So this is mostly a gripe post. But then, I feel that this is gripe-worthy.
So a few days ago (Sunday), I got a blister. I really didn't think anything of it--just a blister. Not even bad enough for a band aid. I was, however, pretty concerned about my roommate, who had picked up some virus that left her exhausted, vomiting, and, at one memorable moment, convulsing on the floor.
On Monday, I noticed that my blister was really starting to hurt. Half of it was a water blister, the other half look all weird--it was probably healing already. So I sterilized a needle and very gently squished the water out. That oughta do it. Band-aid! Talked to Lu (flatmate), who still had this whatever-it-was and was actually having a relapsed that night. She said that the first time she started convulsing, she'd gotten really nauseated, then started to pass out, and then was really, really tired, and some of that was happening again. Poor Lulu!
Tuesday I'm out and about and heading for classes, and am just having a really hard time concentrating. Enough so that I finally just ditched Latin at the halfway break. Well, I told the professor that it'd been real, and then I dropped the class (ps, I did this with a lot more tact and charm than it sounds like). I went to my next class and all I could keep thinking was "My foot hurts. My foot really hurts." Afterwards, I pulled off my shoe, and lo and behold, there was a round red spot around the band aid. I had a Dr's appointment the following day anyway (to discuss allergy options, but surely we could squeeze this in), so I went to Covent Garden to meet a friend for dinner. I arrived before she did and as I was waiting, all of the sudden I was sure that I was going to throw up. Badly enough that I started looking for a secluded corner or a sewage drain. In the fresh air that started to pass, but then I was sure that I was going to pass out. I started edging towards the security guards, so they'd take care of me when I did. My friend showed up, we started walking to dinner and I thought "Maybe it's just PMS. After all, my legs are kinda shaky, too, and that's usually a sign." Had a lovely dinner with her, but right at the end I got tired. TIRED. We parted ways and I barely made it home. I know I went into the bathroom. I know I meant to wash my face. I have no idea if I did it. All I remember was suddenly thinking that I was so tired that it really didn't matter whether or not I had. The only thing I really focused on was washing my foot, because it still hurt and I was worried that it might get infected. This all happened at 8:15pm. I texted my roommate and passed out immediately.
At 2:30 Wednesday morning I woke up because my foot HURT. I tried to move it, or get my mind off it, but it just hurt way too bad. At 3:00 I decided to go to the restroom and had to hop and slink down the banisters so I wouldn't put any pressure on that foot. At 4am I went downstairs and called Medical Advice to see if there was something that I should be doing for my foot. She told me to go to my GP and tell them that I needed to be seen within 24 hours, because it did sound like my foot was infected. I made myself something to eat and then remembered--fasting blood test that morning. I went back upstairs and tried to rest, but I had to be up early anyway for an appointment made weeks ago with a stomach specialist at St. Bart's Hospital. When I got back into bed, I flopped backwards and yelped because it hurt my hip. At 6, when my roommate woke up, she said that she'd read my text last night and it sounded like I'd got what she had (which, by the way, no one knows what it is. The ER that she went to after convulsing told her simply "a virus"). She was attempting to go to work for the first time in a week or so. When I showed her my foot, she said I shouldn't leave the hospital without getting someone to look at it. She left shortly afterwards which is when I attempted to get dressed. Setting my foot on the floor, however, made me scream. I had to put my pants on with one leg resting on the bed. Putting my sock on was an experience not to be repeated, and when I finally hobbled downstairs, I couldn't put my shoe on for 10 minutes. I'm glad that none of my other roommmates were home, because it probably sounded like I was being stabbed. I limped to the bus station, where (naturally) my bus came right before I got there, and then not again for 20 minutes. The bus was packed full, but I had to keep my foot up to keep from dying. About halfway there I wanted to jump out and tell somebody to call me an ambulance. And then vomit. Somehow, I held on until my stop, which was unfortunately still a 10 minute walk away. Then I realized that I wasn't going anywhere on that foot. I finally did call 999, and explained how I was unable to reach the hospital, and they told me that since I wasn't life-threatening, no one would come for an hour or so and I was much better off taking a cab.
I called up a cab company and when I said I needed to go to St Bart's hospital, and he said "That's where you want to go?". Really, what kind of person tosses out the name of a hospital and then is like "Psych! Naw, I want a tea shop."?! He more or less refused to send me a cab because he said I could catch a black and white and it would be quicker. So as I'm desperately trying to stay upright, I hobble out to the curb and wait for 15 minutes until a free cab comes by. Of course, he only takes cash, so we have to do a loop to a cash machine, where I hobble out to get enough to pay him. He did at least drop me as close as he could. Incredibly long walk to Minor Injuries Reception, and no one's there. Finally I threw caution to the wind and decided to get to my appointment first, because the doctor's booked a month in advance. I removed my shoe, and limped across the building, the courtyard, and to an elevator that actually worked. When I got in the technician told me that the doctor was out sick that day, so we'd just take some blood and then I'd get a letter when he could see me again. When he asked me if I fainted at the sight of blood I said yes, just so I could lie down. Since I'd been fasting, my veins were moving at a snail's pace. That, however, gave me time to show him my foot and after that he called a wheelchair for me back to Minor Injury.
I finally got in to see the nurse and he said that since this was an Injury Unit they couldn't do anything about the possible virus, but that yes, my foot was infected, and was currently spreading up my leg, causing the hip (or lymph) pain that I'd been experiencing. He then offered to draw around the red part of my foot, because if it spreads I will need further attention, stat. For now, he gave me a dose of codeine and paracetamol (the British answer for whatever ails you), told me to rest with my foot iced and elevated for at least 48 hours, and gave me 2 different types of antibiotics. One is to be taken 3 times a day and the other 4, and to be taken on an empty stomach only, because food interferes with them (*Side Note: when I worked this out at home, I realized that this means that I can eat only between 10-11am, 2-3pm, 6-7pm, and 10pm-7am). I told him that I was fasting already so I might as well take them now. Then he wheeled me to the hallway so I could call a cab. When the cab arrived, he kept telling me to come out, but finally came in to get my wheelchair and took it to the car. Another cash-only cab, he told me that we'd stop on the way if I could manage it.
About 10 minutes in I realized that I was going throw up. Immediately. So I told him to stop, stop, pull over, pull over and then GOING TO VOMIT! which got his attention. I opened the door and he screamed "Not in the car!", which fyi, was the reason I told him to stop. Just when I had about finished, he told me that the company didn't like "people like this" in the cars, but there was a pharmacy just ahead, so I could go there and get a cab. He ripped my coat, purse and shoe out of the backseat and handed them to me, so I could walk a block to the pharmacy and get him his ("we'll just call it") 10 pounds. Luckily, the paracetamol was taking effect by this time. I got into the pharmacy looking like death served cold, and told the pharmacist that I was sick and my cab had just kicked me out, so could he call me another one and let me buy something so I could get cash back to pay the driver? The guy jumped on the phone, and gave me my cash back, so cab driver #1 could get out of there (he'd driven up and then came in), and then offered me a chair so I could wait until the car came. As we started driving (and after I'd gotten a second batch of cash out for this guy) I told him that I didn't mean to sound like a 3 year old, but I was having a rough morning, and how far away were we? I ended up telling him the whole story, and he was appropriately indignant about the other guy (and I'm just sayin, it's not like I threw up in the car. Rude.). Out of gratitude, I didn't puke my guts up again until after I was dropped off, even though we got caught on a 15 minute detour.
I made it home by 12. All of that managed to happen in the am. Really, not one of my better mornings.
