Adhuc Vivo!

How Mother Nature hates the sexy blog! It’ll be Mother Superior before I know it. The snow may have melted now, but my, has it left its legacy. Not content with stopping all the post, roads and milk deliveries North of Birmingham for a fortnight, all that coldness from the biggest freeze since 1066 also destroyed all my means of internet access... Hence here for you now, in a similar fashion to when I’m stuck in hospital, is a journal diaryyy-yyyyy styleee post.
Here goes, waterhose-

Saturday the 11th of December 2010
Good Morning Ladies and Gents.
(Well, it’s morning as I write this, but god only knows when it’ll be posted because the snow ate my internet... Snow has many gigabytes of HUNGER... Is the snow on HRT too?...)

So. Sooooo. This morning proved interesting. This morning proved dramatic. This morning I had my good luck stolen... How, oh how, I hear you ask. A posty friend in Turkey had sent me a ‘good luck’ ‘evil eye’ in the post... But, upon receiving the envelope, it was not there. MY GOOD LUCK HAD ESCAPED. MY GOOD LUCK HAD BEEN STOLEN. If I get worse, am I within my right to sue Royal Mail?...

Not only that, but it would appear that the US think that I am a serious and hardcore drug smuggler. Or perhaps a letterbomber. Or at least a customs rebel. They opened one of my parcels, removed the sweets and sent it on its merry way. Well, not so merry I guess... If I got stopped by the police, searched, had my sweets removed and got asked to move on I’d be pretty distraught. But, anyway, those lovely US customs officials obviously had to check that my sweets weren’t bombs/contraband/minivegtables by eating them. All of them. Every last one.
ANYWAY. This is Constanze’s Sexy Oops-I-Got-Leukaemia Blog, not Constanze’s Sexy Oops-I-Got-All-My-Stuff-Nicked-By-The-Bloody-Post-Service Blog. To be fair though, the tablets that Royal Mail were delivering from the old Hallamshire only arrived two days late (They’d run out at the hospital. Run out of one of the most common drugs on the planet... Seriously, I’d put money on the fact that more people take HRT than a cheeky spliff). It wasn’t as if I only had ONE DAY’S SUPPLY LEFT (***note***sarcasm***). It doesn’t matter with the HRT Mr Royal Mail, but if that had’ve been one of my life saving drugs, it wouldn’t have been quite so funny, would it? Non. Non mon petis pois, non. *shakes finger*

On a slightly more jolly note, you will all be very pleased to know that I have fully recovered from my Café Nero fall. The only lasting injury is my chronic fear of ramps and coffee shops.

The last Tuesday that occurred was my last hospital day. It was a small miracle I got there at all. As all you blog readers in England will know, we’ve had ‘a bit’ more snow up North than down South. For all you blog readers in the rest of the world, THERE’S BEEN FUCKING FEET OF IT I LIVE IN PRETTY MUCH THE WORSE HIT PLACE IN THE COUNTRY BUT I DON’T MIND REALLY BECAUSE I LIKE THE COLD BUT I DON’T LIKE BEING STUCK IN RANDOM PLACES REPEATEDLY THANKS and the whole country’s just been at a standstill for a fortnight. Upon getting to hospital and trying to check in for my appointment everyone looked at me completely bemused. “We were told you wouldn’t be coming Constanze... How did you get here?” they asked. “By medicar” I simply replied. “But... All the medicars have been cancelled...”. Well, apparently not, I thought, as I checked in and waited for the doctors to arrive. I pondered as to whether I’d actually been brought in by stalkers, criminals or madpersons, but decided as they hadn’t murdered or raped me I really didn’t mind. In fact, the mini-abduction was completely welcomed as I’d have missed all my lovely medical treatment without them...

... This mystery was solved later however. Sadly, my mysterious medicar drivers were in fact... Medicar drivers. It turns out that every medicar in Yorkshire had been cancelled. However, I live in Derbyshire, hence my medicar has made it through the snow and ice to get me. Winnnn. I was the only person to arrive at the hospital in a medicar that day. And only the sixth for an entire week. To give you an idea, on a normal day about 80 people arrive in just one day. That’s another slap round the face for all you people who think I’m unlucky.

Little exciting apart from that happened. I had a vast number of test tube’s worth of blood removed, but where’s the interest in that? I’ve had more tubes of the stuff removed than I’ve eaten bags of crisps. Perhaps I should work on that ratio.
What’s the plan over Christmas then? Aside from the usual festivities, I’m going to have a lovely biopsy done of my delicious neck rash to make sure it is GVH and not the rabies. Or neck piles. Or an allergy to scarves. Or the tiny muddy footprints all those little elves that run all over you in your sleep at this time of year. Something like that. I’m asleep, how should I know? And, as a suprise present from the gastroendoscopystomachypeoplelypeople, a lovely FOLLOW UP APPOINTMENT. At least, I hope that’s what it is. I just got an envelope with a demand that I turn up at their clinic at a specified hour and day. Oh, and I’ll get to share some saliva under the mistletoe with a nebuliser machine. Joy.

For my next trip, I get a nice special Christmassy visit to the hospital on the 21st. I wonder which hospital Santa goes to?

Sorry for the long post. No internet means no decent contact with outside world means Constanze is a bored and lonely one. TEXT ME SOMEONE PLEASE.
Over and out until I do something else cancery and exciting (I can only promise one of those...).
Love, Festivities, Sharks and Kilos,
Constanze.


Monday the 13th of December 2010
Nothing to report aside from a complete addiction to playing Imperial Glory and killing Austrians. Eyes killing me, too much bright light makes cancer eyes sad, but who cares when you’ve got a fucking massive Prussian army?


Wednesday the 15th of December 2010
Evening all and todo me hearties. Another day and little to report, aside from a slight improvement in my GVH rash. I haven’t scratched it for the best part of three hours and no longer look like seafood. Oh, and the man who runs the newsagents in the Sheffield Interchange likes my eyes. He didn’t seem quite so interested in my funny walk.
I nearly died today too, I suppose to some of your sick minds that might be exciting. My super reliable legs gave way in the living room, so to steady myself I took the obvious option grabbed the light bulb above my head. This, boys and girls, is not the best thing to grab in an emergency. It made an unhappy sound and flickered and I watched my life flash before me before realising I was actually flashing everyone else because my nighty was rather short and I didn’t have any pants on because I’d just had a wash. Too much information? Definitely. But anyway, I lived. Obviously. Ghosts can’t type.
In a while, climcaphile.


Thursday the 16th of December 2010
FINALLY. I am posting this now. Right now. Victory is mine ! (Well, on the internet front. Russia keeps invading me when I’m bothering Moldova. Gah. Those Russians.)...
Blow off sorrow, goodbye tomorrow,
Constantinople.
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