Nov 14

 There's a reason I am very wary of hospital appointments. Having me sit upright like a human being for an extended period of time on a schedule is an extremely hard ask for me. I don't get the luxury of waiting for my wax and wane bullshit health to suddenly line up and do a thing. I don't get the capability to tap out or lie down. I just have to do it.

On some days, that's impossible. So. You get a russian roulette. How shit will it be. Will you pass out. Will you make it. And oh rare sunny day. Will you do it and it not be a big deal.

Today was hard.

I sat in the waiting room and waited. Nauseous. Dizzy. Ill. I employ every trick I know to deal with it. Calm. Zone out. Close your eyes. Drift.

Only three minutes have passed since you last looked at the clock.

I am locked in some super fine scrutiny of how I am feeling. Feeling that nausea rise up and down slowly. The prickle of illness sweat as it comes and goes. Steady. Steady. Keep it together. Don't focus on how ill you feel.

I got through today. I have had worse. But it's insanely hard. About mid way through my wait I reflected that I'd rather have someone burn me with cigarettes or slice me up with a knife, than have to endure this.

I have squeaked through the pre surgery checks. Again. Just about.

Perhaps it was the way I looked. The experienced nurse came in, happy and bouncy, cracked a joke, I slowly half smiled. I felt ill. She looked at me. You could see her assessing me. Changed gear. Said out loud, bless you. And then proceeded to treat me with kid gloves. 

I must look vulnerable. Ill. Something.

I am trying to sort out someone to give me a lift home on Monday. I am loathe to do it. But the hospital forces you. I know they have a duty of care. Hard to explain I don't care. It doesn't matter anyway. Legally they have to do what they do.

Last night for a moment. I had such a strong push that none of this was worth it. Didn't feel well. So much bullshit to do. Just. Stop. I ignored it. But it was a hard tug.

Today. Whilst waiting in the hospital. I had it again. But different. I reflected how hard I was struggling to stay upright just waiting for an hour. I can't even do that. I have fallen so far below the level of normal. And. Everyone bouncing around me. Was alien. I didn't think like them. Or act like them. Or have the same care. And in that moment in the waiting room. I realised there was a mountain of pressure for me to just go home. Slit my wrists. And be done with it. Not misery. Just logic. Just a sober realisation of how far I have fallen.

I have nursed my strength. And been defensive. Carefully managed everything to keep me going. In that very carefully curated environment. I can just about keep going. But expose me to the air. To reality. And you get a true measure of how far down that curve I have slid.

It is grim.

I can feel it hovering.

not worth it

Ho hum.

Roll on Monday. I must be extremely careful on Sunday to try and give myself the best shot at being as well as I can.

And if I'm a very lucky boy. They will end up killing me on the table anyway. But I am not that lucky. I wonder if you could bribe the anaesthetist to bump you off. Probably not.
  

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