I’m in my usual countdown panic as I try to tie up things in the UK and think ahead to what I’m going to need for the next 6 weeks in Canada.
And I’m still reflecting on this past week of “stepping back”.
All in all it’s been a good thing. I’ve been chilled out about food and have lost the weight I gained due to stupid eating. I’ve done a bit of running and a bit of walking and have enjoyed not writing it all down.
In my “counting unhatched chickens” way, I was thinking that I would have a relaxed week, get a final diagnosis from the senior consultant and then get on with life in whatever direction it was going to go.
But instead, as is normal in these “pre-hatched chicken counting” situations, I didn’t get any news at all from the appointment. Instead,and I quote the consultant, “we are back at square one”, which means that I know nothing more than I knew 6 months ago. I feel knocked back and maybe not quite as reslilant as I thought I was feeling.
But one good thing came out of a not very good appointment. Firstly, I decided to take the husband into the room just so he could witness what I’ve been up against. The senior doc was NOT pleased that I was seeing him rather than the other guy but – and this is the new thing for me – I just didn’t care. I think maybe I’m getting to the point where I’m not feeling awkward about being a pain.
Anyway, after telling me that there was no news, he leaned back in his chair and said, “Would you like me to refer you to the specialist liver unit for a second opinion even if it is a bit early for that?”
Old me might have given the decision back to him, asked him if I should wait until his team had had another chance. New me just said, “Yes, I would.”
New me was also still too polite to ask how I could possibly get a second opinion when I hadn’t had a first one yet. But never mind. I figure, God willing, I can be rude when I’m an old lady.
The slightly humourous thing about hospital appointments is that, when you step on the scales, everyone is hoping that you haven’t lost any weight. The nurse who weighs you smiles and commends you for not being much lighter than you were 3 months ago, and the doctor comments on how well you’re not losing. I didn’t dare tell them how bloody hard I’d been working to lose it. And I was truly glad to know that I could sit there and not worry that the pounds were falling off for the worst possible reason.
Funny old world.
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