Bite Me.

The last couple of days have been something comparable with the lovechild of a hurricane and a rollercoaster… on steroids. Life’s favourite time to kick is when you’re already down. And yet… the kicks don’t even hurt any more. Not at the minute. There is no capacity to hurt, and when there is, there is no capacity to hurt any more. I’m starting to vaguely feel – not fully and not properly, but at least a bit more consistently.

This is where I’m going to make a weird request, because (unusually) I remembered that a handful of people are going to read what I write here. Specifically, that concern is about the 2-3 people reading this who met me before they ever read any of these posts. If you met me before this blog existed… Please don’t read the rest of this post. Not yet, anyway. I kind of… It isn’t something I want people who know me like that to really find out in a post, I think? I’ve chosen not to really talk about it to people I know yet, because hey it’s probably nothing, and I know I can’t stop anyone reading on, and that asking you not to builds a whole lot of intrigue. But please hang in there for a while. 

I mean… Now I continue, I guess.

I had a hospital appointment yesterday for a totally new thing. It isn’t new to me, but it’s the first time I’ve actually had it looked at. Long story short, earlier this year I started getting minor nosebleeds from one nostril. Then I noticed a small lump. The lump grew, the nosebleeds got far more frequent and much worse, and now there’s a constant trickle of blood down my throat and every hour or two, a red river all over my face. The lump now obstructs my entire nostril, is hard and has a bunch of blood vessels over it, and has recently changed in appearance. The back of my mouth has started to feel weird, and on the same side it looks a little different (like red and weird). I decided it was nothing, and certainly that something as pathetic as my nose wasn’t worth bothering anyone about. But I mean… It’s A LOT of blood now. So I went to see an ENT consultant, who was the first person I told about it to decide it may be a good idea to look at it.

He had an appalling bedside manner and was blunt and clinical and methodical, which I liked. He sat me in front of him and  looked at it, without saying a word got some equipment and briefly explained what he was going to do before he stuck a camera down my other nostril and into my throat, and then looked into my mouth… And then we sat across from each other at his desk and he looked up at me and without any build up said

Unfortunately there’s no treatment option other than surgery. We need to remove the mass and the underlying cartilage. Do you have any questions?

Yes! So many questions! But all I could say was… Is that going to hurt?

It’s a something-I-can’t-remember-because-I’m-half-asleep-oma, he thinks. Now I mean… Part of me had been expecting this little lump to need to be removed, but a much larger part of me thought I was going to be laughed out of his office, or maybe he’d make it bleed and just cauterise whatever bled and send me home all fixed. I did not expect him to say that there was a whatever-it-is-oma with exposed cartilage that is on/adhered to the nasal septum. Like… Surely exposed cartilage should… Hurt? Anyway he wanted bloods there and then, and a CT scan ASAP. He said he’d phone with the results. But when we went to book it all, we said I couldn’t do the scan until I’m back from uni. The first day I’ll be back for is the 19th. The scan is the first slot they have on the morning of the 20th of December. That’s… A lot quicker than I was expecting them to arrange it.

My mum and I then went for lunch, because she said that this time I had been “ok-ish” to have around. I didn’t want to go back – the whole way there I was dreading it, and she didn’t really want me to leave either I think. It was nice. We stopped at a random pub chain and ate some super nice chicken. And then we drove back to Mile End. And I was in this car that I knew was about to drive right back to exactly where I wanted to be, but that I wasn’t going to be in it when it got there. My mum pulled up outside my accommodation, got my stuff out of the car, we said a brief goodbye, and then she was gone. I hate that there’s nowhere to stop where I live. Goodbyes aren’t proper.

I went back to my room, let the door swing shut behind me and… Sobbed. I just sobbed. Uncontrollably. The room was so isolated. So… Not a family home.

And then my mum called to tell me I’d forgotten something, and I couldn’t stand speaking to her because I just wanted to go back to my dog and stuff. Same Cardiologist Uni Friend called me up and talked to me for a few hours. My plan was not to talk about my stupid nose until I know about it for sure and stuff. Oddly, I’m not phased by the thought of surgery or anything. I thought I would be or should be, but y’know… I don’t know whether it’s because I feel so ridiculous about it being my nose or whatever, but this one just doesn’t feel like something to sweat over. If the lump is harmless or has the potential to stop being harmless or if it isn’t harmless at all, the treatment is the same – get it out. I’m up for that – just get the thing out. It’s annoying, more than anything.

But anyway I was crying and I was like I don’t think I can do this. I didn’t know how to deal with anything, even for a day. I ended up almost falling asleep on the phone to my friend, and saying stuff that made no sense because I was falling asleep, so I let her go and cook her dinner and curled up fully clothed to go to sleep. My sleep was broken, it always is, but if you discount the 17-18 times I woke up or got up to treat my health hiccups, I slept from 7pm round to 9am. I was so tired.

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I did find time to tidy up and try to make my room look a little Christmassy. It isn’t much but it’s the best I could do.

