The past few weeks of my life can be summarised in three words; hospital, work, sleep.
After three painful weeks with a gynae abscess that refused to respond to antibiotics, I followed the doctor’s orders and went to A&E. The whole experience was like a farce. Five hours I waited in the first hospital before being moved to another across the city because the first one couldn’t find a room with a door in which to examine me. Lack of door! So I traipsed across to the other hospital and was eventually seen there and told to go home and come back the next morning to see a specialist. The specialist, deciding surgery should only be a last resort because of how painful it would be to heal, gave me very strong medication to try to beat the thing out of my system.
I don’t remember much of the week that followed, other than the headaches and spending quite a lot of time in my bed. By the time I returned a week later, the abscess was gone. Turns out the cocktail of drugs and epic amounts of rest were exactly what my body needed.
Now, abscess-free, the pain of endo has returned just to remind me its still here. I spent most of this weekend drugged up on Tramadol, trying to prepare a presentation for class this week. And today, I’m sitting in work nursing a painkiller-hangover with a heat patch stuck to me and my microwavable duck on my lap.