[Sundae]

Back from another 6 days in St James'.
First on SAU aka The Ninth Circle of Hell, promoted to Ward 46 - a variety of most circles excluding Lust really. It's a step up, but barely.

This is the stay I dodged to go to Mum's 70th. Went in with "bowed head and lowered eyes, shoulders falling down like teardrops, weakened by my soulful cries" and my levels were still off the charts. well - not literally. But in the red flag range. So I took baby Doctor's advice , went home, packed a bag - badly - and off to hospital. Left behind my bag of medications, which I had packed separately, but figured it wouldn't matter because it was only a check-up.

I said I'd travel myself, but I think she was suspicious. Turns out it was was not a car as expected, it was an ambulance. And a bone rattling one at that.
5.5 hours later I was seen by a hospital Doctor, who confidently predicted there would be men on Mars by 2020. Oh, no I mean that they would find me a spare trolley to lie on and I'd be discharged the next day.

That was Wednesday night. Came out today. Monday.
No feeding tubes, but X-ray, CT scan, blood clot fears, two different wards, 36 hours nil by mouth (with my liver?!) and a conversation three times a day about whether I'd brought my medicines in with me.

Trips to the expensive M&S concession because they couldn't sort out my protein drink - to be taken alongside my supposed 2000 a day calorie intake - but at least my canula held this time and I didn't bleed all over the nice cheese scones. Or my trousers. Thank goodness - I wore white trousers to the Doctors, what an eejit.

Remembered my phone charger and glasses, but not my talc (less of an issue when they "forget" to give you towels so you get by with a whore's wash with facewipes every day) or anything to read except a single library book. Washed my hair for the first time since Weds this morning as I got a towel and used my drinking jug of water and washed from the sink - no plug in bath and couldn't work out shower...

I have no clots. My low mood is probably due to the hospital prescribed steroids, and the fact "I came off them too soon". Which was because I wasn't given any from Wednesday until today. Anyway, steriods changed, reduced and psychiatric team involved to see if I can get back on an anti-anxiety medication which won't hurt my liver further. Like you know, the one I was taking before I came off it and tried to commit suicide in 2014.

Don't say anything sensible. I mean you can if you want of course. But even a rational person would understand and accept that although I've done this al to myself, the piecemeal approach to my problems has definitely cost the state more money than it ever saved.

If I can't get into a new place, away from everything I currently hate, I'll keep on going to hospital. And I can't bear it. But maybe that's it. I'd be a lot cheaper as a statistic than if I was properly supported and living a productive life having babies and claiming tax credits.

ETA - mobile phone fell on floor as I was trying to reach it while hooked up to drip. Bottom 1/8th screen dead, rest scrolling in bizarre fashion. All texts are random in terms of those letters on Querty keyboard and punctuation. That's the only communication I had free.
Portuguese nurse had lovely singing voice but poor English. Either through misunderstanding or spite (I hope the former) she attached my canula in the one place I asked her not to - back of my right hand. My wiping hand, my washing hand, my reaching hand, my texting hand.