"You're the worst bunch of Junior Doctors we've had through here!"
Title Refernce: Dad, in his rant to Colin. Sounds harsh, but it's true.
Poptarts are the shiz. They are gooey and crunchy, sufficiently chocolatey and are good both microwaved and toasted. I guess one could eat them cold too, if one had such an urge to. They are the perfect snack food for me. I just thought you should all know.
I am home. This is relevant only because I have not been home, not since Monday anyways. I will give you exactly three syllables to guess where I have been. And what did I get when I was there? Nothing short of a blood transfusion and lots of reading time. No antibiotics. None. Nada. Zilch. Zero. I did, however, get my Zometa (more than a month overdue) but only once I'd hassled the docs one too many times. There was a lot of doctor hasslage going on. They've been truly awful of late. Now, when I say "they" I would like to stress that I only really mean two doctors in particular: Colin - the arrogant one, and Asa - the condescending one. There has been a severe lack of communication between them and I keep being told one thing to find out another thing entirely. For example, I was told that I have a bug in my urine (as always) and that if it did not get better (which, let's face it, it won't) to come in and I'd get it treated straight away. This was a great deal, seeing as I leave on wednesday for ten days and I really, really can't afford to be ill when I'm in Stirling. Dad already told me that his heart won't be able to take it if he has to get another phone call about, which I get. I don't particulalrly want to be knocking on death's door... again. One day I'm going to come back in a wooden box and it's going to be someone's fault, and it sure as hell won't be mine. So, I went in on Monday, under the pretense that I'd get the UTI treated and I'd toddle off, all ready for next week. Instead, I get another sample taken, get bloods, have to wait in the hospital for the results, bug them to get my Zometa, listen to different doctors' viewpoints, be condescended, ignored, thought less of and after all that; not get treated. I've just spent five days in the same room, with nothing but a book, some magazines, a TV and truckloads of food for company. Well, that's not entirely true, but still, my point is: I still have the UTI (it's in my urine, but not in me) but it's not been trated nor will it be treated - until, I presume, it gets worse and I start to present dramatically, which WILL NOT happen whilst I am away. If it does, so help me, I will bring the pain down on someone. And they have been warned. It's like they want me to get really, really ill before they want to help.
Raaaaargh.
Anyways, I was at the end of my tether. Dad was really at the end of his tether, and even the nurses - especially Margaret - had had enough. So, Dad let it rip. He tore Colin a new one. I cried and then I got all defensive and up-in-his-grill and then all incredulous as I tried, in vain, to folllow their train of thought. I have not been treated. I kind of get why. It's been explained. But, I am not happy that I've been messed around, being told one thing, to, invariably, find out another, having to push to find answers, and prove that I'm clever enough to know exactly what they're talking about. Colin is arrogant, think he knows best, thinks I don't know enough and when pressed with the Zometa issue kept pushing it to one side, hoping I'd forget. Asa, on the other hand, is highly condesceding, even more so now - she's trying to be my friend so I don't get her in troublr again, avoids eye-contact, sighs a lot when she's talking to you, like you're wasting her time and has all the conversing signals of Asperger's Syndrome. Stuff has been done and questions answered since the blow-up (I say blow up but there was no real shouting, just stern voices and a good talking-to and putting-in-place) and the docs have reacted differently. I've not seen Colin since and Asa is trying to be my friend and is praising me when I say correct statements about my pills. Oh, the fury.
Dad was in every day, the nurses have been super-busy so I've not seen a lot of them, but Jess has been in, and Mum, and I got a back and foot massage from Helen, which is always pleasant.
What matters now is: I am home. What also matters is that I try to stay super-healthy, at least 'til I get back. Stirling must and will rock-out-loud.
So, yes, that is me. I've been reading a lot. I'm on my fifth book this month so far, I've read many a magazine cover-to-cover; picking up tips and ideas for looking fashionista-like yet me, plus a little bit Frenchy hookery whilst on my travels. I also found my list of reading materials for Stirling for last semester - which will be where I pick up - so I can use all those notebooks and pens after-all. I just don't want to start making a come-back too soon, in case I jinx it. When I get back down on a more permanent basis I'm going to start reading my textbooks and making a few notes so that I know a little something in advance, which will, hopefully, help, a lot, if not just a little.
I also want to get back into writing. Creative writing. I have a story I've been meaning to get down for a while, but it's just not coming. I shall persevere, but in the main time I shall busy myself with reading and updating this little number, including back-dating many an entry.
Indian for tea.