The 29th & 30th; It is so fucked up.
The 29th of August.
I have had a caramel and espresso brownie and three coffees today, and I am crashing. I would like it to be bedtime please.
I woke up quite early, then heard Jacob Rees-Mogg on the radio so couldn't go back to sleep because I was angry. I put on my headphones to blast some happy music into my brain, then got up about half an hour before my alarm was going to go off anyway.
I didn't really have time to get much done apart from get ready to go out, because I was meeting Sadie at half eleven at the new 200 Degrees on Lower Temple Street after her blood donation. Unfortunately, her veins didn't want to be very cooperative, but she still got an orange Club biscuit and brought me one to give to Mommy (they are her favourite). They did not have any Penguins though, boo.
I arrived at the coffee shop just before her, and discovered that they only have three tables in the wheelchair accessible area, and they were all full. One guy did offer to share his with me, but I explained that I was meeting someone so didn't want to take over, then the two women who were sitting at one decided that they had finished, so they left and I got their table. Sadie arrived just as I'd got settled, so she joined me and I relayed to her what had just happened. We got some food and coffee (the aforementioned brownie and two flat whites) and spent the next two and a half hours complaining about life and putting the world to rights. The world is terrible.
I had to do some shopping (I wanted some jegging-y type things and some mascara), and Sadie needed to get her nails done so we had a big hug and said our goodbyes. I then had what was a very annoying trip around various shops. I went to H&M, then Topshop (at much reluctance because I really didn't want to give Philip Green money), New Look, and finally ended up in the Primark in Selfridges where I found exactly what I wanted! I have subsequently tried them on and I'm not sure if I should have bought the next size up, so Mommy and I will be going back to town tomorrow to get those and see which pair is best. The mascara was very easy to get, obviously, and the guy at the till tried to get me to spend more to get a box of make up worth £40 free but I really don't have space for that much more make up. I rang home to get someone to pick me up, killed a bit of time in Foyles (but didn't buy any more books!), then met Daddy in the station drop off zone. When I got back, I found my pre-ordered copy of Sara's book had come, which I had completely forgotten about, so now I just need my eyes to let me read it!
This evening, I had a lady come to see Brooke, who was just her usual lovely friendly self and tried to eat her handbag. Obviously she loved Brooke, so she's going to talk it over with her husband but it's pretty much a definite yes, so then I will be empty again!
The 30th of August.
Totally exhausted again, although not because I am crashing from too much caffeine this time.
I woke up at normal time, but I think I slept badly because last night I was getting worked up about potentially having another pulmonary embolism. I have just been worrying because I've had tenderness in my lower right leg, some upper back pain and I've been feeling slightly more breathless then normal in the past few days. Those are all possible symptoms, and together they make me stressed. The tenderness could be just nothing, and there isn't any redness or swelling which would be worse. The back pain we could just ignore because I can get that any time, and the breathlessness could be attributed to the warm weather, but I don't know. Anyway, because I have a couple of Anthony Nolan things coming up, it would just be sod's law if I ignored it, then started finding it painful to breathe on Wednesday morning, which is when the first thing is, I decided I needed to get it checked out.
Mommy rang Gill Lowe's secretary, who was the doctor who looked after me when I had the last one, but she is on maternity leave AGAIN (it seems she is constantly having babies), so then she rang Nicola, one of the haematology CNS's. She listened to what we had to say and said she'd put me in the clinic walk-in list.
When I'd finished breakfast, we drove down to the QE, and had to give my name and hospital number to a receptionist who did not seem very on the ball. We were proved right in thinking that, because after sitting in phlebotomy for forty minutes, a nurse came to ask me if I was waiting for bloods. I said yes, in my voice that is trying to sound polite while pissed off. She asked if I had checked in at the desk, and I said yes, again. She then went to ask at the desk, and it turned out the rather dozy receptionist had not actually printed off my stickers so they didn't know about me! Christ.
They finally took some blood out of me, and thankfully the nurse got a vein the first time, so then we just had to go and wait again. Nicola came in, and we talked through my symptoms and reasoning, which she completely understood. She did my obs, which were fine, and my immediate bloods were okay, but the clotting wouldn't come back for a few hours, so she said she'd call me or get one of the doctors to. If that was dodgy, then I'd have to go back and get one of the other tests done (not that they are very useful for me anyway). She rang me at about half four, and my INR is 1, which is normal so we don't need to panic.
On the way home, I asked Mommy to dash into Selfridges to get the size 12 jeans for my to try on and return whichever pair didn't work. I'd planned on going to the gym this afternoon, but my eye was really angry this morning, and by the time we got back it was nearly two, so I thought fuck it, I'll have dark time today and work out tomorrow.
I got upstairs and tried on the jeans, which (as hard as I find it to admit) fit better than the size 10s. It is so fucked up that my body can weigh the same, but have a totally different composition and fit in completely different size jeans. DON'T LISTEN TO YOUR SCALES. OR THE SIZING PEOPLE. Or even your brain, in my case. If only I could follow my own advice.