~ Trigger Alert ~
It’s funny how I try to move on so fast, I try to block or forget as soon as possible, perhaps to give me the strength and focus to deal with the immediate presence. I’m also not entirely convinced that you want to hear tales of non-events in my insignificant and mundane life but you probably would at least like a break from the knitting. I’ve done a lot of knitting lately. It helps. You will be hearing more about it, don’t worry, I won’t let you off entirely. And I did knit yesterday.
I like my new doctor’s surgery. The receptionists are very friendly and helpful, no longer do I feel that I am expected to produce a death certificate in order to book an appointment with my GP! However I haven’t really felt up to doing battle at half past eight in the morning with a clogged phone line to make an ‘emergency’ appointment, I slowly mustered the strength (motivation? energy? courage?) to phone up and make an appointment at a slightly more civilised hour (for them and me). It meant that I’ve been without my happy pills liquid for a few weeks. It’s probably shown. (It’s also probably why it was so hard to make that appointment, something of a circle with teeth). I took the next available one which was last week.
I’m back on the medicine and things are immediately looking up. Life and my head are less fluffy, I am more focused, better able to concentrate, better able to get things done. I like that. It helps.
But the doctor wants me to try tablets again. I have to admit that I’m a little scared. Scared enough to keep forgetting to take one. I can’t face the threat of crippling nausea just yet.
I’m taking my supplements regularly and I’m forced to conclude that they are doing something. It’s hard to be categorical about such things and it mayn’t work for everyone but the circumstantial evidence is that my physical health has improved significantly since I started the regime and I didn’t catch the absolute stinker of a cold that smote husband last week. That’s what sold it to me. There’s been some nasty lurgis already going around and I really couldn’t care to dwell on how far catching something like that could set me back. I’d rather avoid them.
Anyway, the talking lady who I have already been to see a couple of times recommended that I have a liver function test done because I haven’t ever had that one and the need for one has bypassed my medical notes.
Now, a liver function test doesn’t sound too bad. But it’s actually a blood test. You know, the scary type where a needle wielding blood sucker takes a run up like a shot put beast and inflicts a great deal of misery.
You may therefore conclude that I’m not keen on blood tests.
(And whilst I apparently overuse hyperbole, I also have a nice line in understatement too).
I was very good. I asked for a blood test. I did.
Why, I’m not entirely sure. It was definitely something that I was asking myself Monday night when I couldn’t sleep and when I could, kept having nasty dreams. It was definitely something that I was asking myself Tuesday morning when I woke up with a sense of dread. It was definitely something I was asking myself afterward.
The new doctor’s surgery is friendly and clean. They have a good choice of magazines in large piles in convenient places. Children are allowed to play, run, talk and scream. I don’t think I’m allowed to do two of those. One of those I can’t either. They have little stickers up to say that breastfeeding is welcome. They have comfortable chairs in a comfortable layout. I like it.
You have to wait in a different part of the building for the nurses though. Very strange. It was rush hour, lots of people getting all sorts of things done, diabetes checks, flu jabs. And some other people who looked very nervous and anxious. I wonder what they were there for. I probably looked them too.
Eventually I got called up. The nurse was also friendly.
But that wasn’t necessarily going to make us friends.
I don’t believe in being friends with people who are intent on harming me.
I am very wary.
She did a very good job of the stabbing. I have to admit that I was impressed. There was a pillow to rest my arm on and one of those special elastic bands that is a sign of a good blood sucker. She told me to close my eyes (the nurses at my previous doctor’s surgery seem to think that you want to watch and they flump your arm down on the desk) but I already had.
It went fine.
However, I had warned her that I have a problem with ‘passing out’.
Actually, I wish I did pass out. It would be immensely more pleasant and I wouldn’t have to feel anything until I come around feeling a lot better and refreshed for my loss of consciousness.
I have a delayed reaction.
I’ve made it all the way down the corridor before collapsing before. I look fine when they chuck me out to deal with the next victim.
Then it hits.
I started feeling rather woozy.
Nurse asked me if I’d had anything to eat. I managed a laugh. Me, not eat?! Me, skip breakfast?! I’d even made myself porridge in the hope of counteracting ill effects.
But, no, I wasn’t going to escape.
I had a sip of water. I had brought a bottle because I knew I’d need it.
The wooziness got worse.
I put my head between my knees.
I am well-trained. And experienced. Unfortunately.
It’s like a hot, burning, painful head rush without such acute dizziness.
I had some more water.
It was getting worse.
The sensation had spread to my entire body.
I said that I had to lie on the floor.
The nurse looked a little bit concerned.
I told her I would be fine. Eventually.
She said that she would go to another patient and see them in another room.
