Well, hi there,
Welcome to another edition of the adventures of moi.
For dramatic flair, this entry is being written from the A&E. Sunday night 19:47
It’s been a month! Way more feelings and emotions than this girl is used to.
A little over 2 weeks ago, I got some new from a friend re the lack of an invitation. This should not and is not a big deal, I was shocked and saddened. I cried for 2 days and internally reevaluated every friendship and interaction I have had. This is very overboard I know.
Thank god I have a coach. She is a godsend and it’s a privilege that I get to unpick things with her. Pretty much, folks, everything is linked to childhood wounds. Until they are resolved, they show up in many ways. I’ll leave this story here, but all you need to know is I cried A LOT and was VERY sad.
Days later, my mom was in a bad way with her health and in the hospital. She had a few days in the A&E, then home for a day before going in for a procedure and back home. Then she rushed back to the A&E after things got dramatic. This then led to a couple of days in the intensive care unit (ICU). If you’re in the ICU, things aren’t great but I’m mindful of respecting her privacy. She was then discharged to recover and may need an organ removed in the future.
8 days ago, I received a frantic call from her saying that she wanted to tell me that she loves me and she has this fear of dying. She thought she would die. As an observer, clearly the recent experience she had was very traumatic and triggered. So many people have genuine trauma from hospital experiences.
Now back to me. Before the call, I was going about my merry business. I saw a fantastic film (which I do want to blog about), The Voice of Hind Rajab, followed by a rare wagyu steak at Flat Iron.
After the phone call, I ran to the loo. I’ll save the details, just knowing that I ran should explain. A few days later, more issues etc. I eventually had to call in sick at work. We are now on day 8. When it comes to my health, the majority of the time, rest is best. And rest genuinely has worked a a treat. I’m good at resting, I’ve almost mastered it. While resting, I’m hoping my body is healing etc, however, I have had really, really bad cramping throughout.
This experience so far has been a kick up the backside when it comes to my diet. I need to make big changes to get healthy and to loose this weight. For the last few days, I’ve made healthy wise decisions. I was hoping that my body would be happy with that, and all will be well.
Unfortunately, again I was back in the painful situation and enough is enough. I know when “the rest” is not working. It’s a Sunday, and not a great day to be unwell but what can you do. At 4pm I knew it was time to seek medical attention; the rest, clean eating wasn’t doing the trick. Instead of fucking getting up and making tracks, I called 111.
I called 111 because I’m pretty sure that I need antibiotics. I was hoping they could prescribe me something maybe.
There is a part of the brain that thinks I’m not worthy and I don’t want to waste the resources of the National Health Service. I then compare my situation to more severe cases.
The 111 call lasted 21 minutes, during which they sent me to a pharmacy where I had to go through all the details again, only to be told that they can’t give me antibiotics and I need to go to the A&E.
So here I am. Now let’s talk about the more important matter/leaning/understanding that came up in my recent coaching session.
It’s all about parenting the inner child and listening to and attending to those needs. I need to listen to myself more and stop seeking advice and approval from others. I’m still shit at this.
I fucking faffed around for ages with guilt and seeking approval from others. The 2 people I spoke to thought I should go to sleep and wait a few hours for Monday morning to roll around, when I can see my GP. They aren’t wrong, however, by be being here, I’m choosing myself! I’m taking care of me, I’m parenting me.
I’m also grateful as fuck that I live in a country that provides this service to me free of charge. This is where some of my tax-paying money goes.
Part 2 - written the next day.
At 23:00, I was seen by a wonderful Emergency Department doctor. She diagnosed me with gastroenteritis. My test results also showed something was up.
Things take time in a hospital, and I only left 1:30am. During that time, man was I reflecting and counting my blessings. There were many people in pain, distress and fear. I was in a separate room with 6 chairs and an open door. This is where I had an IV drip 💧 of Sodium Lactate. I was also watered and fed. I felt like such a numpty when the beautiful Filipino nurse asked me what I would like to drink. I replied with, what do you have?. She looked at me and said, one 2 things. Tea or coffee. I said tea please and she asked how I would like it. I cheated and had a tiny bit of sugar. She also brought me a chicken sandwich and said they had ham but she thought that I don’t eat ham. (I tell you people, these unconscious bias that we hold runs deep. Just because of my colour, it doesn’t mean I’m Muslim. Do you even know how much I missed bacon 🥓 during my 13 years of veganism). Anyhow, I’m too cool to hold this unconscious bias against this lady who is trying to feed me, help me, heal me. I just replied with, I eat ham too but chicken is good. 👍 I’ll stick to this.
It was quite a yummy sandwich 🥪 in all honesty. Shame about the ingredients. I’ll post this here but I would love to talk more on that also.
The drip was taking ages, so eventually, she adjusted the stream, and before you know it, I was done. After that, I attempted to produce a sample but it wasn’t to be. Plan B was to bring it to my local GP once I had the goods.
My doctor liked me. I know, I can tell, and this does happen to me a lot. The key folks is to be respectful and carry yourself with gratitude and compassion.
A few hours earlier, I had asked her for a printout of my blood test results. She explained that they weren’t allowed to, but she would. Once more, she said they shouldn’t. Other than saying thank you, I totally left that there. While I had my drip in, she hand-delivered it to me.
Upon discharge, a nurse or even a healthcare assistant would have removed my IV cannula, but not for me. She came back and removed it herself in the room that I was in. As she was showing me out, we passed the nursing desk, and another nurse asked her if she could remove my cannula. Love how they are checking for the well-being of the patient. Teamwork makes the dream work.
As I’m typing 💬 these words, I’m thinking 🤔…: man I should be writing to PALS. In my 6000 roles and careers, I actually worked for this NHS trust in the PALS team. PALS stands for patient advice and liaison service. Really, it’s the department that gets the letters of things that have gone very, very wrong. Lawsuits and the rest.
How freaking nice would it be for the team to get a thumbs 👍 up message? My letter would cover the 6 people I interacted with.
Tuesday update: I'm feeling better
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