Medication Adventures :S (Blog 180)

Yesterday, I tried to pick up my brain medication from Ashford hospital, but the ward I needed to go was closed due to an outbreak of the norovirus. I don’t know who spread it, but it couldn’t have been me, as I never have diarrhoea. In contrast, I have constipation much of the time and consequently need to keep peeing, as explained in an earlier blog. (I know that’s counterintuitive, but my intestines are pressing against my bladder, explaining my symptoms). I soon found I needed to pee a little again, but I dismissed that as nothing. I had bigger things to worry about, such as insanity that could be just around the corner if not treated. Please don’t laugh, because that is NOT funny. A note on the door told me to go to Chertsey. I put the address into my Satnav and hoped for the best, repressing the fear it could be too vague, and result in me driving around like a fool.

Success! I found the place… but I left my wallet! I mean why would I need it to pick up my free meds?? How could I pay the car park charge?? That didn’t matter! I had change in my car! The right change too, which was handy as the ticket machine didn’t take any nonsense and accept anything but the exact amount shown on the sign. Epic for me in a way, but still, very slightly fascistic. Why can’t people/machines be understanding? Especially in a place right next to a hospital and the needy. Anyway, then I got told by a healthcare worker to go to Staines! Ok, that was annoying. Then by the very same person, possibly with multiple personalities, I got told the health centre there was closed. Ah. Very annoying. I had to leave for the London comedy writers meeting soon, too! Would I have to sacrifice getting my London chocolates to save time, if I missed a train because of all my running around?? But I really look forward to them! Not to worry, I arranged to pick up my medication the next day and hopefully that would be that.

A bigger trouble was building, however; I REALLY needed to pee. I had about 10 minutes to get home, and there was a strong chance everything would end in disaster. Would I have to speed and break the law? What’s worse getting a ticket or peeing yourself? Then again, what’s worse? Running someone over or peeing yourself? Or running someone over, getting arrested and THEN peeing yourself? Those are the very difficult thoughts I had to deal with. Thank God I made it. Did I have minutes, did I have seconds? I guess I will never truly know. Was I infected with the virus from Ashford? I guess I’ll find out. Anyway, when I got to London Waterloo, I needed to pee again (yep, constipation for you), but according to the train station clock I didn’t have long to wait to get to London Bridge’s not exactly sanitary, but perfectly adequate toilet. All I had to do was hang around as the minutes until the next train went down. Instead, however they went up because of traffic or whatever, but they did go down again. Phew. I have to be honest, the meeting wasn’t as interesting as my adventures, which may sound offensive to the organisers, but I’m certainly not saying the meeting wasn’t as fun as them. That would be depressing.

The day after all that business, then: I was phoned up and told to go to Staines for hopefully the final time. However, when I got there, the building I had to go to was locked. Hm. Not to worry, there was another one nearby, which I assumed was the right one. Why do things have to be so complicated?? None of the staff there had any idea what I was going on about when I said I needed my medication, they said I should contact my GP. In all my 16 years on brain-aides, not once have I got my medication from him/her, I get them from my psychiatrist. Do you know what would happen if I phoned my GP - who I almost never speak to - and asked for my meds? I’d get treated like an idiot. I may even get asked about my perception of reality. Basically the phone call would be completely random. In desperation I went to the locked building again, knocked on the windows, sneaked round the back, knocked on the other locked door, rang its doorbell, etc., and THAT worked. Did the guy who phoned me up think I was psychic and believe I knew what to do? Hypocrite much? YOU need the meds! Still though, I got there in the end and decided to teat myself to a kebab. Bye!