Thy Roid? Nay sir, it's me blood!

What an unflattering photo of my arm. But, as you can see by the above photo today has been quite a day in terms of Constanze and her Silly Illyness. So much to tell. So tired. No sleep till you've all been informalwormaled. Thumbs up.

I think the main events of the day can be summarised as 1. My thyroid is sleeping 2. My spleen is sleeping 3. My bone marrow is sleeping 4. My notes are fucking heavy. So if you're not here for the long haul, you can stop reading now because I doubt any of the detail that's about to follow will be of much use for anything to anyone anyplace anytime soon...

Where did this voyage of discovery begin, I hear you pondering. Medicar came and I was a walking zombie, all I wanted was to continue sclafiendo, no blood means stubborn body, somehow I managed to get to the car without being blown over by the wind (you short people have it easy, it's like a hurricane up at my altitude). Little happened on the journey other than the spotting of a somewhat antisocial dog. When I arrived at hospital at some ungodly hour I was put on the scales and I am still a lovely well-rounded weight :D The fat arse is here to stay folks. I sat around waiting for signs of life (doctors, nurses, those kinds of things) to appear, eating and failing at writing in Arabic. The transplant nurse crew rolled up about ten and began telling me off for not answering my phone... But.. No one's phoned me. They've left lots of answerphone messages for me. Phone answerphone. No messages. I asked them if they were put through to my sexy Adam-and-the-Ants-themed voicemail message. They said no. WHAT. HOW. Upon closer inspection it was discovered that via the medium of typo my phone number had been changed on their records- to just a digit different. So there's now some poor sod feeling extremely distressed about loads of urgent answerphone messages from the hospital. He's had a bone marrow transplant and he never even knew!

Then, just as I'd shoved a piece of cheese in my mouth Snowdon called me in. Chomping away as I said hello I showed him a variety of cheese and slobber. He informed me that more lymphocytes were going to happen and I'd probably get some GVH and I might get rather poorly (It'll be the biggest dose yet). Got to go back on Thursday to have them shoved in. My chimerism was down to 95% (although with errors and whatnot it could be pretty much be anything, your guess is as good as mine) so I need some to spur the Germans on. Found out I have to be on the penicilliny drug I take forever because leukaemia spleens go mad, which I suppose isn't all that annoying seeing as I already have to take the HRT until I'm 50 so I may as well have a few tablets if I'm going to be inconvinienced? Then the talk of my thyroid began...

... You know how I colect faulty organs? Well, I can cross thyroid off my list. It's not really faulty, more sleeping, resting, whatever. Whatever it's doing it's not doing its job awfully well, not making enough hormones and sending my metabolism off on holiday. What is it with me and hormones? Do I make any? All these fake ones I have to take, it's like a boob job for the blood. Snowdon stole away one of his doctor homies to come and have a chat with me, shoving me off on him before I'd even had enough time to ask for a drugs prescription. The new doctor's name is Prof Ross (I think- don't quote me on that, his name badge was turned the wrong way round) and he has the firmest handshake known to man. My fingers still haven't recovered. He informed me of the thyroid related plan- lots of tablets and various tests (he did seem to mention thyroid cancer an awful lot, I don't know if that's me and my paranoid cancer ears). I had aquired a million sheets of paper by this point and was feeling rather sorry for the forests of the Earth, so many blood tests, referrals, presciptions... I think it can't get any worse until...

... That's right. I have to carry my own notes up to Q floor. I am on A floor. The two floors could not be further apart. Unless you stood on the roof. Now, for most notes this would be cool but JESUS CHRIST HAVE YOU SEEN MINE? Way bigger than a4, inches thick, you could build houses out of of them. I arrived at the Endocrine Investigation Unit looking somewhat dishevelled (and that's me being nice about it). Cue the removal of most of my blood (9 tubes to begin with, then an extra two for luck or something- not quite a record, but still a fair bit) in the name of medicine and science. Had some fake hormones injected into me and a bandage put on my arm for reasons I will never know (See photo above. I suspect it was something to do with the huge chunk of plastic now embdeed in my arm, there was probably a note by my name saying CAUTION CONSTANZE IS A RIGHT CLUMSY BITCH, SHE'S GUARANTEED TO HAVE AN ACCIDENT IF YOU TRY AND TREAT HER). I get to phone next week for results. Bangin'.

After all this had happened it was hours past my medicar pickup time (I'd already bumped into my medicar driver and told her to give up and go home) so there was a bit of a wait in the medicar area. Fell asleep and woke up with my head in a shrub, panicked that I'd been abducted and I was now in the Colombian jungle before realising my head had just slipped into a pot plant.

So yeah, lots happened. Not much of the news was all that good, but as long as I'm alive and wearing heels and whatnot I don't much mind.

Away for some good earned rest now. In hospital tomorow and Thursday, so this evening is chillaxing time, just me, the mastering Arabic script book, the new edition of Stamp and Coin mart, a few murders and ham crisps. 10/10 for evening plans. Oh, and I might treat myself to a GPS tracker, to pretend I'm a spy and stuff. I'd be a shit spy. I had green hair for god's sake. I blend in about as subtley as a blender blends gravel.

Away I vanish.

Constanze.

xXx

p.s All this has kind of pissed on my desperate hope for a holiday anytime soon. Not even supposed to go too far from the hospital now, let alone out the country! Still, more planning time. I want Ukraine. I want Moldova. I want Belarus. Soon Constanze, soon. Patience, my child.