Oooh ooh smash it up, smash it up, smash it up (with your bum)

My bum is officially back. There was a defining moment that made it dawn on me that my bum is huge and massive and beautiful and wonderful and I need never worry about being too thin again. I was in the a floor hospital WRVS cafe (I refuse to shop in WH Smith because their profits don't go back into the hospital... Stupid idea..) with my bottle of yazzoo and I had some tables to negociate. "I can easily get through the gap between those two tables, there must be like metre gap there" said my brain and as I sliiideee through the gap I get stuck and spill an elderly lady's tea. That's right folks. THE BUM IS BACK. And it won't take no shit from no closely positioned tables.

Hospital wise, this week can be described as nothing short of a disaster. It's all solved now with my amazing solvent powers (I am a superglue superhero) but this week has kind of been like a dog chasing it's tail for a few days solid. Although that seems like it would be fun, if I had a lengthy and flexible body and a tail I'd probably spend hours chasing myself but then I am a bit simple. I was supposed (I use that word a lot in my blog) to go on Tuesday but for a laugh the medicar people thought they'd forget me for the ten millionth time so after 4 hours of waiting I finally found out no one was coming so I buggered off out to get me a Yorkshire fishcake and chips.On balance, it's a fair trade. I can endure lots of waiting in the name of fishcakes.

When I did finally get to hospital on Wednesday (had to go on the bus, it was so hot I think I died four times) I did so only just in time to have my pentamadine. Because I was supposed (there it is again) to be in tomorow, my nebuliser was all nice and prepared but it expired at 12 and I only arrived at 11:15 because that's the first bus I can get on and then it takes half an hour so we were proper cutting it fine like. The feeling of joy when I finished that last nebuliser cann't be described in words. No more horrible reactions to the horrible pentamadine of my nightmares :D :D :D

The trauma started in the pharmacy when I mentioned they'd given me the wrong dose of dasatinib last time I was there. Cue waiting, phoning, waiting, waiting, sleeping, waiting, confusion and speaking to no less than four seperate pharmacists... They say I have to take both my dasatinibs together, Snowdon says I have to take them 12 hours apart. FIGHT. So now it is a mystery as to whether I've been taking these tablets right. For two years. I tried phoning haemo people but everyone's gone missing. Mystery mystery mystery. I doubt it'll kill me, it hasn't yet :D

Spent most of today on the phone to various hospital phone call centers. I got a letter through the post this morning saying I had an appointment on the 6th with Prof Ross. I found this highly distressing because

a) It was supposed to be on the second or fourth Tuesday of August
b) There was no medicar booked
c) Prof Ross only has clinics on the second and fourth Tuesday of the month and this is on the first !!??!!
d) I already have two appointments on that day
e) This new appointment is over a month after Prof Ross wanted to see me and I'd quite like to know if my thyroid's alright thanks

By the end of several phone calls I soon found out that

a) There was no one in the hospital with enough authority to overbook clinics. NO ONE.
b) For some reason, someone has randomly deleted my appoinment with the HRT doctor. Anyone want to confess? Need to investigate that.
c) Whoever booked my last clinic appointment was lying as there was no medicar
d) If I cancel this appointment that I can't attend next oneavailable is in October, a full three months late. I'm sorry, but I refuse to go to the back of the queue after YOU made a mistake duhhhhhh
e) All the people responsible for these cock ups were conviniently off work today

Disastrous. But it's all sorted now. Almost. Phone woman on Monday. Happy times. If they can't organise themselves, I'll get my bossy side out.

So. A month off hospital. Supposedly. I feel lost. It's kind of a double edged sword, on the one hand FREEDOM FUN WOO PARTY but on the other hand I like seeing all my hospital homies. I'll enjoy it at first, but then I'll start pining for someone to stick a needle in me, kind of a bit like the 6 week holidays at school when by the end you almost wanted to be stuck back in double geography colouring shit in. Perhaps.

Constanzistan.

xXxXxXx

P.s Come to my birthday drinks. 12th of August, the Crown. See a cancer patient drinking around ten times more than her drugs reccomend.

P.p.s I've also had a lot of strange men following me around this week. A man was running around the Graves gallery asking everyone for toilet roll, then he got in the lift with me (the lift only fits 2/3 people in it, so you can imagine the uncomfortable air) and kept telling me how beautiful I was and all about his toilet roll hunt. Then yesterday I was sat on a bench next to some dodgems and one of the songs from Grease was playing (the one that goes tell me more tell me more bla bla bla ergh) and everytime it went wella wella wella ergh the 60 something year old man opposite went UGH in a really sexual way and looked at me. True romantics, Yorkshiremen.