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01/15/2004: "Phonecall from the hospital."
Have just been informed my biopsy isn't being done tonight. It's unlikely to be tomorrow. There are no beds available.
The admissions department at the hospital will speak to my consultant and book me in as soon as possible. I should be prepared to come in at short notice if there is a 'cancellation'.
This fucks everything up. I don't know how healthy I am (well, I know I am not in critical condition) and I don't know when I'll have to interrupt my job again.
I've also spent the entire day slacking off. How the hell am I going to explain to my boss that, even though I didn't go to the hospital, I wasn't able to work at home?
Newsletter I sent to people - sent at 0030 on Jan 16th.
NHS efficiency strikes again.
They cancelled my appointment. The cheeky buggers.
I was set to go. I'd shaved using my rose-scented soap (better for the environment than a gel, tubes to throw away), worn matching socks and was mentally prepared for awful food and elderly Jamaican nurses with comically bad wigs.
I'd prepared some catchphrases for the biopsy "Ahh Meester Bont, I've been expecting you" "Tell me about this.. thing.. you call... love" and was set for a night of making notes, reading a book and dealing with an interesting day by chilling out and having a kip. Then they cancelled. Grrr. Why I oughta! etc.etc.
Ah, fuck it. I'll get tested later. If I find out my one working kidney is fucked, I'll deal with it then. Right now I've got a Friday to get through and a weekend to enjoy. Have a good one yourselves. I'll let you know when I've been to hospital.
I might even flirt with one of the nurses. *wry grin*
Music: Valen Halen, Jump. Why? Because feedback is some people you think I'm constantly depressed. I'm actually just cheerfuly cynical. How I *write* things isn't the same as how I *say* them.