annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- TMI This is for me to not forget - you, on the other hand, may wish to walk on by. I've had to do a poo sample. It's not as bad as you might think but it's not as simple as peeing in a pot - you're given a pack, with instructions, illustrated instructions - no, not of where your poo comes from, but of where it's to go. I've done this before, several times, as you get regular checks for bowel cancer at 60+, but it's not particularly pleasant so I'd been putting it off. I knew I had to do it today as I was booked for the blood test this afternoon and I couldn't let it lag behind that. So I took the pack upstairs last night, left it where I could find it and dreamed about it all night. I apologise for two consecutive posts about dreams, but there you go. In the dreams I couldn't make any sense of the instructions. To be fair, these were extravagantly complicated, pages and pages of technical language, referring backwards and forwards so I couldn't just make my way down a page but had to keep flicking through to find the next step. I was in a total panic, heart pounding, breathless, fighting tears, ashamed, with no idea what to do or how to get out of the place I was in. When I woke I knew it had been a dream, but I was still scared of the pack. Oh man, this is it, isn't it? This is mental ill-health, whatever you call it, no specific diagnosis, but making heavy weather of little things. Becoming overwhelmed by nonsensical imaginings, panicking as if it's the end of the world. But, on the plus side, although I thought it was going to be very complicated, I gritted my teeth and opened the pack, ready to read the instructions. Which of course were totally fucking simple and painless and I did it and took the fucking thing straight round to the surgery then came home and made myself a big breakfast of fried potatoes, mushrooms, avocado, tomatoes and poached eggs. Then I was late for my blood test as I'd remembered it as 3.30 when it 3.05, but the nurse waived my apologies away at which point I calmed down and took the dog for a walk on the pier. I was watching a documentary about lovely Labi Siffre, of Something Inside So Strong fame, and he said, "My mother had a crap life until my father died," which struck me as one of the worst things I'd heard. Today I am grateful for my dear little dog, sleeping on the floor, leaning against my foot. Simple love.
12:27 a.m. - 15.02.22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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