April 14, 2005

So Glad You Could Make It

My darlings.

What a terrible day I have had. Although to be fair, after what happened in Rwanda a while back I'm not sure if any day I have ever had or ever will have will qualify as a bad day.

I spent all my hours in Dublin's Mater Hospital - the hospital where we all mater equally little. Due to alarmingly exacerbated symptoms, my gp hurriedly referred me this morning. Apparently I am partially broken.

Here is my lovely tag. I haven't cut it off yet because I only just got home and I don't know where the scissors is. I tried gnawing it off until K pointed out the acute crazy-lady-syndrome right there. (I can see the newspaper headline right now. And the potential picture.) My tag:

Isn't it beautiful?

Even more beautiful than the tag were the junkies I spent the day in the A&E room with. I know that they too are God's children but they are God's very aggressive and threatening children who do not wash themselves. Being sat in close proximity to them for nigh on seven hours was not nice. They spent ludicrous amounts of time in the toilet, and when weak from having even more of my blood taken, I had to queue for the bathroom for TWENTY MINUTES while some strange woman flushed in there repeatedly. All this in order to give the surgeon a delicious sample of my virile urine. YES SHE SAID VIRILE URINE. The whole day was a nightmare. I even cried at one point because of how rude an over-stressed nurse was to me. BUT I'M A SICK PERSON! the three year old in me inwardly whined. I did not whine outwardly. I BRAVELY SNIFFLED with my husband. WHAT A PATHETIC GIRL I BE. SHUT UP.

Yeah yeah yeah. So there's a whole lot of stuff wrong, but thankfully I have a day's tests to look forward to in the outpatient's clinic next week.

On the upside, I got home around 10pm and my husband had ordered the Donnie Darko soundtrack for me as a surprise, and it had arrived in all its postal packagey goodness, which I was ripping open with my teeth until K pointed out the acute crazy-lady-syndrome right there.

I have taken my drugs. I am drinking my beer. I am back in my warm clean house where the junkies are not allowed. My feet are bare and there is no chance I will step on filthy needles. Unless I go into my housemate's bedroom. She collects filthy needles.

neuro-praxis -- Fighting For The Middle Classes

Posted by neuro-praxis on April 14, 2005 11:30 PM, in the category