Christmas Parties

After a few seriously I'd-rather-watch-paint-dry posts on my moan about doctors and blood tests, I thought it'll be worthwhile having a moan about Christmas parties instead.

So it's that time of the year - festive season. Although this is my 3rd winter in Scotland, I've not actually spent it out here - always opting to go home to the sunshine instead. This year, I'll be here.

And it's already proven to be a white winter with a few proper mornings of snow covered streets. Should get photos of them - pretty, yes! But not great when you have to spend a good 15mins defrosting the car when you're already late for work!

Back to my original topic - office Christmas parties. Now this is a first for me. EVeryone seems to wind down for the festive year, we all do loads on unnecessary shopping, my diet's out the window and I'm in panic mode over clothes for Christmas parties.

I went to one last Thursday (yes, it was on a Thursday night, don't ask why!) and will be going to another tonight. Not complaining, but the truth is, people just get absolutely hammered at these parties and end up lying on the floor with nickers in full view of the rest of the department bosses.

Anyone who knows me will know that I've done worse things in my 'past life' - knickers and drunken behaviour and the rest of it! So I'm not sure why or what is it exactly I'm complaining about bad behaviour... all I can say is that office Christmas parties and boring as hell. I'd rather an Ian Rankin book, my hot cup of Milo and comfy duvet for a night out.

Takers anyone?

The Line between Denial & Hope

It's a fine line. After yesterday's not-so-nice session with the renal consultant, I've had to reflect on whether my behaviour is down to me still being in denial about the state of my condition, or whether it's because I still habour hope that miracles happen.

Here's how. I have made it quite clear that I have been through the grief cycle and I know all about it... bla bla bla. So here's how the doctor-patient conversation went:

Doctor: Have you been feeling tired? Itchy? Swollen ankles, pins & needles or burning pain in your feet?

Patient: No

Doctor: The blood results indicate that the rate of detioration is worse than we expect.

Patient: *Silent* Get a life!

Doctor: I'd like you to come along to our evening sessions and meet other patients and transplant survivors

Patient: *Silent* Jump off a cliff please - that's more entertaining!

Ok... so you get the idea. Very negative patient, very helpful doctor. So is it denial, or the silent prayer that the big guy above loves me and is merely testing me?

So where do I draw the line to either acknowlegde that the doctors know best (and I have loads of arguments on that!) or to remain on my current state of mind - that hope is there and my gut feel says that I have much more to achieve? This is merely a bump in the road.

Hope - the light at the end of the tunnel.

The Grief Cycle

I've read about the grief cycle. Makes sense - I first read about experiencing the grief cycle from the organisational change perspective, not the usual 'losing a loved one' scenario.

Today was back at the doctors - and I wonder why I still go.

The in between periods where life goes on as normal and you don't have to worry about blood tests or creatinine levels etc etc is bliss. Then as your appointment date nears, you end up with all sorts of panic and emotional termoil.

So, I've not had to see or think about my condition for almost 3 months now. Until 2 weeks ago when my blood tests came back and it wasn't pretty or encouraging. Hence, I'd gone in to the doctors anticipating a really lousy time. Emotional drain is what it is. And it's been exactly that!

You sit there and have a stranger pretend to be compasionate and supportive about wanting to help you with your condition and you discuss (monologue actually) of options to lead a 'relatively' healthy life. But it's all lies. Where is the 'fed up' section in the grief cycle?

What next? I don't know. It's a fine line between surrendering to 'higher powers' that maybe and giving up what's left. Decisions, decisions, decisions.