Oh, what an 8 days. 8 days of strange happenings, chance meetings and odd coincidences. So, take my hand, come back to the land where everything's cancer for just a few hours... Ahem. Must make sentences without the help of the 80s.
So, I have been to hospital twice since the passing of Jamie. At his Fun Eral there were two songs played- the melancholy 'Everybody hurts' by REM and the old classic 'Livin' on a praaayerrrr' by Bon Jovi. On my first visit in the taxi there, the radio is on, and what comes on, I pray you ask? Why, that old REM song. Bit of a coincidence, thinks Constanze. BUT THEN. On my second visit, in a different taxi, with a different radio, what should come on but... 'We've gotta hollddd onnnnn to what we've gottttttttttt'... Nope, not getting rid of Jamie that easily.
Hmm.
Ah, the story of which my post is named after. I went to hospital. I was seen by a different blood doctor who I'd seen around but never been prodded by. He did some drilling in my hip. Then, I noticed his name badge. It said Yusef. Constanze went into PANIC OVERDRIVE. Shit, shit, shit, been calling the doctor the wrong name for months. Eat own head. Eat other people's heads. Run around. Scream. Do handstands. Do legstands. Eat heads whilst doing three handstands. RABIES. BUM. POO. All my praise for Yusef on this blog has been going to the wrong doctor! I tell a nurse about my sad and distressing plight. Turns out there's two Yusef's (Correctly spelt Yoosef) on the ward. I mean, come on, what are the chances?...
Ooh! My hair is fluffy and impressive. It looks like this, but not luminous ginger. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52bh36j023Y I can't believe these 80's singers, stealing my haircuts BEFORE I WAS EVEN BORN. I mean, that's like Jesus- everyone predicted his mental ideas before he bothered Earth. Constanze, +10 for amazingness, -10 for modesty.
Ra-Ra Rasputin. Lover of the Russian Queen.
Oh, now that's a thought. I have discovered that honesty is not the best policy. It is the policy that leads to extra sessions with the nebuliser. I told Yusef I didn't finish that last one SO HE MADE ME DO IT AGAIN. Failstanze.
On the subject of failure, I am very concerned. The number of fans of my blog on facebook is GOING DOWN (Not that I obsessively check every day...). Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy? Does no one love my cancer anymore, have you all found people with more exciting deathly illnesses? Do I have a rival with TWO cancers? THREE maybe?
Psh, I bet they don't rattle when they breathe. Oh yes, you can hear me from 5 paces with my distinctive grizly bear of a set of lungs. A few days ago I sicked up some sexy bright yellow mess and since then I've been coughing like an old cigar smoker. What I cough up looks like marble. Maybe I ingested David (That statue, not my politics friend. I don't imagine me friendship group would be too impressed if I ate him...)...
Damn menopause... So hot. So cold. Either that or me thermostat is stuck on spastic*.
I wasn't well enough to, but my stubborness got the better of me and I made a quick trip to Oxford. I made it to the fudge shop, which is the most important thing in life. Get to the fugde shop, or die trying. My stomach was decidedly naughty, not letting me finish my Szechuan(Check out my epic spelling skillsssss) duck. WHY. WHEN SHALL MY GLORIOUS STOMACH OF GLUTTON RETURN? I was getting dressed the other day and I put on my amazing blue tassley skirt. Then I stood up. It fell straight to the skirt. I am just 0.78 of the Constanze I used to be. Where is my arseeeeeeee? WHERE? Arese, wo bist du? I keep looking under the bed for that size 13 wonderrrr.... http://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?pid=117717&id=1619580062 BUM ARSE BUM. Ra ra Bir Fat Arse.
Hospital tomorow. Usual blood bothering, plus I'm off to the eye department to see how blind I am and whether I still have massive optic nerves and funny rolls on the back of me eyes.
Anyway, that is all. I am off to Holmguard, and beyond. (No prizes for guessing what music I've had on during this post...)
xXXxxXXxxXXx
* I am not pc. Damn pcness.
* I am also not a pc. I HATE that advert.
Monday, 15 March 2010
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actually, I'd be quite impressed if you ate David. Not pleased, necessarily. But still impressed. Especially as you struggle to like eat a yoghurt at the moment.
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