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Could the days be stranger? I know not how, in a lightning fall on the page, like nothing I can remember. It's electric this place, close to death. Multiple dangers; titration, nausea, gutless stretches of not needing...clots, saline, incredible lack of sleep - with no side effects... I'm solitary, surrounded by machines and forces, waiting for the prognosis, free. Isabelle has gone. No surprise there. It was obvious ages ago. She was the best I had seen I think. Amazing, some of these women. No mention of them in the third wave. That's the mistake of the third wave. Oh yes, and fuck you.
There's Measure for Measure and Neuromancer. A lot of Miller. It all seems like a dream. I saw The God Delusion earlier. I don't need it. This thing is a shocker, and I'm an ape it has been revealed to. You get a grip, and hold on tight. There's no need think about it. Just feel the rush. A few yards more today. Every corner of the room has been cleaned. Thompson would open the fourth bottle, and that is what I am about to do. I feel my second skin come on. No need for a cigarette in months. No need. I can eat a cake, but nothing else. I'm drinking barley water and chewing gum. One day soon I'll buy some snuff. I need Sriracha, software updates, jubilee coins and another lamp.
There's no need to worry. I can breathe now. I see light everywhere. Deep breaths. They come like ocean gusts. Like deep waves in music. I can be anywhere.
There isn't much to say, or do, being this ill. Apart from maybe imagine myself bed-ridden in a private room somewhere, tended by smartly-dressed dark-skinned nurses, visited by the odd officer or NCO. A battle casualty, from a war won, or a war we are about to win.
There's a lot of drugs; A dozen or so tablets, pre-packed syringes to stick in my belly every day and cards and slips of paper to carry in case they pick me up. I have a spray to use in my mouth in an emergency. I carry it in my jacket pocket and sometimes I wrap my hand around it for comfort. The case is smooth and cold, and the cap is big for ease of use. Sometimes I forget to take it out with me, and then I worry about it.
There's a test coming up to see how much is worth saving. If there's enough left alive inside they plan serious work. At the other end - if what they see is fucked - then there really is no point in bothering.
Happy days then. I'm reading Mysteries, watching shoe shine videos and researching the Guiana Shield. Choral music by Byrd and Tallis plays. If I lie still, like I've been shot seven times, and put myself in a fake world, I can make it seem worthwhile.
I survived. At least long enough for me to pay my bills. When I weighed myself before leaving on Thursday night, before the paramedics and the ambulance at the surgery, I was 15 stones and 3 pounds.
I did the same thing this morning and weighed in at 13 stones and 6 pounds. I was in Kingston Hospital for less than 6 days.
I have a veritable barrage of tests and 'procedures' next week. Blood pressure is normalising slowly. I feel a little better. Sorry for the delay in posting this up.
Actually, no. Tonight I'm likely to be in Kingston Hospital. Maybe this will be the last time. If so, good luck, and keep straight. Next billing date for hosting is at the end of the month. The site could disappear shortly afterwards. Good run though.
See ya.
Scan went ok. Nothing wrong.
I feel a little lonely, frightened. I don't feel bad, but can't take any pills at the moment, without a gut reaction, so nothing for two weeks. Scan tomorrow. But as I say, I don't feel too bad.
I've been writing a story about dying - but I've got to abandon it. Things seem to be hitting me hard. Looking at Isabelle, and Ray Caesar. Going slightly crazy. Lost.
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