Friday 18th December 2015

5.45am – dem dry bones

With all of these hospital treatments and effervescent tablets churning up my insides like a cement mixer, it’s really hard to get a decent night’s sleep. I woke at midnight, 2am, 4am and then dozed until now.

Alongside the frequent trips to the bathroom, I have been getting joint ache in my knees and ankles; alongside some less-than-welcome period pain. I am somewhat relieved that the the rheumatologist who examined me yesterday said she wasn’t worried about bone inflammation. She even referred me for physio to keep things mobile while I try to get into remission.

T and Jules thought it was hilarious when they saw me hobbling around like a grandma today. They even gave my mobilisation exercises a soundtrack of slow jamz music. I think that the funniest thing is how chub-chub I’ve got thanks to the steroids.

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Wednesday 16th December

6.25am – an experiment in sensory deprivation

We are scarily close to a full week in here. Not what I had imagined at the start. How much of this is based on the slow pace of, well, anything happening in hospital or the slow pace of my treatment, I don’t know. As with most things; it’s probably a bit of both.

Outside of hospital, yesterday was a bit of a nightmare day for T because workmen left a big gaping ‘RAINWATER THIS WAY PLEASE’ hole in our flat roof after they went home last night. Seven panicked messages from T followed along with a woman-on-the-edge-of-a-nervous-breakdown call (which given how much of a cool cucumber she is usually, was quite upsetting). I knew things were getting bad.

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Sunday 13th December 2015

4.20am – you can’t always get what you want

I slept for five hours straight today. Woohoo! So it’s not the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had, but I’m positive that if my IV alarm hadn’t sounded to tell the world that it was empty, I may have slept right through to the 6am.

Perhaps the extra dose of sleeping tablets did the trick last night. After basically begging the nurse all day to see a doctor about it (she was unhopeful but not unhelpful), I had expected to have to plead with the on-call doctor. But no, instead, the nurse just appeared at bed time with two sleeping pills in the pot without ceremony or explanation. Fine with me.

Give me the damn pills!

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Saturday 12th December 2015

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5.30am – (clock) face-off

Trigger warning: I will be talking about poo, in detail. If you would like to continue to think of me as a Barbie who doesn’t poo, then please, don’t read on!

The clock face and I have seen far too much of each other this evening.

The first time I woke up I managed to resist the temptation of sneaking a peak at it from underneath my eye-mask. It must have only been about midnight then, but already I found myself in a hot sweat; pillow soaking.

Almost unthinkingly, I flipped the pillow over and tried to get back to sleep. Perhaps I subconsciously felt I still had a chance because I’d only recently just dropped a sleeping tablet (which I shall hereby refer to as a ‘sleeping’ tablet, for obvious reasons). Syntax matters in matters such as these.

I’m updating this diary with the bone dry kind of focus you only get from steroids.

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