And then I went to my hospital appointment. And as I sat there by the Christmas tree waiting to go in, I checked my uni emails, for some reason. And they are STILL trying to find ways to kick me out. Except this one may work, but is also ridiculous. They are getting the national crediting body (external to the university) involved, because I missed lab sessions so they are saying I might not have demonstrated the lab skills needed to become credited as a biomedical scientist. So many thoughts. Firstly, we do the same procedures in every lab – spectrophotometry, micropipettes, serial dilutions… It’s basically the same. The labs I’ve missed… Some were on the computer, one the theory was done at home… I’ve done all the skills before. To death and back. In fact, I’ve probably carried them out while literally dying. Secondly, there are people on our course who have never been to a single lab because they can’t be bothered. A couple of weeks ago, someone asked us where we are meant to submit lab reports to and how we went about it, because, half way through the first semester of his SECOND year, he had NEVER been to a lab session. Thirdly, why did nobody tell me that at the end of first year?

As if that appointment wasn’t bad enough.

I walked in, and we started talking. And she told me this story about this boy who didn’t look after his diabetes and didn’t think it would kill him but was warned and warned, and then died. Except she didn’t tell it like that. It was more emotive. And I was like… I have so many things to be scared of. And I told her about my heart being more of a pain in the butt, and my kidneys being a pain in the butt, and how I hadn’t told anyone about either of those things. But somewhere before that, or maybe during it, I just broke down. I don’t cry. If I do, it isn’t in front of people. It certainly isn’t in front of health professionals. And I just couldn’t stop. I will elaborate on why and what I said at a later stage. But out 45 minute appointment ended up going on for over 3 hours. She pulled her chair out from behind the desk and moved it so our knees were almost touching, and she leaned forward and we just talked. About it all. About all the things I couldn’t face. About how screwed my body was. About what triggered my PTSD. About where I wanted to go (in terms of a treatment plan or whatever) and all I could say was I don’t want this any more. I don’t know how to deal with it all, I just can’t cope. And she’d stop, and we’d go back, and we’d go through a whole other thing like my weight loss or fluid retention or mental health or whatever else until we ended up right back at that point. She was patient.

Anyway. I got to uni campus at 2 and sat with Same Cardiologist Uni Friend and Italian Uni Friend (two people then knew I was back, which hadn’t been my plan). I had an assignment due in at 5 that I hadn’t started. I got quite a way in, and then my computer restarted and I lost even the stuff I had saved. Life isn’t giving me lemons, it is squeezing them in my cuts. It felt pointless anyway, in light of everything else on my plate, especially as all this work may literally be for nothing now.

I concluded that the only state in which to submit my assignment would be on fire… Because that way it could never be marked, and I’d save everyone else by destroying theirs too. I was just over half way through when the fire alarm went off. I sat there with less than an hour to go and 1/4 of the thing still to do like well at least if I burn to death they might go a little easier on me. 

I was trying to care, and it just didn’t matter. Until eventually I started to focus on it instead of the everything else in my life, and putting the tiny amount of importance I could spare onto my coursework distracted me as we watched a guy try to turn his canal boat and have a crash in Regents Canal (right by the window).

I finished the thing on time. Same Cardiologist Uni Friend had to print it on her account because I forgot my student card. Italian Uni Friend had to  staple it because I couldn’t get into the library. I submitted the thing, and then I stood in the middle of the emptying science building, held my arms up in victory, looked up through the opening in the ceiling of the lobby that showed the first floor lab, and just shouted (completely out of the blue, taking myself by surprise)

“BITE ME”

Then three of us went to Stratford Westfields, where I bought a large meal in McDonalds, accompanied by a free Crunchie McFlurry (because student perks)  after I realised I hadn’t eaten all day and it was 6pm and I felt I needed something good after my day (not going to lie that’s the only reason I went). It was so cold out and I had only left the house wearing a jumper, so by the time we got there I couldn’t feel most of myself, my hands seemed to have so little blood in them they looked rather alarmingly alien, I was shivering violently, and got electric shock pains in my legs if I moved them beyond a certain point… So I bought a super cheap ski jacket… And 2 jumpers… And a Christmas jumper (all for under the price of a jumper in any other shop).

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Christmas at Stratford Westfields shopping centre. Maybe I should make it my aim to see a different part of London at Christmas time every day…?

I went Christmas shopping and got three things for my little brother to make up for not getting him a birthday present. I bought myself a book entitled Death by Stupidity – 1001 of the most astonishingly bizarre ways to bite the dust because I wanted to feel better about the fact that I’d nearly died a lot and… It hadn’t been in ridiculous ways. It’s a pretty funny book (also, people die in really, rally stupid ways).

And then, because I felt like it, I bought myself a second dinner – an AMAZING pizza.

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Only two slices of this beautiful thing made it all the way back to my flat.

And now this post, that I mostly wrote on the other side of midnight, but that will now be posted today and probably make no sense (just imagine that every “today” is actually “yesterday” i.e. the 1st of December).

Tomorrow lectures, then straight to another hospital appointment, then straight to an assessed lab session, which means I’ll have another bit of coursework due in another week. One of my friends is already fully into a revision plan already. Everyone else I talk to only has a maximum of 7 weeks of notes (and that person was only that far in for two modules out of four). Everyone is as behind as me (I have notes in lectures until about week 5, handwritten final notes for… Week 1). And they’ve been out in the real world living life, so that makes me feel a bit better.

Whoa this is way too long. I’ll stop. Bye. I mean, it wasn’t even that bad. It’s just been full on, especially with starting to feel a little bit.

Time for another dinner. At 00:20am. Like I said, bite me.

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