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I went for me hosp appointment last Tuesday (25th).  Three weeks since the previous one, of which I had nothing to say (but character assassination of either the consultant or myself).  My condition had been flatlining for six weeks.

At the weigh-in I’m still the same lightweight with the perfect blood pressure.
When I got to see the doc, which was a long wait and again a different doc, it turns out that my proteinuria (or wharrever it is) has moved in the good direction and it’s a positive sign for me slowly healing by m’self. (No guarentees.)  

He’d already got on my good side the moment we met, being fresh faced and telling me how chipper I seemed.  I guess it hadn’t occurred to him that I was like that because I now had the company of another  human being to communicate to, whereas he spent every day talking to people asking them how did they feel being sick as a dog ??

Anyway, we got off to a good start.    Then I asked him, if he did a write up of our consultation could he put me on the cc list ??  Chris (as he’d introduced himself)  said there was no way he’d be writing up our meeting, that was Consultants’ stuff and he was only an SHO.  “Not me Guv”.    
I made mention that I’d heard of Generals and Lieutenants in the organisation.  I got the impression that he was the lad who led the mascot on to the field,  and pleased to be part of the team. 

It made for a good, relaxed meeting.  I told him I’d gone feral on me diuretics and trial and errorred to a way that seemed to work for me,  errr....including increasing the dose.   He was “hey ho” abt that.     (Diuresis has been a big prob for me, you don’ wanna know.)

Then I told him how pissed off I’d been that no one had taken seriously my difficulties with being zomboid through the meds.  When I’d seen Dr Ruth at my previous consultation she’d enquired if I was sure it was the meds and not  my condition that was doing it??   The dumbest question since the jury at the de Menezes inquest refused to answer whether they thought the events of the previous few days had contributed to his death ??   (Only in so far as it put two carloads of cops outside his front door looking for someone to shoot.  They didn’t have to top a commuter, that’s not what they were there for.)

Adopting an empirical approach, the Saturday following that consultation I got up at 6.30 and didn’t take anything apart from me anti blood clott shot (rasta).  No point in dying from some thrombosis while you’re checking out what “normal” is.  I felt deliciously clear headed, compared to what I’m becoming used to, though by 4 pm my legs got to feel troublesome  so I abandoned the trial and re-entered the “fog”.     

The doc was hey ho abt me going off piste like that, seeing as I’d survived it what was there to say.  And, I’d guess, he wanted to duck having to listen to yet another grumpy old man telling him how shit his life was seeing as he was still alive.

I asked him, if I got better how long would it last ??  Would I be “cured”??    He said he didn’t know but he’d find someone who did.  He went out and came back a little later and said he couldn’t.

And I endeavoured to have a little chat with him abt the existential difficulties I had with the whole situation.  One of the probs is that anyone I meet in a professional context is so inculcated with the medical model that they’re up to their eyeballs in meds themselves, they don’t understand where I’m coming from ( a long adulthood, unmedicated). 
Chris said he was 28 and didn’t take anything.  Under such circs, I shook him by the hand.   
I mean,  I know a doc who has himself, his missus, the two kids and the family pet all on prescription medicines!!

 

The next day, I got a phone call from the hosp.  My blood tests showed I didn’t need to inject m’self against blood clots anymore,  I could move onto asprin to thin my blood.  As I found the injection business particularly yucky it’s pleasing news.   Plus it’s an indication of some small improvement in my condition after 3 ½ months, though there’s no outward manifestation.   A straw to grasp at.



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