So I landed myself in A & E today with the not breathing properly, the feeling sick, the being oh so very tired and the weird pains everywhere.

After waiting for what felt like ever I saw a doctor who was only mildly rude who, after assuming it was a chest infection (oh where have I heard that before), told me that all of my symptoms are in my head, probably caused by stress.

Which doesn’t help at all.

Because there is no magic pill or cure for stress.

And I just know I am going to lose another job because of them.

Damn damn doctor. Who also suggested I read The Power Of Now as this will sort out all my problems.

I don’t need another self help book. I need answers. I need a god damn miracle at this point.

I am so fucking tired!

Sorry.

I just can’t believe that all this is in my head. I can’t believe that I am doing this to myself.

Crap. Now I’m crying again.

Oh lucky me. Today I got to go to the department of the hospital we all love to go to. The one at Royal Preston Hospital is pink. All the way through - the floor, walls and woodwork - different shades of pink. It’s enough to send you over the road to the Mental Health department - a place I would much rather have been.

The receptionist was austere in her questions and looked at me like I was insane when I couldn’t answer the question about who my doctor is. It’s a difficult question - did she mean the doctor whose patient list I am on currently or the doctor who referred me to Gynae. She said not a word so I just spouted names until she indicated I have passed that challenge.

The waiting room was large and about half full of the variety of life you generlly only find in hospital waiting rooms. There was the traditional screaming baby, a bickering couple, an elderly lady on her own who keeps smiling at you and one ‘poor old dear’ in a wheelchair with a blanket over her knee being looked after by her incredibly loud daughter.

I was 15 minutes early for my appointment so entertained myself with a book (the first time this week I don’t take my MacBook!) and tried to make it look like I wasn’t bothered… My insides were churning the way they always do before any kind of examination.

Half an hour later they called my name and I was shown into a little room with two chairs, a curtain, a bed/trolley and a table full of horrifying torture equipment.

Questions were asked and blood pressure was taken by the nurse who then disappeared and I was alone again. I took the time to notice other things about the room - an emergency button, a thick cotton sheet badly folded, two kinds of bins, 4 sizes of gloves (oh please don’t let my doctor have XL hands) and a lamp angled like that for? Oh.

Then the doctor entered and all my fears and distrust of the medical profession returned as he talked at me and didn’t listen to a word I said and told me that I had been very stupid and made me feel more like crap than I have done in a long time.

That was the de-sensitiser I was looking for.

By the time I was lying back while he tried to find my ‘high cervix’ (which he made sound like I had on purpose) I just wanted to punch him and walk out.

He said one thing which was ‘If I am hurting you, please tell me." and then got on with it. Not even a slight tingle.

He then finished, washed his hands and left. The nurse who was in the room smiled at me in a sympathetic way and then I was alone again.

I was close to tears…

When he came back with the ‘plan’ it was to do more blood tests to confirm his diagnosis of Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome. When I tried to tell him that I had already had the tests for it and they came back negative he cut me off. How dare I presume to know more about my own health than him?

I have also got to have a scan and go back to see him in August. Oh and there are some pills too. Which I can’t have until after my scan whenever the hell that is. I told him it has to be first or last as I can’t have any more time off work (I mean work will let me have it but I’m starting to feel a little off about it. After tomorrow it’ll be three times this week. Three. And to be honest if I have to make a choice between job and health it’s job every single time.

He then told me I need to walk for 45 minutes every day to lose weight. Great idea. Seriously it is. Fantastic. I started to tell him about the breathing difficulties I am having and the barrier to exercise that was causing and he started to talk over me again, telling me that he was referring me to a dietician, and that they would be sending me a letter about the problem with my liver (what fucking problem with my liver?!) and that was all.

He left and the nurse returned to make sure I knew what I was doing. I left totally unsure about things, wanting to cry and REALLY not wanting to go back to work.

I am not frantically googling him to make sure he is vaguely qualified or, in fact, human. All evidence on the latter to the contrary.

I really should have gone to the other hospital.

I was totally ready to listen to Snackie Radio tonight - had my whole evening planned around it when my damn tooth (I cracked a back tooth when I fell on my face post bag pack last week) but then, as invariably happens, when I plan things, I had to go out.

The tooth pain (because ache just doesn’t cut it for me) has been mild most of the week - a kind of mmmmm pain as opposed to a throb - one or two painkillers a day…

On Thursday it turned into a throb mmmm throb mmmm throb pain - maximum dose of painkillers a day…

Yesterday it upped it’s ante to throb throb throb throb - maximum dose of one and a few of another… making me a little dozey (which is why the cat had to take over)

Today it hurt to open and close my mouth, and painkillers just weren’t working. Not being one to fuss though I thought I cold just get through it, but when I couldn’t type anymore because I was shaking from the pain enough became enough and I called NHS Direct… who were totally unhelpful in that ‘I’m listening but not hearing you’ way. They wanted yes/no answers to questions that are all shades of grey like - Is the pain severe and made worse by biting on the tooth?

Well, yes the pain is severe, but no it isn’t made worse by biting on the tooth, it’s made worse when I release from having bitten down so… is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?

… is more or less what I said and the person on the end of the phone said ‘Please just say yes or no’.

Anyway after 15 minutes of trying not to scream down the phone, tears running down my face, they told me to ring the Emergency Dental people (with whom I have had previous experience) and hung up.

So, I did as I was told… and the answerphone said:

“Our office hours are 6:30pm - 8am Monday to Friday and 8:30am to 10:30am Saturday and Sunday”

What bloody sense is that? Out of Hours (to me) means out of sodding hours! So am I to assume for the rest of Saturday and Sunday they expect peopel to just be fine?

