Out damned polyp, I knew him, Horatio

I'm on a crowded, stinking tube,  returning to Highgate from my second hospital appointment of the week. The subject of today's meeting was my vocal chords and whether or not they've recovered from the operation. It looks like they haven't, which doesn't mean they won't...

I didn't see Mr Rubin. I saw another member of his team, who shoved a tiny torch on a long flexible tube up one of my nostrils, and down my throat, which was both surreal and curiously unpleasant, particularly when I swallowed. As he studied the image he was seeing, I wondered how often patients vomit uncontrollably in his presence, and decided it must be a regular peril of the job.

Unfortunately, as I've suspected for the last few days, I have some kind of virus, which means everything's swollen and inflamed down there. It was therefore impossible for him to get a sense of how well  I've recovered, so I was sent away with another course of proton pump inhibitors in case the inflammation was the result of acid reflux. It's deeply tedious and way too reminiscent of the court case for my liking. Is it too much to ask for a clear result for something that's on the cards this year? More treading water... My friend Matt talks about alternating between years of surging forward and years of consolidation. I suppose all the awards I've been winning could theoretically be part of a consolidation process...

The one piece of good news is that the biopsy result has come back negative. The polyp, or what I think he suddenly started referring to as a nodule, is not cancerous, and apparently formed as a result of over-use. That's something of a weight off my mind. 

There's not much else to report. I spent most of the day in Costa scoring the fourth movement of the Symphony for Yorkshire for brass band; a long overdue promise I made to myself months ago. I think it's going well, but am mindful of the fact that I tend to write overly  "trilly" music for brass bands, which is actually not much fun to play. Strip it back... Thin it out. Cut half of the notes...

350 years ago, and Pepys had a day that any bored Highgate housewife would envy. He went shopping in the City for a chest of drawers and an Indian gown, and then spent the afternoon having a singing lesson. Not much else is reported other than that the chest of drawers was a "fine" one. I'm relieved, obviously!