Gosh, my last posts have been shockin depressing. Not like me, but optimism and the enduring positivity of thoughts on the bright side aren't impervious to other forces.
Even when you're caught up with an illness, there are the normal battles of a twenty-something-year-old on other fronts. They serve as distractions sometimes, most of the time they just make the war itself more difficult.
But I did have one funny thought in all the recent long days and that was that after over a year of trying to describe the noise Brendan makes, I have finally been granted a useful aid for demonstrative purposes.
That monotone drone? That's what I get from Brendan for eight hours every night. It's interrupted by a bit of banging and hissing about once every hour when it drains my tummy and starts filling me for the next 50-minute cycle. But for the most part, that hum that's reminiscent of a swarm of bees trapped inside a fridge, that irritating buzzing that TV viewers of the World Cup will have endured for the love of the game in the last couple of weeks - that's Brendan.
If I had known this tribal horn was going to be such a feature of South Africa and that the sensitive ears of extremely valuable bodies would be affected, I could have offered Brendan to some of the boys in advance to acclimatise them.
Or suggested we organise a symphony of Brendans...seat them around a small stadium somewhere and invited the players to come and practice in such a setting. Maybe even got Adidas or Pepsi to film one of their ads where players just happen to all walk out of alleyways and start doing their tricks with some street urchins and Oliver types.
Too late for that now, but all is not lost. In recent weeks it was announced that the 2010 World Transplant Games will also take place in South Africa. I'll hopefully have had a successful transplant by then and Brendan will have left me, so returning to that noise will be something of an auditory homecoming.