I started writing a blog post this morning, but it is saved in my drafts along with a load of other shit, and will gather cyber dust until my brain has the ability to function and do something slightly normal. Until then, you're going to get some spontaneous crap which flies straight out of my head and won't make much sense.
Today I had the privilage of meeting one of the top haemologist consultants in the country (this was repeated on numerous occasions throughout the appointment) to discuss my crazy blood. What has so far been established, as I may have already said a lot, is that my blood isn't clotting. This is bad. What hasn't been established is why my blood isn't clotting. This is also bad. This new consultant decided to draw me a nice picture/list thing detailing his doctoring thoughts. What he concluded is that I may have a rare blood disorder. I was unable to process anymore after that.
After being sat in the cancer and haematology unit at the hospital where my father spent some of his final days, it has been the most enormous slap in the face that potentially something is very wrong with me. Whilst the Big C hasn't been uttered at all (or at least since December when there were mumblings) being in a unit with people so critically ill has given me the biggest reality check ever.
Yes, they could be erring on the side of caution, I fully accept that, but the words "rare" and "disorder" being uttered in the same sentence by some top consultant has scared me more than I can put into words. I am hoping and praying that this is some technical mistake (made twice by some incapable arseholes) or that they will turn round with massive smiles and say "it's okay! You're okay! Stop worrying!" It's been a long time since somone smiled at me in hospital, at least not a real, celebrationary smile symbolising okayness. I miss that. Things are very much passed being okay.
I suppose it's also a shock because this is yet again, another instance of me being linked to a disorder. I already have erratic "disordered" eating. I already have compulsive "disordered" behaviour. I feel like I am a walking disorder, except I can't do the walking bit very well all the time.
A friend asked me this evening "how did it go with the blood posse?" I love her for trying to cheer me up and add a bit of humour to the current situation. I've given up being positive and trying to hold onto what's good. It hurts too much. Just throw me in a wheelchair and leave me be. I'm sick of being prodded and poked by different people and still getting the same answer: nothing.
I feel like I've hit self destruct, yet again. I can't bear being sat in the house, for sheer fear of what I will do to myself. Instead I returned from the hospital and passed the afternoon "seeing my friends". Actually any form of human contact is too much and I sat in the local park for 3 hours, sent a rambling text to L out of sheer desperation. But it's okay, I think I'm seeing her tomorrow. I think. I hope.
The children were too loud, the birds were too high pitched, the dogs were too yappy, the wind was too windy (yes, that does make sense) and all of it hurt my head. I wanted to scream "shut up! Can you not see that I am trying to have a crazy moment?" but I know that is not socially acceptable and the presence of police made me feel that I couldn't outwardly express my feelings. Nice area I live in, with police strolling through a children's park on a weekday afternoon. The walk home wasn't much better: too many old people, too many people full stop actually, dead birds being dead on the path and youths in That Alleyway, meaning I had to walk the longer way home. And the shower is dripping. I can hear it now. It's too loud.
/end selfish rant.
Oh fuck.
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