I thought I was being so clever with the timings for my Exanitide – an injection I need to take once a week to prod my pancreas into waking up and producing insulin on its own rather than needing to inject shop-bought (so to speak). If I took my injection in the Saturday before driving up to Hartlepool, that would tide me over until I got home and therefore sidestep the need to refrigerate any medication on my travels.
Instead, I forgot to take it, or even pack it, and I’ve instead had to try and sort something out while i’m the opposite end of the country from my GP.
And this is where the wondrous NHS takes centre stage. I was able to phone their helpline this morning and explain the situation. From there they could look up my details, and were able to give me the number of a prescribing pharmacist local to where I currently am. I called them, confirmed a few details, and was able to walk round half an hour later to pick up what I needed.
All I had to do was show them my exemption card, and on the app where it showed that it’s a regular medication I receive.
So thank you again to the NHS.
I’m having a hard time of things at the moment, and have been for most of this week gone. It’s mostly come from being super-saturated with caring for those around me. With my mental reserves running low, my mood dropped and the lies my brain feeds me daily rose up with a vengeance.
These lies are that I am not worthy of love and care. That I will be rejected by everyone and that the people who haven’t yet done so are after something. Acknowledging people’s concern while I am in this state is doubly hard because on the one hand my brain rejects those concerns, but at the same time craves them. Worse, to acknowledge those expressions of concern feels a huge expenditure of emotional effort. It requires unlocking the very same emotional armour that is holding me together, just at a time when I’m not sure there’s anything more than undifferentiated gore inside the suit.
And yet six people this week have recognised the horrible head space I’d tripped into, and they reached out to express their love, care, and support for me. That needs acknowledgement and thanks to each of them, even though I’m still sure I’m not worth it.
So thank you to the Ladies M (past, present, and future), Lady P, Lord S, and my counsellor Lady V. Between you you’ve helped me remember to keep fighting and start on out the other side. I haven’t been in a safe place, but you’ve reminded me of things to live for, and how good it is to be bloody minded in my stubbornness.
There are a number of people who, over the last few weeks, have gone above and beyond the call of duty to help and support us, and this post is simply to say thank you. You know who you are and what you have done or said or messaged that has lifted our spirits or provided tangible assistance.
It is no exaggeration to say that this is one of the most gruelling experiences that we’ve had to cope with – and there are elements of it that I just won’t write about right now because they are so raw. There have been, as predicted by a number of people, some upsetting revelations on a couple of fronts and those aren’t helping the general stresses of this sort of situation either, but the voices of support on all sides really are making a huge difference in how Lady M and I are dealing with things.