matter of hours rather than a matter of days.
Obviously as I’m going through some rather hot and desolate places in the near future, I felt this was worth pursuing, so I was subsequently referred to a specialist (or rather, told to find a specialist, as my GP didn’t know of one!) and after another blood test was scheduled in for the ultimate test a “Water Deprivation Test”.
Which is very much like it sounds, I’m sat in a hospital at 4:30PM, having been here since 8:30AM, not allowed to drink or eat, having blood drawn every hour or two, and having my piss measured on the hour every hour.
The doctor tells me that I basically don’t have Diabetes Insipidus, my ah.. “output” is too minimal, but as he didn’t order the test he’s going to get me to complete the full thing, which means I’ll be here until ten (which allahumdalillah (or however you spell it) should mean that I’m back home at around midnight, as the hospital is in Bedford, I’m still in Milton Keynes and my bike…
My bike is currently residing in a jaunty little town called Taunton, now I may have mentioned this town before, and if I did, it’s because that’s where I bought it.
One evening when I was on my way down to see my dad, I was riding along quite happily after an hour and a half or so when the temperature warning light flicks on, joy.
I hop off at the next opportunity (which is a rather annoyingly long distance) and check the temperature of the radiator with my ungloved hand, stone cold, and when I switch my engine back on the warning light’s gone.
I shrug my shoulders and head off again, only for the problem to occur 10 minutes later.
After repeating this process a couple of times I decide to just ride through it and spend the next 30 minutes playing around with my speed and revs to see when the light switches on and off.
I get to my dad’s and discuss the problem with him, he (quite sensibly) recommends I don’t drive home with it, and stay the night, taking a day’s holiday the next day so I don’t have to go in to work.
Miraculously enough it turns out that my bike’s broken down catastrophically on the last day my warranty is valid! Hurrah!
After a few failed attempts at resolving the problem over the phone, Graham (of Graham’s Motorcycles), agrees to come and pick it up and sort it out.
Result, exactly what I wanted, however it still means taking a £50 train ride back to Milton Keynes.
Graham rings me up a few days later to say he’s ordered a new radiator as the old one’s as leaky as a sieve, score!
After faffing around trying to convince him to deliver it back to me (unfortunately he’s busy), I take a surprisingly cheap train down there to go and pick it up myself.
One rather long train drive later… I’m in Taunton, pick up the keys and off I go.
Beautiful sunny day, I lean back in the seat chopper style (well, as much as you can on a dual sport!).
I put my foot down (well, actually I twist my right hand but that doesn’t have the same ring to it) to overtake a pickup and get hit in the face *splat* with a green liquid.
At first I think ‘what a prat, he’s sprayed his windscreen wipers at just the right time to hit me as I over take, then I look at the dash… “Oh that’s pretty, a little red thermometer with an exclamation mark… Oh…”
I pull over into the service station to find that the bike’s daintily vomited the contents of its cooling system all over itself and me.
*ring ring*
“Graham’s Motorcycles”
“Hi Graham…”
“Hi Sam…”
I sit on the kerb and eat my burger while I wait for Graham’s son to come and pick me and the bike up, however I have to shortly beat a hasty retreat as I’m attacked by some seagulls eager to share in my snack.
A short while later I’m dropped off at Bristol train station where I’m left to get another overpriced train back to Milton Keynes (though I still don’t understand how it’s cheaper to get from Bristol to MK than from Newbury to MK).
A few days go by and I’m getting increasingly furious with the bus system which makes sod’s law look as well documented as if it were writ in the health and safety act (quite how mankind can come up with a system that drops you at your destination at the same time each time irrespective of what time you set off is beyond me).
However a ray of hope is delivered unto me by news from Graham, head gasket failure!
While this is about the worst thing that could happen to any motor vehicle, Graham is sorting it all out, wire to wire and I should have my bike back better than when I bought it… Soon…