What a waste of time
I went back to the blood doctor today to get my test results. And the verdict is...
There's absolutely nothing wrong with me at all.*
Damn, I was hoping to milk this for some sympathy. It seems that, like a few people they've seen recently at Ysbyty Bronglais, my neutrophil count is a bit sluggish in the mornings but picks up as the day progresses.
This might explain why I have absolutely zero enthusiasm for the early hours (at least as seen from the warmth of bed), but can happily stay up to greet them from the other side. All these years of forcing myself to get up and go to work (ahem), I've been fighting myself, battling my true nature. Now I have the excuse I never had as a teenager - I'm just not meant to operate before ten o'clock.
Today's appointment, six weeks on from the last round of blood tests, was a little surreal. I was called from the waiting room by the nurse, followed her down the long grey corridor to consulting room one. Inside, a much more attractive doctor than the last one (who was oddly squashed-looking) greeted me, told me to sit down, said the results were as expected and there was nothing wrong with me. I thanked her, stood up and left. Apart from the inevitable time spent waiting to be called, it took about forty-five seconds.
Why couldn't they just have phoned me up?
*OK, nothing wrong with my blood. I make no promises about anything else.
There's absolutely nothing wrong with me at all.*
Damn, I was hoping to milk this for some sympathy. It seems that, like a few people they've seen recently at Ysbyty Bronglais, my neutrophil count is a bit sluggish in the mornings but picks up as the day progresses.
This might explain why I have absolutely zero enthusiasm for the early hours (at least as seen from the warmth of bed), but can happily stay up to greet them from the other side. All these years of forcing myself to get up and go to work (ahem), I've been fighting myself, battling my true nature. Now I have the excuse I never had as a teenager - I'm just not meant to operate before ten o'clock.
Today's appointment, six weeks on from the last round of blood tests, was a little surreal. I was called from the waiting room by the nurse, followed her down the long grey corridor to consulting room one. Inside, a much more attractive doctor than the last one (who was oddly squashed-looking) greeted me, told me to sit down, said the results were as expected and there was nothing wrong with me. I thanked her, stood up and left. Apart from the inevitable time spent waiting to be called, it took about forty-five seconds.
Why couldn't they just have phoned me up?
*OK, nothing wrong with my blood. I make no promises about anything else.
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