Patience is a virtue.

‘Patience is a virtue, virtue is a grace. And Grace is a little girl who wouldn’t wash her face.’ – I don’t know the origins of this. I read it once in Sophie’s Adventures by Dick King-Smith.

When you’re a patient, you need to be patient. Seriously because sometimes it can be a long-ass wait.

After being discharged, I went to Hotel of Mum & Dad for some TLC (I use the term lightly). Everything was made so much better with Clo at home, it was like something out of Pride and Prejudice: it was like I was Jane, cooped up and ill at Netherfield Park and Clo was Lizzie who had come to look after me. Although I don’t ever remember reading how Lizzie asks Jane to nominate her for a Sports Relief Young Carer award… Also sharing a bed with your sister does not qualify you for a young carer’s award Clo.


Me and Clo. Or alternatively Elizabeth and Jane Bennet, BBC style.

You will also remember I was with the ‘rents because mum had to give me the injections twice a day as I was a total woos. The process could take up to half an hour of me just staring at the needle on my stomach, determined to do it myself, only to beg mum anyway. Anywho, I got in to a situation where I could do everything, except pierce the skin – which is stupid because I can’t even feel that bit. All Oli had to do was sort of tap my hand, which he was happy to do, so I could come back home to Wimblebum with my fellow womble.

I feel so much better but I’m really good at just sort of cracking on with things. Although my arm isn’t blue any more, I still get knackered quickly and I can’t lift it up without it feeling uncomfortable. The other day I did the hoovering and it knocked me out for two days. What a shame. I’ll really miss hoovering…

The uncomfortableness is still there because I’m still not well yet – a gentle reminder to me. My arm is still being pinched and there’s a bit of clot left in my vein that is unlikely to ever go away. The doctor says that for the rest of my life, I won’t be able to do any repetitive action with my right arm because the vein just won’t ever be 100%. She said: ‘Do your hair every so often, but don’t spend ages doing it.’ You heard it here first folks, if my hair looks crap it’s because it’s a medical condition…


We ate pizza to keep me sane.

Believe it or not, I’ve been keen to go back to work, partly because I miss everyone and partly because I was pooping it about going on to statutory pay. Feeling well enough, I tackled the hustle and bustle of The Big Smoke today. I went in later and left early to avoid ‘rush hour’ (which we all know is way longer than an hour). It made me realise what a-holes we commuters are. I know I look fine but I asked for someone’s seat and they said no, I was bashed around like nobody’s business and people tutted when I wouldn’t walk faster down the stairs. I know I’m not disabled but I think I might get a blue-badge and stick it on my forehead, just to prewarn people… Needless to say, I’ll be working from home for a bit now!

Seeing everyone at work was great. Like a proud kid in the playground, I showed everyone my bruise on my left arm. It’s still green and yellow and overall quite disgusting. But bruises like this only occur every so often and, like a soldier showing off their war wounds, I proudly paraded it around the office. I took even more pleasure in saying it is my ‘good’ arm. I got super amounts of sympathy, it was great. Really though, it turns out that I’ve been living in my own little bubble for a few weeks so it was so nice to escape, even if it was for just a bit.

I had a hospital appointment today too. It was one of those holy-cow-it-really-was-such-a-close-call-but-it’s-going-to-take-longer-than-I-thought-to-get-sorted-and-recover kind of appointments. I had previously been given a date of February 23rd for the operation, which is a week on Tuesday. I had been thinking ‘great. And a couple of weeks of recovery after that and I’ll be better’. I’m already beyond gutted that I can’t go to Lesvos to help the refugees but Ol and me are planning on climbing Ben Nevis in April, I want to meet Clo in Barcelona for her 21st also in April, I want to go to Mike and Amy’s wedding at the beginning of April and I’m supposed to be walking the ‘Moonwalk Marathon’ in May with mum. These are all of the things that are getting me through. But today was one of those days when I realised that I just won’t be able to do it all. And that’s crushing.

They need to postpone the operation because of the extent of the clots in my lungs. Clots in lungs are never good but I was told today that I have many, massive clots in the centre of my lungs. The risk of a heart attack or a stroke was just so high. It’s an actual wonder how I hadn’t just keeled over. But I didn’t so we mustn’t dwell on that. Anyway, you can’t get rid of clots in your lungs with medication – it comes with exercise, keeping the lungs working. I still have those clots which makes exercising exhausting so it’s going to take a while. But I’m feeling much better which is a good sign apparently and I’m on the blood-thinning medication so a heart attack/stroke is highly unlikely to happen.

If the doctor’s were to operate now, they would need to take me off of the medication for 24 hours pre-op. If I was on them and they cut me open, I’d be at risk of just bleeding forever. Not an option one wishes to explore. However, because I still have these clots in my lungs, I’m at a high risk of them getting worse if I come off the medication. Even 24 hours off the drugs could leave me with more clots so I can’t have the op yet. Does that make sense? It’s so complicated! Basically they need to monitor me for a bit before deciding on a date for the op. This just means that I have to put life on hold for a little bit longer.

And then there’s more. The doctors don’t know what caused the clots in the first place. They think it’s the pinch in my vein but they can’t be sure until they operate and then monitor me for months to see if there’s a difference. And if it was the pinch that caused it, what caused the pinch in the first place? It’s going to take months of monitoring, months of patience.

I’m not sure I can fly at all. This greatly ballses up my plans. If there was ever a time when I have felt a bit sorry for myself, it’s now. I’m 23 and I’ve got shit to do! But these things happen and I’m trying to stay in good spirits. Patience is all I need… If you have any spare, please feel free to post it to me 😉

Speaking of good spirits. This will make you laugh. So whilst I was in hospital, some little s**t hacked my PayPal account! Bought himself over £150 worth of stuff, including Calvin Klein boxers, an Armani t-shirt and a hoodie. How do you know it was a ‘he’, I hear you ask. BECAUSE THE IDIOT PUT HIS DELIVERY ADDRESS ON THE RECEIPT. So, James Conrad of Flat 5, The Wool Factory, 30 Marble Street, Leicester, LE1 5XD, they’re coming for you. No more Dominoes pizzas courtesy of me thank you very much!

Oh, I almost forgot to mention: they’ve moved me on to the pill form of the medication, so as of tonight I don’t have to have the injections! Wahoo. Heaven forbid if I am ever diagnosed with diabetes, or if I become a heroin addict, I’d be crap. (Is it heroin that you inject? I haven’t the foggiest).

FullSizeRenderAnyway, I’ll just leave you with this: 

I think we all have problems with the NHS because we’re British and we’re super good at queuing. When we’re ill, we turn to the NHS to help us out. We queue to get an appointment at the doctors’, we queue for hospital appointments and we queue for treatment (often behind someone who is coughing their lungs up and forgets to cover their mouth with their hand). So I think what drives us bat-poo cray is when someone jumps that queue and is seen before you. But you have to suck it up and man up and accept that that person’s problem is more urgent than yours. Be thankful for the fact that you don’t need to be rushed anywhere – you can’t be that much of an emergency. Just be patient and always bring a book with you.