I had pins and needles, numbness and prickles all over my body.
I felt absolutely wretched.
Then it broke into something worse than a tropical fever, I probably wasn’t running a temperature but boy I was soaked. (Not ladylike at all, sorry).
Then I turned yellow.
I can hardly describe what it feels like but it’s not at all pleasant, I assure you. It’s sort of like the worst physical symptoms of a panic attack, a hypo and goodness knows what else all combined.
Ten minutes later (or more, I wasn’t checking) I had got to a point where I could take a few sips of water. Thank goodness for those ‘sports’ style lids. There’s a lot to be said for sucking like a baby when you’re ill.
Slowly I raised my head. Then my back.
I sat for a while, still not feeling at all well.
I got out the biscuits that I had wisely brought with me too and starting munching those.
It isn’t the same as a blood sugar attack though, I know those too, nor had I even seen a needle or a drop of blood.
Slowly I made it back up to chair level.
The nurse came back.
I think she was quite pleased to see that I was still alive.
Then she decided to take my blood pressure on the other arm.
Taking my blood pressure for some reason also makes me feel woozy.
But I was less yellow at least.
Because I am a new patient, she asked me lots of general questions then decided to add insult to injury. Literally.
I was sent into the corridor to be weighed.
The mortification. It was about that time I decided that wearing DM sandals and a large corduroy skirt to the doctor’s had not been a good idea.
Well, at least they’re thorough in their inspections.
Then I toddled off into town, clasping my elbow a little tightly.
(I don’t trust myself not to start bleeding again either. I did that walking back from my first extraction this summer. I learnt by the second and kept the wadding in my mouth all the way home. Apparently walking back up the road counts as strenuous exercise in my body’s world).
Whereupon I did something entirely foolhardy.
You see last week I discovered a small dent in my back tooth, the one that was being squashed and possibly damaged by my misaligned wisdom tooth. (How I am to be wise when they’ve taken half those teeth from me now, I don’t know). I was a little concerned. I last saw the dentist in the spring and she promoted me to yearly visits instead of six monthly ones. It’s now six months. I didn’t really know that you can just make an appointment with your dentist when you feel you need to rather than wait for your regular check up but my dentist nurse friend assures me that this is not only possible but a good idea. (My dentist nurse friend is lovely, she was quite happy to stick her head in my mouth and investigate the six foot piece of string that I had hanging around weeks after my second extraction. She’s brave. I have been known to bite).
It was only a small hole-like thing, it wasn’t painful and six months will quickly pass.
By yesterday I could fit my tongue in the gap.
That scared me.
I made a decision.
I went up the very steep stairs and asked for an appointment.
They gave me one that afternoon.
I think that means that I should like them but I still have mixed feelings.
There wasn’t any point in walking home to walk back into town again so I hung around for a while, wondering at my madness.
I saw the dentist. She has a new nurse, a trainee, a young apprentice literally. Who seriously struggled to say my first name. It made me laugh.
My dentist was neither worried about me turning up before time nor surprised to see me.
We discovered that the hole was now painful. Dentists are good at helping those sorts of discoveries.
She said that it was not a proper hole per se but where an old filling had fallen out.
She added that it was not one she had worked on.
Previous dentist strikes again.
We thought that they had all been replaced but apparently not. There is one more.
It probably was only being held in place by the wisdom tooth pressing against it.
And now it’s gone.
I don’t think highly of old dentist.
I do think quite well of new dentist. She’s lovely. And getting used to me.
She checked all of the other ones while she was at it.
And found a diddy hole on the opposite side.
She said that I would have to make two appointments.
I tried to negotiate for it to be done in one go.
However, apparently, I’m not allowed to have both sides of my jaw numb at one time.
I’d rather get it over and done with.
But now I have two more dentist appointments booked, October’s page on the calendar is looking very dentist-y all of a sudden.
And I know whose fault it is. Sometimes I wish that I would keep quiet.
Oh and husband tells me that my phrase ‘growing a filling’ is incorrect. I can’t grow fillings only holes. He’s getting to be quite a pedant. He was dissecting and criticising the grammar of an advertising poster yesterday too. I wonder who he’s been spending too much time with.
And you wouldn’t guess who was busy weighing DM sandals and corduroy skirt late last night? Well, they were thwarted by the fact that the scales only like things above four or five kilos but fortunately, according to these ones, they had managed to lose ten kilos during the day. Maybe it was the stress. Various experiments are being planned to test accuracy and also in the weighing of clothing. But a lack of exercise and only being able to tolerate macaroni cheese was always going to catch up with me but I am still vastly humiliated. And plan to give up eating for at least five minutes.