Friday, 22 June 2012
I GOT A NEW DOCTOR just now. The kindly receptionist didn't glance too hard at my expired passport. If she noticed that it was 18 months out of date she didn't say anything. I had to write schizoaffective on the form because that is supposed to be a "serious illness". Where they ask for family illnesses I gave none, in case I ever want private health insurance. This will stop the insurers bumping the premiums up. (You have to think of these things.)
I have to come and see a nurse next Wednesday. Tuesday is the "turning into a woman" breast tissue scandal consultant. Thursday is the new methadone clinical evaluation. So it's doctors galore.
The new "surgery" (do they ever perform operations on site? Frankly the place does not look sterile enough ...) only asked for one proof of address, so my Mum's fake letter about training courses never had its moment. The old doctors were really strict, which was what made me so para. They even quibbled a bank statement for being too ancient ~ it was two and a half months old! The methadone clinic want two proofs of address, so failing any mail delivery my Mum's fakery will shine in all its glory then.
There's a bus strike in London today, which means I have a choice: ride four stops by train to get my methadone. Cost: £4.40 return. Or walk there. Some buses are running but they terminate early giving the worst of both worlds: a bus fare and a long walk...
Last night I still couldn't sleep properly. I started feeling over-excited again and chain-smoked in bed. Every few minutes I seemed to wake back up to continue smoking. I know this is no recipe for guaranteed unconsciousness, but I long ago learned not to worry about poor sleep. Not worrying entails never "trying". You can't "try" and sleep anyhow. So I end up pottering about all night. Or smoking in bed while listening to radio phone-ins ...
And when I had to get up this morning I was in a very bad mood indeed!
Of course after six am I did sleep a bit. But I was still awake before the alarm went off at 8, and then I didn't want to get up. So I slept between 8am and midday. Which is all very unhealthy, I suppose. But there you go.
Hey I GOT A NEW DOCTOR. WOW!!!
Illustrated: smoking in bed, the glamorous version... My old doctor looked just like this, only he wore fewer clothes... The practice nurse looked like this, but not quite as fusty ...