Gloves, Perhaps?

Polyclinic Waiting Room

And it's Wednesday. Another day, another trip to the doc. I've been off all week. I told myself if I wasn't in the office by today, I had to go get it checked out again.

The doctor's quite sweet, actually. He was a little surprised to see me back, but I only had one day left on the antibiotics that he gave me last time and, thus far, not much improvement. The wheezing has even gotten worse. I wasn’t in a great state when I landed in his chair.

His initial response was that, if the antibiotics weren't doing anything, it must be an allergy. Images of having to give my cats away flashed through my mind. I went on the defensive: 'but they don't make me sneeze!' I blurted. He thought it was cute that I like cats so much.

He handed me a bunch of forms and packed me off to the lab. They're not really into telling you what they're checking for, but you bet your bottom dollar it was something to do with 'white blood cells.'

Ooooh boy. First thing I noticed when I sat down? The glass slides littering the tray next to me, all covered in human blood. Niiiice. The second thing? The guy isn't wearing any gloves.

So, I rest my arm on the table and straighten it, expecting a needle in the bend of my arm to suck out a sample. No. Not quite how they do it here. Instead, I get a prick on the finger with a sharp needle - like they do to test for anaemia before you donate blood. Instead of a little drop, he starts pumping the end of my finger, literally milking it! He collects up the blood with a little straw, then just keeps going, four or five times. By the end my finger's really stinging. I throw the cotton bud in the open bin under the table, then skulk off back to the waiting room with a good book for the next hour.

The verdict?

'Your white blood cell count is very high, you have an infection.' Great, cheers. Deja vu. Only, this time, he was sure it was an 'upper respiratory tract infection' - basically still bronchitis. He filled out another prescription. Off I went again, with a friendly warning to keep my piercings clean so that they don't get infected... after five years. *rolls eyes*

The medicine was for much stronger antibiotics: Zinnat, to be taken twice in the morning and twice at night, another bottle of cough syrup and, on request, an asthma inhaler.

Regarding the inhaler, I'd asked for Becotide (preventative) and Ventolin/Salbutamol (emergency relief). He nodded and smiled, then only filled out the prescription for the latter. I'm pretty sure he didn’t know what Becotide was. Still, better than nothing.

I'm not really all that happy about taking even more antibiotics. Between doxy, clamoxyl and this, I'm all antied-out. I gave what remained of my other drugs back to the pharmacist and almost laughed when they tried to add a fresh batch to the bill. 'Err, no, I'm just returning them' - not to mention I don't have a prescription for any more! I seriously think you could pretty much get anything you wanted just by asking.

I declined the bottle of cough medicine. Basically, I can’t afford it. In the past week I've spent £23.20 on prescription meds. I got ill and now I have no money left. I believe VSO reimburse prescriptions and cover medical costs to the tune of £2,500 per year, so I have to go to the office tomorrow and try and get someone to sign the papers and pay me. My colleagues also owe me £14 for various reasons, and I really want my money now so that I can do simple things, like eat. I could tackle the bank, but I think I'd rather starve.

I was going to go to the Queen's Birthday bash at the Embassy on Friday (13th!) but, as I can't drink, there doesn't seem much point. Far too pretentious an atmosphere to attend sober. The invitations are gold embossed.

I'm signed off now until Monday, which is good because all I want to do is sleeeeeep. Fingers crossed for the new meds. Martine is popping round later on her way to Ghislain's leaving do at SoleLuna. My colleague Léon has decided to come and see how I am. It's a common thing here for people to pop round and check on the ill. It's nice in a way, touching, but not so good when all you want to do is put your head under the duvet and snore. Very much enjoying having the house to myself, it's aiding the recovery process.