annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Now that April's there
I felt a bit better yesterday so went for a long walk on the beach.
I've been pondering making something fantastic for YD's birthday present which is tricky because she's a much better maker than me, if only in terms of design, dexterity, skill, meticulousness and patience (haha). But I'm skint as fuck so it'll have to be made and I had a sudden brainwave - I could use these shells to create the granite breakwaters that are interspersed
between the wooden ones
on another, better beach scene from found stuff. So I picked up those shells above, and by the time I'd got about four of them I knew I shouldn't be bending over as I could feel something across my upper torso really hurting when I came back up, but I couldn't make myself stop until it really fucking hurt, and I can't even explain why. It's not as if I rushed into making a picture when I came back...
This morning I completely freaked out. I'd slept badly - not fully waking up during the night, but restless, unable to get properly comfortable, having re-strained whatever muscle that is, so I was not thinking at all clearly, not making good decisions. I called 111, the NHS helpline, which we've been asked to use as much as possible instead of going straight to the GP, and they asked me loads of routine questions which was fine until I mentioned chest pains. Red flag, no going back, ambulance on its way. Ffs. It hadn't come to take me to hospital, but for the paramedics to check me out, which they did for almost an hour before telling me that it's not cardiac. I know it's not fucking cardiac! But I don't know what it is, or how long it will take to heal, or how I'm going to manage my mental health in the meantime if I can't do yoga, or gardening or bending over or picking things up or carrying anything that weighs more than an ounce or two... They suggested I contact my GP for answers to some of these questions and I managed to get an appointment for this morning when I freaked out that the first appt to see any doctor was for Wednesday of next week. He told me that it's musculoskeletal and will take weeks and weeks to heal because of my age. All he had to offer for managing it/myself was valium, for fuck's sake (again), but I accepted the prescription because I get them free now I'm over sixty and I know that thing about gift horses and mouths and not looking. Free downers, yes please, thank you very much. But I won't take three a day for the next two weeks as suggested because I won't be able to drive and I'll be hooked on them after that long so coming off will be another big hassle that I can do without.
I walked home and Son texted me about May having called a general election for June 8th. Jesus H Christ. There will be no escaping the cuntery for weeks. This may be what I need to get me right off the internet and at least it's a distraction from the hideousness of US politics. But really - the media are so full of shit. The Tory party are about to be charged with election fraud from the 2015 one, but the system is so slow - ach I can't even get into it, it's too awful. I have become disillusioned with Corbyn, though I don't know if that's fair or if it's media misreporting/bias, but he's the only hope of saving our NHS.
I am grateful for: all that treatment and investigation, free - apart from the 11% NI I paid all my working life, obvs, but free at point of delivery; spring and all the fresh green; and bluebells, which smell like heaven en masse, even if they are fucking thugs in a garden context, they are bliss in a wood
I am also grateful for public footpaths and ancient rights of way across fields and woods, past ponds
and for my friends and family who I need a lot at the moment, especially when I am mental and not very pleasant, although I do love walking out in the countryside alone.
12:14 a.m. - 19.04.17
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