annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Slip sliding away

Yesterday, written by hand in my diary:

So. I'm in A&E on 11/4/17, just gone 8pm, waiting for results of blood tests to 'rule out a cardiac event' - honestly, these medics and their events - that's what they warned us about with ED - 'an end of life event'. Fuckers.

Anyway, it was like this: I was early for my Victim support appt so thought I'd take some photos of that bit of the riverbank east of the boatyard, as the tide was quite low and there were good green structures and a supermarket trolley submerged in the silt. I'd taken a couple of pics (to be appropriately cropped later) when I noticed a flight of concrete steps to the side, going down to this manky dinghy, moored


there. Brilliant, I thought and hurried down them, mindful of the time, and SMACK! Down I went, so hard and fast I don't even know what part of me I landed on as my attention was grabbed by a strong feeling of having been punched HARD in the chest, from the inside. Wow. I was sat in the mud on the concrete steps. As it's been hot the top layer of muddy silt on the steps has dried out, but it concealed about half an inch of thick slime underneath and that had done for me.

I took a few deep breaths to make sure my lungs still worked, which they did, but I was very shaken and shocked and there was no one about - all warehouses here. I kicked off my crocs and wriggled myself round so that I could heave myself up - after taking a pic, obvs:


and with the help of the wall, eased myself back up the steps. Everywhere around was concrete, nowhere to wipe myself clean, no grass or weeds, so I hobbled barefoot to the Victim Support office and rang the bell, saying I was early and a bit muddy. My feet, hands and arse (well, the arse area of my thin cotton dress, which had gone through to my leggings) were all covered in stinky river slime. The woman, we'll call her VS, looked horrified but I told her I'd be all right if I could just use the sink in the ladies' loo and half a roll of paper towels. Rinsing off my feet blocked the sink but I cleaned it and me, more or less, and went up to my interview.

VS was anxious but I did feel all right, to start with, apart from a bruised feeling in my chest. But after about ten minutes (of filling in an application form for some free decent therapy to get me past all the historic rape shit), I started to feel proper woozy and she panicked and called 999. They asked me loads of questions, concluding that I should get myself to A&E, not to drive, not to panic, not urgent enough for them to send an ambulance but to get there this afternoon, within the next couple of hours. Fer fuck's sake.

So I called Bloke and he made his way over and I persuaded VS to let me finish filling in the form so I wouldn't have to come back another day and we did.


Right now it's 8.45 and I've been asked to wait till 9.30 as they want to repeat one of the blood tests then as they weren't happy with its first result. I don't ask any questions.

I'm in the same area of A&E as YD was in about a year ago, almost to the day, after she woke up and found herself still alive despite her best efforts not to be, livid, and it's awful being here again, it's fucking AWFUL.

I'm in a bay, just big enough to hold a bed but instead of that there are chairs and three of us are sat here - well four as the younger woman has a bloke with her, holding her hand and looking aghast as she sobs uncontrollably. She has an eye mask on and a box of tissues. The other patient is a woman in a hospital gown with her leg raised. She's smiled and we've agreed that we're hungry - lunch was a long time ago. The staff are brilliant, kindly, friendly, interested. The place is spotlessly clean but not fucking big enough for the area it serves. Man, this young woman shouldn't have to be in our faces - for her and for us, there's no dignity - she's in pain and now pleading with a doc for him to take her canula out so she can go home, keeps going on about following her protocol - it's awful, I don't want to be here but I'm also scared to walk out - I'm scared full stop but keeping it together despite her shouting over there, just keeping my head down and writing like a demon, she's on about her potassium levels and that people shouldn't be treated like that and he's (the doc) indignant and I want to go home now - this is all about five feet away from me, honestly, unbearable.

I've been here since 4 o'clock and it's 9.10 now. Mostly it's been waiting, interspersed with ECGs and blood pressure and blood being taken for tests. Now she's sat right next to me, new page, fucking hell, she says there are germs on the floor, won't even step on it, not in bare feet, though she has shoes on.

I haven't got a book, that's the worst of it, I can access the kindle on my phone but I only have 1% battery and I'll need that to call Bloke to fetch me. My car's over by the river in a free parking space, thank fuck, at least I'm not piling up parking tickets. Sigh. How did I forget that you always need a book in your bag? That always used to be Rule 1 - it's better to have a book and not need it than to need it and not have one - I'm feeling the truth of that now. Time creeps so slowly without a book. Still, I remembered my diary has a week on one side and just lines on the other so I'm writing through the pages opposite:


March at the moment. I'm nearly up to where we are now but only 10 mins till they take my blood - no idea how long I'll have to wait for the results. I have a tiny sketch book as well - where I was sitting before was in a long bland corridor facing a slice of an examination room through an open door. It hurts to twist so I just drew what I could see. I'll have a go at the pleated curtains round the bay in a minute. She's after morphine now - wants a shot, says she'll vomit if they give her pills but they say that's all she can have. Hope she doesn't vomit - I'm hiding this behind my hand. trying not to think of YD in the bed opposite, so angry, me the one sobbing uncontrollably that day, just briefly then getting it back, then losing it again.


Bloke did come in with me but I couldn't bear him huffing and puffing and then the fire alarm went off - someone came to say it wasn't a fire and that they'd have it turned off asap but after 20 minutes I sent Bloke home and he shot off. he'd be mental by now and so would I if he was still here."


Well, that was as far as I got. At some point after that we all got talking, we three outpatients in the "CDU Ambulatory Care Area" - a big name for a small space. The wild woman turned out to be pretty nice - she has Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome and a dodgy hip and the bloke with her was her son who let me use his charger to top up my phone and she told us about how hard it was and how mortified she felt when she realised we were all banged up so close together and we said, no, you're cool, it's all good, NHS under pressure, everyone doing their best etc etc. She and the doctor made up, he gave her some painkillers to take home and she discharged herself.

My results came back clear, no 'cardiac event' just massive bruising from my internal organs being sloshed around at high speed. I was discharged at 11.30 pm. Thank the lord for the NHS.

My left knee is fucked - I didn't even ask about that. So I'm not doing any of my lovely healing activities - no 5 rhythms, no massage, no walking, no yoga. I can't drive as all kinds of arm movements send shooting pains through my chest. I can't use my arms to help me get up - I have to lean forward and rely on my core muscles - bit of a wake up call for those lazy fucks. So, big sigh and big poor me, boo hoo!!


In other news, before then I'd been to Tuesday art group and finished my collage:



which I'm really pleased with. I'd like to sell it, but I don't know what to ask and it would have to be local as it's about four feet long and weighs a ton, I expect.

I don't know what I'll do with the rest of today - I feel agitated even thinking about it, not being able to walk. Ah well. Look before you leap, that kind of thing.


I am grateful for: the NHS, crowning glory of the UK, best thing we ever made, still there, still struggling on; YD and Bloke getting my car just now; not having to do the washing up; getting let off the £200 fine for not paying road tax (when my car was impounded) as I wrote a good letter pleading mentalness; sun is shining, all good in the hood.


Happy days, dear friends, thank you for reading to those that made it to the end of this long entry. xxx


3:10 p.m. - 12.04.17


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