Anyway, I wasn’t taking this lying down (mostly because it hurt too much) so I called a cab, told the family I was off to A&E, and changed my shoes.

Then I changed what I was wearing, and then changed my shoes again. By which time Mum had decided she was coming with me (and we had the official handover of care. She is becoming the ‘parent’ and is now officially allowed to nag me and tell me what to do again).

At the hospital the receptionist told me all they’d do is give me more painkillers… and the Triage nurse told me they would only give me more painkillers as there was no dentist in the hospital (to which I said something along the lines of, ‘come on, not even a student?’ incredulously… which she may not have heard as a thoroughly unattractive amount of dribble had now appeared…). I had, of course, gone into ‘grin and bear it laugh through the pain’ mode which meant that no one was taking me seriously; which meant I was getting angrier and angrier but unable to show it…

She marked down my pain as ‘mild’, sent me back to reception where I burst into tears. Another half hour wait (it was very quiet) and another nurse came and got me. I told Mum to stay in reception because I didn’t want her near any more sick people than she had to be and sat down in a cubicle.

The next nurse to come asked me more questions and took my temperature (with the ear thing) (36.3C in case you were wondering) and then after I told her my woe told me that I needed to have it taken out… but not there… and not today… tomorrow… and that I shouldn’t have taken that many painkillers… but here were some more (different) painkillers… but I’m not sure as she did appear to be the tiredest person in the world. She couldn’t think of the word ‘practice’ and asked the same question twice… I suggested she have 40 winks in the cubicle… She turned to me and said ‘I wish…’

It’s just not fair how hard nurses have to work…

I took my pills with me and came home… Mum in full fuss mode. The pills made me slightly floaty and the pain has only just returned so they will do me tomorrow while I am at work… trying to get a very late or incredibly early appointment.

But not on Wednesday, as that’s when I get my blood results back!

I went to the doctor’s today. I know, shocker right - I actually kept my appointment unlike (so said the accusatory poster inside) the selfish 327 who didn’t causing another 327 to not have appointments at all. Yes, thank you. Guilt ridden we all now feel. Not that I have ever EVER made an appointment and then run away in fear… Ever.)

There was an electronic touch screen check in thing - no more bothering the receptionist’s for us. Oh no! Just two questions male or female, and date of birth. that was all it needed to know what time your appointment was and who it was with. Directions to Area 5 (which used to be called the First Floor) and a smiley face sending you on your way.

Sitting in the waiting room listening to quite loud Chris Evan’s DriveTime on Radio 2 (cheesy happy music for singing along to) with a woman I know from somewhere but can’t quite put my finger on. By the way, why; whenever you go to a doctor’s surgery, or anywhere with a waiting room; do you always see at least one person you know? And why is it never someone you know well enough to discuss why you are there? Anyway…

As I was the last appointment of the day I expected to be rushed in and rushed out, barely listened to and told I was fine with a dismissive flick of the wrist - the kind of thing I have come to expect from doctors over the years. Imagine by surprise when the GP listened intently, wrote down everything I was saying, asked pertinent questions and (amazingly) had read my notes before I stepped inside the surgery!

I was impressed. No, very impressed. Everything seemed to matter to her. The smallest concern I had was paid attention to and a plan was decided to deal with each one in turn. She even prescribed me a course of antibiotics as a first attack on one problem and didn’t rubbish the knowledge I had picked up from Google.

She has in a single blow restored my faith in the NHS. And as Mum gets better and better (she ate half a bowl of soup and a roll today and her sugar levels are starting to normalise) I’m beginning to think that ‘good’ is the standard of the NHS not the incompetent wankerage I had experienced in the past.

On an entirely different subject I have been using Numbers today (the Spreadsheet program in iWork ‘08) and I have to say so far I am very impressed. I like the (can I say this without sounding like a moron?) layout, and the templates are very easy to use as well, although I did end up starting from scratch. After using Excel (which Numbers imported and exported to with ease and flair) all these years with differing levels of success, I honestly thought I would have these difficulties with every program I tried. But, my God, is that another thing Apple does fantastically well? So, I no longer need Office for anything! Hurrah!

I have great respect for doctors and nurses. Great respect. Particularly those who work in the NHS. Far too much work for bugger all pay. Treated like crap by those in management and whined at by most of the public (yes, myself included). I just thought I’d preface this post with this so that people realise that this is coming from a place of panic and worry about my Mum. K? We clear? Sorry to all you lovely medical professionals.

There was supposed to be a scan at 10 o’clock this morning. It still had not happened at 4pm. This is my mother, people. Now I know this is selfish and that every person in there is someone’s mother, father, sister, brother, daughter, son, friend, lover, husband, wife but this is MY MOTHER. OKAY?! If you say you are going to do a scan at 10am then do the bloody scan at 10am or, at the very freakin’ least, advise when it is going to happen.

There have been some fairly scary words floated around as well. The calm way Dad has been taking it all made me wonder if I was just over-reacting. Then I phoned my aunt, who has her head screwed on right, to let her know and she reacted in the same way I did. Good. Freak outs necessary.

I just want to see my Mum, y’know. But visiting times are 3-5pm and if you are feeling even a teeny bit ill you can forget doing anywhere near the wards. Right now I look like zombies have had a go so I’ll probably be stopped at the first roadblock.

But today can’t get any worse right? Oh except smiley smiley Heath Ledger is dead. I mean, come on, seriously, WTF? I’m not sure how to feel about that.

I’m not sure how to feel about anything today.