So,

I thought I would post a kind of extension on a previous post Place the do not disturb sign on the door & we can begin.

It still needs a little work me thinks, but I’m fairly happy with how it came out.

Jump to me at 22 years of age. The headaches have gotten so bad I’ve been missing days. Going to bed on a a Monday and waking up on a Wednesday, feeling like I haven’t had any sleep. This went on for months, yeah sure, I have been getting headaches for as long as I can remember but never have they been this bad.

I pretty much fell silent about the headaches and told no one, they’d say “How are you?” and I would reply “Okay” and that was the end of that conversation. Well that was until I started missing a lot of days at the place where I volunteered. They had words, I said everything was fine. Then a few weeks passed and I phoned in sick and I haven’t been back since.

In about another month I accidentally let slip about the headaches and the missing of days, which have been getting more and more frequent at the point, to my brother while chatting to him online. He is a little pissed off at me because I didn’t mention it earlier. He goes on to say that I should book an appointment with my doctor to see if there is anything wrong. I don’t even know where the doctors practice is. He also tells me to tell mum about it because I said I would probably forget to get an appointment. I pretty much forget everything now a days.

So another month has passed and mum is back from Africa, I tell her what my brother said to tell her. Its another 3 weeks before the doctors appointment is made.

I’m sitting in the doctors office/examination room and my mother is telling the doctor about the fact my uncle died from some sort of embolism in his 50’s and that my brother had a blood clot or some such in his mid 20’s. The doctor checks my blood pressure, shines a light in my eyes and says “I doubt there is anything wrong but just to be sure I’ll order a blood test and refer you to the hospital.” Well tell my head that, my skull feels two sizes too small.

The next week, Its the day before I am to go get my blood test and I tell my mother that I am not all that fond of needles.

The next day, I am sat in a different examination room with a nurse telling me to roll up my sleeve. She cant find a vein, so she asks me to roll up my other sleeve. She has the same trouble with this arm too. At this point, you could practically dance to my heartbeat. My hands are numb and I’ve got a rather mean cold sweat going.

She eventually finds what she needs in my left arm.

I sit there a while so my heartbeat can level out and I get the feeling back in my legs.

I get up, we leave. I feel sick and my hands are still numb.

While talking to my mother on the way home, after they had just taken three viles of the red stuff. My mother goes on to say that, she’s friends with the nurse who took my blood away on that silver tray because she is the woman who always deals with my sisters injections. And my sister is worse then me when it comes to needles. Its only syringes and things of that nature that bother me, getting tattoo’s or getting pierced does not. My sister however has to be warned in advance about needles.

This is where my mother goes on to tell me something about how my father used to keep me and my sister drugged up as babies, or something similar. I wasn’t really listening, I was paying more attention to the cold breeze that was wrapping it’s self around me, making me feel like how I expect those people feel when they cling on to the blanket they have had since they were a baby.

Jump a few weeks later and I am sat in the hospital waiting room for the Neurologist with a pot of piss stashed in my hoody.

A nurse calls me over, takes the pot, takes my blood pressure, she says the machine has been playing up. I get weighed then moved to another waiting room.

I am now in the doctors office/examination room telling him about what’s been going on, my mother telling him about our family troubles.

I’m now sat in the examination part of his room, sat on a large piece of blue paper. My shoes, socks, t-shirt, jumper, hoody and my glasses laying on the chair opposite.

The doctor comes in, pokes, prods and jiggles this that and the other, tells me to put my clothes back on and then we sit back down in the office part of his room.

He says pretty much the same thing the doctor at the surgery told me. That he doubts the headaches are anything serious, he says they are probably what he called “Chronic Daily Headaches” and that a month an Anti-Depressants should sort them out. He also said that he would order a scan just to be on the safe side.

While all this was going on, the only thing I am thinking is “Thank god he didn’t ask me to cough!”.