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Documenting not dying since October 2013.

This morning was just exhausting.

This morning I spent five hours waiting for one syringe of antibiotic. We arrived at the QE this morning at 8am, as we have done every other day. My bed had been given away by the night staff because someone from ITU needed it, so we sat in the waiting room. I sat there for an hour, then I went to find out what was happening with my meropenem, to discover that the doctors didn't want anything doing until they'd seen me and talked to me about all the blood they wanted to take from me. The doctors finally appeared some time after half ten, but they were really rather unhelpful. The reg had no idea of what the plan for me was going to be, but knew I needed the drug so requested that one of the juniors cannulate me to get the blood then I could have it. She sorted out a tray and got stabby; it did not go smoothly. The first vein she tried blew (never a comforting thing to hear), the second one buried itself away, but the third was happy to bleed. Only too well! She took enough to fill sixteen bottles, and considering I weigh just seven and a half stone at the moment and had eaten only a crumpet, I felt quite woozy. I requested some biscuits, but before they could materialise, I was whisked away for an echo. I lay still obediently, concentrating all my efforts into staying awake as things were pretty blurry and I didn't fancy passing out half naked covered in ultrasound gel. I managed to stay conscious, got dressed again and got taken back to 726, where I reminded the nurses of my presence and the need for drugs. By half past twelve, I was beginning to lose my grip and started crying. I don't really cry if I can help it because I do not see the point, but I couldn't keep them in. At this point, my mum got rather angry and went to yell at people. Then Dr. Sephie and Nurse Sophie came in and asked if I was okay, at which point I burst into tears and said "No because I still haven't had my meropenem and I've been stabbed three times and I feel weird and I don't know what's going on..." which made them both feel bad. They apologised a lot and we talked and now there is a plan: a PICC line is going to be urgently requested, the only other test left for pre-transplant assessment is spirometry, and they would do the mero, I'd come back for another dose at four, then have the last one at eight, and tomorrow we'll go back for ten instead of eight. I feel better.


Things got better.

So I need a new liver. Again.