I've been unwell the last couple of days. The Doctor gave me some medicine which has actually complicated things a little more than they already were. Let's just say that sneezing and diarrhoea is something one needs to stay home to do.
Coincidentally, today I had another visit to the Neurological Day Stay Unit (NDSU) for my one year anniversary of losing my mind. The big question of the visit was the only question of the day: Doctor? can I drive please?
When you have a seizure or two, they take your license off you for a whole year. You probably wouldn't have known that unless it had happened to you. A year of no driving is a very long year indeed. Especially for my dear readers and viewers who had to listen to me bang on about public transport for blogs and vlogs-on-end.
He nearly didn't give my license back to me. He read my seizure diary (I'm not even going to condone that shitty little diary with capital letters - I don't love it much at all) and said "This is reason enough not to give you your license back."
"Arg!" I thought "You shoulda lied!" Yet another example of how truth and diligence screws you more often than it doesn't.
My scrappy little "diary" had documented accounts of approximately 12 "familiars" as I refer to them. Like deja vu but not as distinct or strong. More like a strong feeling I've done this before but not strictly a deja vu feeling. They're little turns, or blippy seizures. Nothing to write home about and I'd wish I'd never recorded the bleeding things.
The medication is keeping me very evenly keeled. I haven't had an actual seizure or even a deja vu in a whole year because the medication is working. We've toggled the dose to strike the right balance between side-effects and seizures so it's about as good as it's going to get.
Anyway boring story short, he said I could drive.
Meanwhile my GP called about the results of my blood tests he took yesterday. You see I'd gone to see him about a dicky tummy and he made me do all the bloods and all the tests and gave me all the medicines (see first paragraph of this post). He's not happy with my liver lipids or whatever they are so NOW I have to have an ultrasound of my liver.
That'd be right; I'll probably end up with some terminal disease so only get about six weeks driving in before I die.
Typical.
