I have been ill more or less ever since I set foot back in Lancaster after the Christmas break. And I'm not even joking. I would be perfectly fine one week, and seriously ill the next. Then I would recover and the cycle would start all over again. On the 11th of March, I was starting to get 'the sniffles' again, and felt that I wasn't in the best of forms. I don't remember if it actually went away or not, but on the 19th, I was genuinly starting to feel ill again. I could hardly breathe and got super tired. As the week went on, I just got worse and worse and on the 23rd, I was just dead. I was suppose to meet up with Pia and her friend to go to town with them so that I could cancel my tattoo appointment, but I knew that there was no way I was going to make it. Come Monday after, and I was pretty much unable to move. At this point, I was slightly worried, because though I get ill rather often, I'm also quite quick to recover, and I'm never ill for more than a week. Yet here I was, with no signs of recovery and the arrival of my best friend and essay work looming. To say that I was stressed would be quite the understatement. On Tuesday, things have gone from worse to down right bad. I realised that I would actually have to drag myself to the GP, which is located here on campus. It is a walk that takes no more than 2 min, yet on that day it took me 15, and I'm not even joking. It was hell dragging myself over there. Now, most people know that I'm not a fan of doctors and stuff, but what I cannot stand more than anything are the GP's here in England. They are so fucking useless! I went, got sent to a nurse, who without taking any blood samples, told me that I had a simple viral cold that would go away by itself in a few days. When I ended up crying (yes, crying) telling her that I needed medication, because I hadn't eaten or been able to swallow anything since Friday, she just told me that it was nothing any atibiotics could do for me and sent me on my merry way back home.
I have never felt so bad as I did when I woke up that Wednesday. I was buring up, and throwing up blood. I could hardly breathe and I didn't even have the energy to sit up straight for more than 2 minutes. After Skyping with my mum, I got Rach to phone the doctor's for me, trying to get someone to come and see me, seeing as I was unable to go back to the GP. The number I gave her clearly said that it was for when pasients needed home visits, being unable to go to their local GP. Apperantly thought, it was just the number for the GP on campus, which is conviniently closed on Wednesdays, which makes utter sense, of course. After Rach had to fight through questions after questions (and an offer to do a questionnaire), it was decided that I would either go to the A&E or wait for the GP in town to open at 7. We went for the A&E. They got me admitted into the hospital, and I was suppose to stay the night and get better. Which I did. Until Saturday morning, the day after Maria arrived...
The night before had been a nightmare. I hadn't been able to breathe through the night, and all the pills they had given me at the hospital either just wouldn't go down or stay down, and that night I ended up throwing up this weird yellow water thing mix with pills and blood. It was lovely. And if I had thought Wednesday had been though, my god, Satuday was just pure hell. I don't remember much, if I'm to be honest. I remember waiting for that seems like hours. Getting to a room, getting an iv, being told things and then finally getting to lay down. Of course, that was too good to be true. Because guess what! In Lancs, they have to share their specialists, so this weekend, there was no throat specialist in Lancaster, and I was shipped off to Barrow in an ambulance where hours of more waiting awaited me. I think I passed out at some point while I was waiting in one of the examining rooms. It was around 10 in the morning when we had left the flat that day, and when I finally got settled in bed that night it was around 23:00.
As it turns out, I've got glandular fever, or kissing disease as it's also called, as well as a case of extreme tonsillitis. And they keep me at the hell hole that it Barrow from Saturday until Monday night. Which was great, because then I couldn't get any visits or anything from Maria, which was lovely. I did however, make friends with the old ladies on my ward. And I watched Bridesmaids. Twice. In the same day.
But I got discharged today, finally, after a lot of back and forth. And i'm glad, because I did at least get to have one really great evening with my best friend, which means a lot to me! And I'm going to miss her more now, I think, as it was kind of an reminder of what I'm missing when I'm not in Norway. I've gotten so used to not having my best friend around... But having her here was super nice and today was an awesome day and I can't wait to see her again this summer!
Listening to: Dark Days - Punch Brothers.