Pain, doctor, begging. None of it pretty.

Because it’s slightly less annoying than having to gnaw my arm of in pain frustration, I am going to see the doctor in an hour’s time. Usually I see Dr KHS every three months or so, appointments in which he rubs his chin thoughtfully and prosaically tells me there’s not much to be done. Today, however, I will be seeing another doctor, who will hopefully be a little more malleable and actually give me some hardcore painkillers. You know, morphine or its generic (cheaper) equivalent. While I do prefer to deal with Dr KHS (partly for a sense of continuity, and partly, I think, because subconsciously I’m just a glutton for punishment), I’m seeing this doctor today because my legs are really, really, really hurting in a big this is serious kinda way. I have a pretty high threshold for generalised pain (that’s pain over a large area, for those playing at home) but a pretty small threshold for localised pain (small area). To be honest I’m not sure where the current batch of pain resides, whether it is local or general I mean, because while it does span the length of my legs and the width of my hips and knees, it’s very local and sharp in flavour despite its wide area. Either way, it makes little difference in terms of shittiness, being general or local I mean, but it seemed like a pertinent fact to mention when I started writing the sentence.

I am a little high right now. Full up on more pain killers than is recommended (I think I passed the daily limit at 9.30 this morning), I’m going to beg, plead, grovel, and if need be coerce her for something a little stronger to last me until my appointment with the neurologist (which is on the 28/11). You know, now I mention the neuro, I don’t remember ever mentioning him on here. Well here’s my chance, as soon as I start a new paragraph, because I think it warrants one.

So yeh, I have got an appointment with the neuro at the friendly local public hospital’s outpatient department. It took me a month just to get an appointment, the neurologist thinking he might go for a spot of a holiday, but I am now locked in. That’s about it, no reason to begin a new paragraph, really, but what’s done is done.

Well as I pointed out the other day, I have to keep moving because as soon as the blood settles in my legs they begin to really hurt (think hot knife, cold butter) and it’s getting to that time. Unfortunately once I turn around I won’t be able to type, the computer being in front of me at the moment, so it will be behind me when I turn over. Besides, I suspect this is making little sense as it is. Thankfully, while I do appear to writing a lot of shit, I haven’t hallucinated. Yet.

Argh. I don’t have time for this bullshit. I have a history exam on Saturday.