Tuesday, May 26, 2009

End of a line (sort of)

Right. Where to start? Chronologically?

January
Went to doctor and he changed meds again, which led me to believe I'd be safe going for a run or two, in order to try and shift the weight that he claimed was to blame for my high blood pressure. That turned out to be a huge mistake or a massive blessing* in disguise as the changed meds made me really really really ill, when combined with running a mile a day.

There's a service in the UK called NHS Direct which allows UK residents to phone an out of hours medical service without having to phone emergency services for advice. After feeling odd and out of sorts all day, I went to bed early and immediately felt worse. So bad in fact that I called the hotline. They went through my symptoms and insisted on putting me through to an out of hours doctor at my local clinic as they felt I needed to be seen immediately. Out of hours person at the clinic said there wasn't much they could do for me in terms of running diagnostic tests and that I should go to the nearest hospital. After verifying that I knew which hospital to go to and was capable of getting there myself (as otherwise they would send an ambulance for me) they told me the hospital would be advised I was coming in, wished me well and hung up.

It was at this point that OH realised he'd had a beer with dinner and wasn't entirely fit to drive. So I drove myself. We were seen almost immediately and filtered off to the 'Major Incidents' side of things which was interesting. I managed to have a funny episode in front of the doctor, passing out while she calmly measured my blood pressure, which 'helped'.

As soon as they started running blood tests and getting those results back they were pretty sure that I didn't have what they thought I had, but they would still treat me as such, just in case. So I got lots of shots and pills and tests and monitors in case I really was having a heart attack. Heparin really really hurts when administered subcutaneously into the abdomen.

The more blood tests came back the more they were sure I wasn't having a heart attack, so they also said that I'd in all likelihood be staying in the hospital for a bit, until A) I was stabilised and B) hopefully diagnosed.

So I was in hospital for about 5 days. Local hospital was actually pretty good, and OH was able to come and visit once or twice a day, which was good. Food was OK, place was clean enough, pity about the lack of communication.

February
Back to school, tottering around feeling really bleurgh and sorry for myself. Missed loads of classes. Didn't go on the school trip to Berlin and nothing much was done for those of us that didn't go. Managed to alienate more teachers (what? like it's hard?) and was explicitly told not to sit with a certain other student. Bearing in mind I'm 30something and he's 40something, being told we were disruptive influences was highly amusing and we really didn't take that seriously at all. Although we did dial it down a little.

February was also assessment month. I was offered a 3 week extension to hand everything in due to my health but I chose to try and get everything done (except for one paper) on time as otherwise I was worried things would just snowball and I'd be working on Stage 2 stuff in the middle of Stage 3 and then I'd really be screwed.

So most of February was spent working and catching up and going back to the hospital every now and then for more tests.

March
Come March I was feeling better physically. I'd caught up with everything and was ready to crack on with an ambitious project for the final stage and had sort of decided where to go next. I started seeing a counsellor at school to help me try and deal with my all to easy loathing of teachers in general and my current one in particular and just generally to be more respectful. She turned out to be Norwegian and really understood me and we got on like a house on fire.

Then Friday 13th, several friends celebrated their birthday, I was due to hand all my extra credit stuff in and had a tutorial to get cracking on Stage 3. That day bombed, to say the least. I didn't know whether to bother quitting school or whether I could just stay in bed and the whole thing would sort itself out.

Then Saturday the 14th. I called my gran, at her new care home. She was poorly and tired and I didn't want to keep her away from her nap for too long so I talked to her for a few minutes and then told her to go take her nap and said my goodbyes. And then she died a few hours later.

The following week was surreal. I had an MRI on the Monday and some dear friends came to stay that afternoon. Thanks to them we kept busy and although I wasn't jumping for joy, we muddled through. The services for my gran had been planned pretty quickly and we were to fly to Iceland on the Wednesday night.

Thursday she was laid to rest and the casket was closed.

Friday I and 7 of my cousins carried the casket out of the church and said our goodbyes. The hardest thing I've ever done.

April
I was again offered an extension on work as I'd missed more school - but again I chose not to accept it. I muddled through, coming up with something for the final show that had dramatically changed in terms of the approach. Easter came and went and all of a sudden school was finished. I had an interview for the degree program I wanted to get into which went really well and I was offered an unconditional place on it in the interview itself. Of course when the letter arrived my university had downgraded that to a conditional offer, dependent on my completion of the diploma, due to some stupid bureaucracy.
With my new-found Zen ways, I didn't kick up a fuss, just put it behind me and carried on working.

May
We had our show. Nobody came that I had invited, many good excuses.

*I got my confirmed diagnosis and went to see a specialist in London. This is why the prescribed meds in January were a blessing as otherwise it might have been years before I was actually diagnosed.

It finally dawned on me that I would get an actual diploma for this year and would thus finally have progressed beyond the Studentsprof, like I'd always wanted.

I accepted my conditional place at university for next year. I will be studying Product Design at the University for the Creative Arts, Farnham Campus, for the next 3 years. At least.

Friday this week I should get my results, ending one of the hardest school years of my life, which if you know me, is actually saying something. Quite a lot in fact.

Future
Well. This summer I will be having a holiday. Having my parents visit. Having surgery. Arranged in order of most to least projected quantity of fun.