20th May 'But whoso... Seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels...' 1 John 3.17

I have already, on this blog, referred to the architectural limitations of my room. These I no doubt share with other patients residing at the NHS's pleasure. There is, however, one feature of my en-suite room which is positivity extravagant: the air vent above the shower. 

This air-vent was clearly purchased by the NHS from the Nakatomi Plaza Closing-Down Sale once Detective John McClane had finished clambering around in it all those Christmasses ago in Die Hard. 

Now, to say that this air vent generates a copious quantity of cold air would be an understatement: I need huskies to lead me around the wet room and seal skins to keep the chill out. Thus, I have spent the better part of my week thinking, 'why?'

I’m pleased to say all is now clear, all because of a hitherto non-existent issue in my life.

For many years growing up I had the privilege of my grandpa living with us. He was, by this stage, a retired GP. This was very handy when, during scrofulous and sporting teenage years, boils needed lancing, or stitches applying. However, what seemed normal to us—but clearly eccentric outside a medical household—was his morning salutation, "How are your bowel movements lad?" Always, my reply was, "Fine grandpa!", and so it has remained. 

I, however, now occupy a world where the greeting is on a higher plane, "The Lord be with you!"  Or so I thought… 

Thanks to chemotherapy, constipation and theology have coalesced, rekindling the spirit of Martin Luthur. Martin Luthur took a keener interest in bowel movements than any other person I have come into 'contact' with since my grandpa. 

When reading his works, inspired apparently 'in cloaca' (in the sewer), he obsessed over his alimentary canal. It was his go-to metaphor when it came to the devil and the Pope, and he extolled beer as a laxative. 

Alas, for poor Martin, his joy was no enema, and it did not flow as freely as his motions. He did have one brief moment of adulation which heard him cry, "three bowel movements!"... He died a couple of days later. 

As I lay on my bed whiling away the days, desperate, oh so desperate to reintroduce my 'mattress' qv to the loo, I remembered, grandpa and Martin Luthur. Where were the sonorous Scottish tones extolling senna or my beer from Mrs. Luthur? 

Eventually, salvation came in the form of industrial strength laxative. I will spare you the details, and merely adopt the imagery of Martin Luthur: “And lo the anti-Christ came forth followed by his legions, ten thousand, upon ten thousand, and lo they all were breathing sulphur!”

And thus, that's why the vent is so big in my chemo ward loo.

Oh good NHS procurement officer, oh wise NHS procurement officer, may all your purchases come from Bruce Willis film sets! Amen.