I’m in hospital. An inpatient. Still full of this virus that I am now 100% certain is just wanting to take me down and out. Waiting on tests that will explain the abnormal ECG. And pain. And deranged bloods. And enlarged liver.
Being treated for a heart attack that the blood tests tell them hasn’t happened (it’s routine). Holding onto a GTN spray to deal with ‘angina’.
What a spectacular coup d’etat my ill health troll has pulled. From pole position squatting in my lungs it has engineered a fucking blinder.
I am sanguine. I am alive. I am not as bad as the old man in the room next door. I’ll be ok I think. Bit reduced. Bit battered. Someone who will have a box of pills they take to keep them going – together with some pills to counteract the effects of the pills that keep me going.
It’s funny though – what knowledge that there is a union wummin in the ward can do.
So far I’ve conducted a conventicle of domestics from my side room this morning. Getting them organised for a fight with management.
Never miss an opportunity.
That’s always been my motto.
Nae point changing now.