When the bone pain gets bad, my inner NCO keeps me in check

In Frederic Manning’s classic Great War novel, The Middle Parts of Fortune, the shattered battalion shambles out of the line after battle to parade briefly before being dismissed. Noting a general loss of soldierly comportment as the infantrymen limp into camp, a watching NCO urges: ‘Come on, get hold of it now.’ As my bone pain worsens, passing milestone after milestone with dismaying rapidity, Manning’s anonymous fictional NCO speaks that expressive army phrase into my mind. He gives the order sternly, with unmistakeable undertones of regimental pride and kindliness.

Milestones passed so far: single site intermittent bone pain easily tolerated; single site continuous pain, easily managed by half a gram of paracetamol; multiple site bone pain, intermittent, ditto; continuous multiple site bone pain, tramadol 50mg four times a day. Then 100mg four times a day. Then nothing in my bedside drawer pharmacy overcomes it entirely. That’s when the NCO clears his throat. At present the pain is confined to both shoulders and left shoulder blade. Other milestones further down the hill can be guessed at.

Last week taxi man Gilles picked me up at the bottom of the path and drove me to the hospital at Marseille. The holiday month of August was a welcome break from hospital corridors, taxis, scanners, blood tests, consultations. September began with a thorax scan. I felt shrivelled as I climbed in the back of his VW. ‘Do I look different?’ I asked him. Gilles has driven me back and forth to Marseille for two years now. ‘No,’ he said. The denial was unconvincing. I sucked in my cheeks. ‘Not even this?’ I said. He looked away. ‘A little,’ he said.