I’m having a very hard time writing at the moment. Oh, not just here, don’t take it personally. I simply can’t write anything about anything to anyone. Letters, emails, the benighted novel, all languishing in little blank heaps. Also, it has been my first week back at work, and I am so TIRED. Tired tired tired. And Most Annoying Colleague got in a huff because I wouldn’t answer his questions as to where I’ve been and why (arsehole, she muttered reasonably, under her breath). Also, my tummy is sore. Possibly, I shouldn’t have been un-packing boxes and shelving. Oh, hey, it’s not like I carried any of the boxes first, for once. And according to surgeon and random GP who gave me the antibiotics, I was good to go.
And the antibiotics worked, by the way. My scars look quite tidy now. So that’s good.
But where was I? Oh yes. Dr Alternative. Well, first of all he cheerfully remarked that I was maybe two or three stone overweight. As I know I am actually four stone overweight, this unreasonably delighted me – heh heh. Then we got down to the business of my innards, over which he tutted, and we ended up casting aspertions at the NHS for the immensely slow and bureaucratic way it does everything – he doesn’t want me to have to wait 2 months for a follow-up visit either. He is also exasperated at the gynecologists’ inability to deal with causes rather than effects – he thinks I clearly have a lot of distressing symptoms because my hormones are imbalanced because my insulin is whacked because my metabolism is screwy, therefore unscrewing the metabolism would help, and finds their habit of saying ‘well, we don’t usually prescribe Metformin for fertility problems’, well, short-sighted, he called it. Politely. Trying to suppress my hormones with more hormones is not going to help in the long term.
On the other hand, he feels Metformin is a last resort, because if I go on it, that’s it, I’m on it for life, as my body will never learn to regulate its own insulin if it is being done for it all the time by drugs, and all the bad symptoms will come straight back if I stop it. (NB – is this true? Find out if possible). So his plan is to keep me on herbal and homeopathic remedies until the beginning of October. Then, get another set of blood-tests done to see how the insulin is behaving. If it IS behaving, herbs and diluted whatsists forever. If it isn’t, well, Met, then. He also told me to see if I could convince Doc Tashless to let me do the blood-tests on the NHS, for the sake of my wallet. Oh, OK. That might work, what with Doc Tashless regarding me as a giant science experiment in any case.
Meanwhile, I have taken to spotting again. Is this: a) Because, as promised, the antibiotics did interfere with the way the pill works and it’s all to be expected and will stop soon, b) Because the polypectomy and ‘bits and pieces’-ectomy haven’t healed quite yet (if not, why not, and do I worry?) or c) I have been on the pill for two packets straight and this often leads to a little spotting? Therefore do I a) Ignore it, keep taking the pill straight with no gaps until September appointment, b) Panic, call every medical authority in London, or c) endure a week’s gap between packets and see if that i) sorts it out or ii) kills me?
And H has flu.